Chapter Text
Bella isn’t particularly thrilled by the notion of living in grey and ever-constant raining Forks, Washington, to live with her (somewhat estranged ) dad, Charlie. Especially not when she adores the feeling of sunlight saturating her skin, something she’s been granted excessively, living with her mom Renée in bright and warm Phoenix, Arizona.
She’s also not thrilled by having to share one upstairs bathroom with Charlie, or the fact that her bedroom (wooden floors, light blue walls, peaked ceiling, and yellow lace curtains) hasn’t had much of an upgrade since her childhood. Other than, of course, the switch from crib to double bed, a desk as she was growing, and on it: a second-hand computer.
But she’s even less thrilled by the notion of some random guy in her Biology class stiffening and leaning away from her when she walks by.
On her first day, no less.
As if the whole drive in wasn’t dedicated to reciting numbers: three hundred and fifty-seven students in the whole school, in comparison to more than seven hundred kids in her junior class alone back home. All kids who grew up together, with generations of the same before them.
Then there’s Bella: new girl from the big city, curiosity, freak.
She’s assigned to sit next to the stiffening guy by Mr. Banner – Edward Cullen. He has black eyes the likes of which she’s never seen, and he glares at her as if she’s already managed to offend him with her presence alone. She wonders if that’s because she’s the opposite of a girl from Phoenix – not tan, or sporty, or blonde.
She’s not much for confrontation, but anxiety – well, anxiety has been the prime emotion inhabiting her body for as long as she can remember, and this guy does nothing but crank it higher. Not to mention, she’s weary from lack of sleep because adjusting to drifting off to torrential rain hasn’t yet been successfully accomplished.
With a clenched jaw, Edward leans away when she takes her seat and sits still as carved marble throughout their class. Bella tries to focus on her work. She’s never done well at getting along with people, and this guy just seems to be another one to add to the list – even if she has no idea why he dislikes her so much.
It may be her projecting her anxiety and overthinking, but his behaviour – tense grip on the edge of the table – serves no other agenda than to give her second-hand embarrassment.
He radiates discomfort and anger in her direction. By the time the bell rings and Edward shoots out of his seat, Bella only gives a mildly curious sweep of her eyes to him. She overhears him speaking quietly but urgently, all the same with Mr. Banner, asking to be transferred to another class.
When their teacher refuses, Edward all but storms out of the room. Bella briefly wonders if she smells. She takes a whiff of the ends of her brunette locks on the way to her locker. Surely that’s the only thing that can make a stranger recoil from someone they haven’t spoken to so sharply?
She sees Edward again in the parking lot when she heads to her beat-up red truck, with its big, rounded fenders and bulbous cap. It’s one of the only things she’s liked about being in Forks so far, and Edward’s sneer when she catches his gaze won’t ruin it. Her face spasms, fighting a retaliating glare.
Then she realises she has the attention of his companions too. A burly, dark-haired guy, a lithe, beautiful blonde girl, another dainty, pixie-like girl, and a final, blonde guy with a tense expression.
Faced with a group, her irritation wilts and self-preservation kicks in. Bella can feel a flush on her face as she unlocks her car. She can see they drive nice, expensive ones themselves: a silver Volvo and red BMW. They must be looking down on her ride, sneering at the flaky paint job.
Assholes.
She climbs in hastily. The tan upholstered seats waft the growing-familiar scent of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint as she fires the truck up. It roars, and she tunes the radio in her embarrassment until she hits Twilight 96.7. She’s rewarded with I walk a lonely road, the only one I have ever known.
Bella attempts to decompress from her first day as the new kid, doing the drive back on the wet roads to Charlie’s. She sings along under the grey, misty sky, working to crank the windows down with a huff of exertion so she can cool her cheeks. The byproduct is that she also inhales the lush, damp smell of towering Douglas firs.
Upon her arrival at the house, Charlie’s dark head is climbing out of his police cruiser. Yep – Chief of Police, her dad. They head in at the same time with nods of acknowledgement. Charle doesn’t speak much, a trait she inherited from him.
While unlocking the door, he surprises her by asking, “So, how was your first day, kid?”
She shrugs, heading in behind him. “Not too bad.”
She thinks of Eric Yorkie flashing a camera in her face for the yearbook between periods, Jessica Stanley’s overly sweet voice in gym class this morning, and Edward’s abnormal behaviour in Biology this afternoon. The dark gazes of both him and his friends on her in the parking lot fifteen minutes ago.
Charlie hangs up his gun belt and toes off his boots, while she debates how to answer properly. It wasn’t a bad day per se, just…
“Some people seemed a little… I dunno, strange,” she eventually responds.
Charlie raises his eyebrow, taking himself to the fridge for a beer. “Strange how? Like weird kid – bullied a lot, strange, or ‘I should be worried’, strange?”
“What’s ‘I should be worried’ strange?”
“I dunno, Bells like Dahmer strange. I am a cop, y’know.”
Bella laughs softly, depositing her rucksack. “Maybe a bit of both. Some Edward guy definitely had Dahmer strange going for him. Didn’t seem to like me for like… no reason at all.”
“Cullen?” Charlie asks, twisting the cap off his beer and chucking it on the counter. “His dad or well –” he pauses to raise his eyebrows. “– foster dad or whatever – Carlisle, works at the hospital.”
Bella snorts, leaning against the kitchen arch and crossing her arms. “Doctor? Rich?”
Charlie sips on his beer, leaning back against the kitchen counter and scrunching his brow derisively. “Oh, you bet.”
“That does it then. He’s a snob. Maybe my clothes offended him. The truck definitely did.”
Charlie frowns. “Maybe, Bells. Heard them kids are all real smart, play instruments an’ the like. Set for an Ivy League college kinda kids – never been nothing except polite. But Dr. Cullen’s a brilliant surgeon and he’s an’ asset to the community. He could make ten times the salary he gets here somewhere else.”
Bella frowns back. It’s the most Charlie’s ever said to her at once, and she feels like they’re on opposing sides.
“Well, Edward wasn’t polite to me,” she says, feeling defensive.
Her dad’s dark brow smooths out slightly, and he dips his chin in what seems a concession. “‘Course, I don’t go school with ‘em, so you’d know better than me.”
Bella hums, appeased, and meanders over to the fridge to scan the meagre contents. “Gotta get out to the store, Dad. Think I can scrounge up steak and potatoes tonight though?”
“I love having you home,” Charlie answers in way of agreement.
He pushes off the counter and heads for the stairs without awaiting a response. She already knows that he’ll shower and then park himself in front of the TV. She likes the simplicity of Charlie and his routine. In that way, they’re very qualified to live together.
Renée is more erratic and spontaneous; half the time Bella came home from school, she didn’t know where her mother had been, was, and-or where she was going.
“I’m teaching you how to cook soon!” She shouts after him.
Craning her neck around the wall, she briefly sees Charlie’s hand flapping in her direction before he’s out of sight.
Setting to work, she gathers her various ingredients. She’s in the middle of peeling potatoes when the phone line rings.
Quickly drying her hands, she answers it just before it cuts out. “Hello?”
“Bella! Hey! It’s Jacob! Erm, Jacob Black.”
“Oh.” She tilts her head, trapping the phone between her ear and shoulder, wringing the dish towel between her palms. “Hey, Jacob.”
She saw Jacob briefly on Saturday, her second day in Forks, when he came with Billy, his dad, to drop off her truck, a homecoming present from Charlie. Worked on it himself, he said. Very smiley and almost pretty. She’s never envied a boy's hair so much. Long, dark silky spill over his shoulders and framing his high cheekbones. She kind of envies those, too.
A warm laugh slips through the receiver. “You can call me Jake; you used to when we were little.”
“Yeah.” Bella laughs back, faintly recalling two half-naked toddlers messing in mud. “I remember. Did you want Charlie?”
“Er – actually, I was kinda hoping to talk to you.”
“Oh,” Bella repeats dumbly.
She slings the cloth over her shoulder and grabs the phone again, straightening up.
“Yeah.” Jacob laughs nervously, and she almost pictures him scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Well, look, I know Charlie’s coming down to the Rez on Friday an’ I thought… I dunno, I could show you around? Head to First Beach, maybe?”
Bella tries to recall any kind of desire to be on a wet, cold beach, so bleakly different from the man-made lakes and reservoirs she knew in Phoenix. Every couple of months, she could wheedle her way into getting Renée to take her to Lake Pleasant, nestled in the Sonoran Desert, a good forty-five minutes north of Phoenix.
She recalls it in its full glory, the memory alone soaking her in phantom warmth. A shimmering oasis of deep blue water, hugged by rolling desert hills, rocky outcrops, and towering saguaros. Sunny for three hundred days out of the year, Lake Pleasant is basically paradise for Bella and any fellow sun-lover.
The light glints off the water like shards of glass – that’s her favourite part. Despite the rocky edges, there are scattered sand and pebble beaches where she sprawls out under the sun. The water is always warm too; an embrace when she goes in it – a stark contrast to what she faintly remembers La Push’s frigid ocean to be like.
The air’s always dry and earthy, tinged with desert brush and sun-warmed rock. Speedboats, occasional splashes of jumping fish, and kids laughing is the consistent soundtrack. The sky stretches forever, and the world feels vast and open. She can recollect La Push being completely different. More like a grey sky, wet, empty sand devoid of people, and endless mist.
Jacob fills in her reluctant silence, voice careful and slow. “Or… I mean, we could hang out in the garage. I’m actually building up my Volkswagen Rabbit. If- if you’re into cars an’ stuff?” The end rises hopefully, hesitantly.
Bella’s nowhere near into cars an’ stuff, but she doesn’t particularly have friends here, and she likes the idea of hanging out with smiley Jacob. Especially after the snobbery she seems to have been on the receiving end of today with Edward Cullen.
“Beach sounds good.”
It doesn’t really sound that good, but it seems the lesser of two evils.
“Really? Awesome! Me an’ my friends, we make a bonfire on the night an’ talk about the old stories. You know, the legends?”
“I kinda remember those,” Bella adds, voice now infected with interest. She’s always enjoyed learning new things. “I er- actually used to love the way your dad would tell them.”
Jacob laughs, and it’s rich, full of bountiful warmth. “Yeah, me too, but I don’t tell them half bad myself.”
“That right?” She smiles and then eyes the sink of half-peeled potatoes again. “Friday, then.”
“Friday!” He repeats, jubilantly.
“Friday,” she confirms once more, a smile on her face she can’t shake. “Bye… Jake.”
“Bye, Bella.”
“You know,” she adds quickly, cheeks heating. There’s a rustle, like Jacob’s brought the phone back to his ear. “You can call me Bells; you used to when we were little.”
“Yeah, I remember.” A smile imprints the words as if his teeth are mangling them. “Bye, Bells.”
Bella’s next two days at school are uneventful. She gets used to the routine of her classes, and can recognise, if not name, almost all the students in school. In gym class, the kids learn not to pass her the ball, recognising her clumsiness.
They’re also sans Snobby Cullen, and she finds herself relieved by his empty seat in Biology. She didn’t grow up with money, and she’s never known how to be around those who have. It makes her uncomfortable – wealth, but even more so, those who revel in and flaunt it.
She’s not looking to make friends with Cullen any time soon, and so tension grips her limbs upon spying Edward on Thursday, back in his regular seat. She sits down stiffly, acting much the same way he did the first time they became aware of each other’s existence. What turns her anxiety radar all the way up is his suspiciously polite smile.
God, she thinks as she pulls out her books, am I about to be some school-wide joke among the popular kids?
It wouldn’t be the first time she’s been bullied for not having branded shoes. She feels a light sweat coat her forehead.
“Hello,” he proffers, voice quiet and eerily musical in tone.
She notices that his eyes aren’t black today. They’re an unnatural shade she can scarcely describe, like honey or amber. They’ve got to be contacts, which she finds both superficial and jarring.
His face is open and friendly, and she can’t help feeling like she’s watching a carefully curated play. No one has such a switch-up in response in three short days like this. Especially when two of those days were spent absent, something that eerily feels as if it’s connected to her.
It’s strange.
On guard and perspiring, Bella gingerly replies, “Hi.”
This also wouldn’t be the first time she’s fallen into a trap of niceness that turned out to be ridicule.
Hey, Bella! Cool bracelet!
T-thanks, my mom go -
Ha! I was joking, you saddo! Look, girls, she’s so desperate for friends she actually thought I liked that hideous thing!
Edward continues, “My name is Edward Cullen. I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last lesson."
Yeah, because you were too busy ignoring me in visible distaste.
“You must be Bella Swan.”
Bella narrows her eyes, the hairs raising on the back of her neck. “How do you know my name?”
“Everyone in town knows who you are,” he answers smoothly. “New people are the only real entertainment in Forks.”
Despite brushing off her suspicions, the jangle of her nerves doesn’t ease. She can’t find an answer for him and merely shrugs dismissively. He frowns lightly and throughout the class, makes numerous attempts to engage her in conversation.
Bella isn’t a talker at the best of times, and she feels wary about divulging information about herself. She keeps her answers short and bland. He continues, even asking why she moved to Forks, which she thinks is unbearably nosy.
He also seems to underestimate her intelligence, requesting to double-check the phases of mitosis in the onion root tip cells beneath their microscope, since they’re forced to work together. It irritates her. Immensely. What, because she’s middle-class, she can’t possibly be smart?
She wonders what Edward is even doing in a public school in the first place. His parents attempt to humble him, or integrate him into society?
They finish their labs first and are given a ridiculous golden onion for their efforts. At the end of class, out in the hall, Bella hands it over to Edward with as much of a smile as she can muster.
“You keep it.”
“Er-”
He takes it in hand and turns it around, examining it as if he’s never seen one before. Bella almost grimaces. She bets he’s never cooked a day in his life. Probably has hired help or something.
“Thanks.”
“Catch you later,” she tells him, already hurrying down the hallway.
Bella has half an absurd belief that he’ll follow her, but when she glances over her shoulder, he’s still just standing in the middle of a crowd of moving students, holding the onion that matches his eyes.
Friday, Edward reverts to his silent stiffness in Biology. Bella is thrilled he seems to have got the message – she won’t be converted into some joke.
Not for him or his small group of foster siblings, as Jessica informed her at lunch on Tuesday, noting Edward’s absence as the introduction to do so. They all seem to watch Bella weirdly when she catches sight of them, like they did on her first day in the parking lot. She has the strangest notion that she’s been a topic of conversation in their car rides and household.
She rushes straight home at the end of the day for a shower and to change, sparing time to write her mom an email. She finds she’s eager to get on the road and head to the reservation. Jacob may be somewhat of a stranger, but next to Charlie, he and Billy are as close to familiarity as she has in Forks.
She’s also just excited to see it again, somewhere she hasn’t visited since childhood. Forks is a green alien planet compared to the blaze of Phoenix, but there’s always been a magical air on the Rez. In her youth, she would liken its surrounding trees and nature to what she imagined in The Secret Garden.
Charlie drives them in the cruiser down Highway 110, past towering evergreens and moss-covered trees, making everything look lush and green. There are perks to Olympic Peninsula’s alienation – it’s at least beautiful.
Occasionally, her scanning gaze is rewarded with glimpses of the Quillayute River, flashes of cobalt blue through the sitka spruces. Bella once became hyper-fixated on trees and plants, researching the only ones she’s ever known intimately. Phoenix gave her names such as mesquite – drought-resistant twisted branches, and palo verde – green, baked, hardened to the desert.
The trees bracketing Jacob and Billy’s house are tall, with reddish bark that peels in strips. She’s fairly certain they’re called western red cedars. It kind of reminds her of their skin, russet and beautiful. As the cruiser heads down their gravel driveway – pieces crunching under Charlie’s tires – she can smell the damp earth through the open passenger window.
There’s a small clearing where their little red house sits, and the aforementioned detached garage nestled further back. All of it is vaguely familiar, and she locates spots with her eyes where she and Jacob played as children. She faintly recalls his sisters, too, but not with much clarity. Just the same dark features.
Charlie pulls into park and releases his belt from the clip, then clears his throat. “Billy says you an’ Jake are headin’ down to the beach?”
Bella unclips her belt with a nod. “Yeah, he said he and his friends wanna tell me the stories.”
Charlie smiles, scrubbing a hand over his moustache and mouth, briefly covering it. “You always did like those.”
Bella hesitates, sensing something unspoken. “That’s okay, right? Me hanging out with Jacob?”
“What?” Charlie frowns and drops his hand. “Yeah, no.” He raises his hand again to wave it dismissively. “It’s fine. Have fun. Be you know, friendly. Make friends.”
She hides a smile, charmed by his desire for her to integrate back into town. “Thanks, Dad.”
They both exit the car together, and before they even reach the front door, Jacob is opening it. He’s wearing a grey, thermal Henley, fitted jeans, and beat-up sneakers. It’s similar to her look, from the slim pickings of her Phoenix winter wardrobe – Bella and her mom had to pool their resources to supplement it.
She’s struck with those high cheekbones of Jacob’s, and that silky waterfall of hair again – envy mostly, but appreciation too.
Growing up playing on the Rez may have given her a bit of a complex. Their hair was always more luscious. Their eyes are more mysterious than her flat, chocolate pools. Everyone here has gorgeous copper skin, which made – and still makes – her feel obscenely pale in comparison.
Jacob is also way taller than any fifteen-year-old has the right to be, transitioning him into something opposing in his tiny doorway. Being only a measly five-four herself, Bella feels minuscule as she approaches him.
As she does, her gaze catches on something above the door – something Jacob’s large body instinctively makes room for as if he always has. Tucked into the wooden beam are small bundles – one of braided grass, another a knot of cedar branches tied with red thread, and a feather, pale and soft like it had once belonged to an owl.
They don’t seem like decorations. They seem too intentional for that. The way they hang – weathered, quiet, and steady – feels like something sacred. The closer she gets, the more she can smell the faint earth and smoke of the cedar. The feather stirs in the breeze like it’s breathing.
“Hey, Charlie. Bells,” Jacob interrupts her reverie.
“Hey,” she and Charlie grunt back in unison.
Jacob hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Billy’s inside, Chief. I’m gonna take Bella down to First Beach. Quil an’ Embry are waiting for us.”
“Quil an’ Embry?” Bella repeats, eyes finally dragged from the feather, as Charlie warns, “Be careful, you two.”
“Course, Charlie.”
“Yeah, Dad.”
Charlie grunts and heads inside. Bella hears Billy shouting a greeting from within before Jacob pulls the front door closed. Before he turns away, his fingers brush across all three hangings, the way someone might flick a wind chime or light a candle – no ceremony, just instinct. The feather dances when his fingers fall away.
“Quil an’ Embry?” She tries again, following Jacob’s lead. “Your friends?”
Jacob’s tall frame falls in at her side, his hands tucked into his pockets, and his elbow brushing her arm. He takes her through more western red cedars, their trunks dark with moisture and moss creeping up their bases. The floor is covered with thick ferns, patches of moss, and fallen logs that are half-decayed and spongy beneath her sneakers.
“Yeah. Don’t worry, they’re cool.”
“I’m not worried,” she murmurs, swerving around a mud patch.
He laughs and nudges an elbow into her. “Been meaning to ask: how’s school with the pale faces?”
She dredges up the image of Edward Cullen again, puzzle pieces that don’t fit: their tense first meeting, his intimate questions yesterday, and his regained silence today. As well as Mike Newton’s fixed blue gaze on her mouth at lunch.
“Weird,” she admits. “Being the new kid kinda sucks.”
“Wouldn’t know,” Jacob replies cheerfully. “Small community ‘round here. Grew up with most of my classmates.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
He laughs, something he seems to do often. She smiles at the timbre of it.
“Sucks you didn’t grow up on the Rez,” Jacob replies thoughtfully, slowing his stride to match hers. “Quileute language, history, an’ traditions get taught to us in school. You were always into that.”
“I like learning,” she mutters, somewhat defensively.
The truth is, the Rez always seemed richer than her split childhood between two households. A stable community of people who loved and helped each other. Children who grew up together, magic in the atmosphere. Old stories like the Raven who stole the sun, moon, and stars from the Sky Chief, who kept them locked away in beautifully carved boxes.
There was always a sense of power to Jacob and the Quileute people, even at the tender age she was when she was privy to it.
“I know,” Jacob eventually hums. “That’s what I always liked about you. Real brainy type.”
Bella thrills a little at the compliment. She’s never felt like much of a pretty girl, and so accolades about her appearance tend towards discomfort more than anything. She’s smart, though; she can grant herself that. Advanced classes in Phoenix, for example, and now Forks, too. There was never much else to do between running after her hair-brained mom than focus on studies.
“Speaking of,” she starts, “what are those things hanging above your front door?”
“Protection,” he answers simply. “And respect. Telling the land, we see and honour it.”
Bella’s not sure how to respond, mulling this information over. The two of them seem to fall into a natural silence while she does. She’s comfortable in it and Jacob’s presence at her side, large and warm. She’s also enjoying the walk and its scenery; she’s certain he seems to instinctively know that.
It’s a slightly damp walk, from the near-constant moisture in the air. Worn dirt trails weave between the trees, at intervals transforming into wooden plank bridges over creeks or marshy areas. At nearly every turn, there are muddy patches and small puddles. Jacob’s large hand touches her elbow at these points, gently steering her.
She always throws him a grateful smile; sure, he remembers her clumsiness. He grins broadly back every time.
At one point, he guides her around what looks to be yet another mossy patch, but cautions, “That’s a sleeping place. You don’t step there.”
The air smells like salt, pine, and wet earth, cleansing in her lungs. The closer they get to the beach, the more she can hear the crash of waves and the occasional cry of seagulls. The trees begin to thin out, and the salty sea breeze gets stronger, tussling her hair. The ground turns to pebbles, driftwood, and damp sand.
The beach itself is rocky and wild, lined with massive driftwood logs. There are only two other occupants on the sand, crouched around a small fire.
Jacob redundantly points them out. “There’s Quil an’ Embry.”
Bella feels a slight tightening of nerves in her stomach at the prospect of meeting new people, but powers on at Jake’s side. They kick up sand on their way over.
The two other boys are opposites of each other. One tall, gangly with a sharp jaw. The other, stocky and muscular with a round face. They both have warm brown skin and long, dark hair like Jacob’s. They straighten up as Bella and Jacob approach.
Jacob makes the introductions. “Bella Swan, Quil Ateara.” He waves a hand at the round-faced guy. “An’ Embry Call.” Another wave of his hand at the lanky one.
She lifts a hand out of her pocket meekly. “Hey.”
Embry gives a slightly more reserved smile in comparison to Quil’s broad grin.
Quil is the first to speak. “So, you’re the famous Bella Swan, huh?”
Bella blinks, still feeling nervous. “Famous?”
Embry rolls his eyes at Quil before looking at her. “Jake never shuts up about you.”
She flushes. She’s only been back a week. How much could he have even said?
Jake groans, “ignore them.”
Quil chuckles and moves back toward the fire. “You guys gonna sit or what?”
Bella hesitates, scanning her options, then decides to settle onto a driftwood log. Jacob sits next to her. Quil and Embry sit to their right on their own log. The fire crackles, and auburn embers float into the darkening sky. The salty air is thick with burning wood, and the warmth licks at her face. Conversation is light for a while, teasing between the three boys.
She briefly wonders what she must look like sitting with three fifteen-year-old guys. At least, she assumes the other two are Jacob’s age.
“So, Bella,” Quil pipes up after a while, stretching out his legs in the sand. “You like the stories, huh?”
“Erm.” She stiffens a little, feeling put on the spot. “Yeah…”
Embry glances at Jacob and not so subtly whispers, “She’s not gonna run off screaming, is she?”
Jacob smirks, knocking shoulders with her playfully and loudly replying, “nah. Bella’s not easily scared.”
It feels like a glowing recommendation, considering she feels that she is, in fact, easily scared. She’s never been all that great at looking at mannequins or porcelain dolls, for instance. Their stillness freaks her out. Along with public speaking, but that’s a whole other can of worms.
Quil inserts himself back into the conversation. “You ever hear the story of the Cold Ones?”
She shakes her head and finds herself leaning into Jacob’s side. Just the mention of something cold when she’s sitting next to someone nicely toasty sinks like a rock in her gut.
“Our tribe’s oldest enemy,” Quil goes on, straightening his shoulders. “But the Cold Ones are only part of a bigger story.”
Jacob sighs as if put out, but doesn’t interrupt. He presses his arm tight to hers, so they’re squished together, despite the ample room on the log. Embry takes over here as if he and Quil are a practised storytelling team. She wonders if they have younger siblings they deliver this to with animated voices and expressions.
“Long time ago, before the world was as it is now, the Quileute people weren’t born humans. They were wolves.”
Bella arches an eyebrow at Embry’s grin, but otherwise says nothing.
“They lived as a pack and followed the laws of the land. But one day, Q’wati, the Transformer, walked among them.”
Quil tosses another piece of relatively dry driftwood into the fire from the pile at his feet, the flames eating it and snapping higher in response.
“I remember him,” Bella breathes, turning to look at Jacob.
The flames wash him in orange and cherry hues that make him look otherworldly. She struggles to remember that he’s only fifteen like this.
Jake nods at her, holding her eye contact unflinchingly, and takes his turn with the story. “You remember he had great power, then, and that he could change shapes an’ make paths. With a touch of his hand, he lifted the wolves onto two legs, gave them voices to speak, hands to build, and knowledge to protect their land.”
Jake holds her eyes throughout this retelling, stirring her stomach in something not altogether unpleasant.
“But,” Quil now interjects, snapping their gaze from each other. “Q’wati warned them, ‘though you walk as men, the wolf is still inside you. Should danger come, should your people be threatened, the wolf will wake again. You will run as you once did, hunt as you once did, and no enemy will stand against you.’”
“The wolf who breaks the pact with the land forgets his own name,” Jacob whispers, his lips just about brushing the shell of her ear.
When Bella full body shivers in response, Jacob boldly slings his arms over her shoulders. She hopes the fire covers her intense blush.
“For generations, people lived in peace. The shapeshifters were chosen by the spirits of the land to maintain balance between man, beast, and spirit. It was their original sacred duty. But there were creatures who threatened that balance. They were cold things, pale as the dead, with eyes that burned like fire. They were the dlam’iyax – the Cold Ones. They had no love for the land, no honour in their hearts. They only fed, only took, never slept or died; never gave back. That’s not life, it’s theft.”
Bella leans a little out of Jacob’s embrace, enthralled by the story and the atmosphere. The fire pops and crackles, sufficing her in comfort.
“Fed on what?”
Jacob answers, his breath sending tingles across her scalp, “blood.”
She leans away a little more to query Quil and Embry, “like vampires?”
Jacob nods, and Quil pokes at the fire, encouraging golden sparks to go flying.
He picks his story back up. “The strongest among the tribe, those with the truest hearts and wildest spirits, felt their blood burn in the presence of the Cold Ones. The wolf woke inside them, just as Q’wati had said, an’ they became warriors once more. Only now, they weren’t fully man or fully beast – they were both. They drove the dlam’iyax away, swearing to protect the land, their people, and all who walked under the sky.”
With Quil trailing off, Embry tacks on, smirking, “Some say the wolves still watch over the land, waiting in the bodies of men. We’ve been raised to listen to the wind, sea, and earth itself. And when the Cold Ones return, so will the guardians of the land.”
Bella finds she likes this story, tucking it into the space of her favourites alongside the Raven stories of her youth. She likes sitting in the warm embrace of the fire with three fifteen-year-olds, and most surprisingly likes the dull, flat grey of First Beach surrounding them. She likes that it feels both new and familiar.
The overall effect is that after only a week, it makes her slightly more thrilled to be back in Forks.
Chapter Text
That night, Bella lies awake as rain pounds Charlie’s house, the firelight evening and its stories lingering. She tosses and thrashes beneath her rain-streaked windows, and dreams of Jacob whispering in her ear, the wolf who forgets the land forgets his name.
She runs barefoot through forests, avoiding moss patches – sleeping places. The trees are taller than any she’s ever seen – black silhouettes against a violet sky, their limbs creaking and whispering as if alive. The floor beneath her feet is damp and thick, clinging to her toes. She doesn’t know what she’s running from or toward – only that something is behind her.
There’s a mix of fear and curiosity beating in her breastbone, pounding in her temples.
She hears a low howl, far off and sorrowful. It echoes through the trees, and when she turns, a giant shadowed wolf stands at the edge of the forest. His eyes are amber, wide, and familiar. He doesn’t chase her but watches, as though waiting for her to remember something.
A tug in her lower stomach forms, yanking her toward him, but branches appear at her feet covered in thorns, ones that promise to tear the soles to shreds. Then a new sound – a whisper, Bella.
It’s right in her ear, setting her whirling to seek the source, but there’s no one there. She spins again, pirouetting like she used to in ballerina class as a child. She spins and spins and spins – and wakes up.
Saturday morning is exhausting after her strange dream, and she suffers further through grocery shopping and a disappointing trip to the library. Sunday, she recovers, and Monday, the 24th of January mocks her by dawning with sheets of black ice slathered over the roads. The morning sun is weak when Bella heads out to her truck.
Charlie grumbles a few extra times about being careful. She is – extremely, and her usual fifteen-minute drive in wet conditions becomes thirty in icy ones. The cold bites her skin even with the heater rattling and the windows shut tight. When she pulls into the parking lot at Forks High, she parks the truck in her usual spot.
She’s cautious about all her movements getting out of the cab, unsteady at the best of times. She has to immediately shove her hands in her coat pockets, exhaling sharply at the bite in the air.
An assortment of students shuffles carefully across the ice, some laughing as they slip. Others grimace and white-knuckle friends' sleeves in their glove-bound fingers. Bella adjusts her bag on her shoulder, turning towards the school. She spies Edward and his siblings between their two cars.
In the distance and growing steadily nearer, there’s a screech of tires.
Bella whips her head around in time to see Tyler Crowley’s van skidding toward her. The world shrinks to a singular moment of her hammering pulse and impending death. The metal blur of the van spins in a block of indeterminable colour, and a sheer helplessness strikes her, knowing she can’t move fast enough.
There’s a flash of pale, the sharp snap of impact, and the crunch of metal bending against something impossibly solid. Bella hits the ground, the breath knocked from her lungs violently. For a brief second, there’s only the sound of her own ragged breathing. Then the van groans as it settles, and the icy silence is breached by a swarm of panicked voices.
Edward Cullen is crouched over her.
Her heart pounds and she recoils from his nearness, taken by surprise. He’s too close, yet she never felt him approach. No heat, no ragged breath like hers – just silence. Something cold twists through her stomach as she looks at him, eyes wide. There’s no way. Absolutely no way he reached her in time.
No way he stopped the van with his bare hands. Because that seems to be what happened – there’s a deep dent in the side of Tyler’s van, exactly where his arm is. He drops his hand quickly, narrowing his eyes at her as if this is somehow her fault. Bella struggles to sit up, mind racing. Edward grabs her wrist – too fast, too smooth – with icy fingers.
She yanks her arm free on instinct, tense. Despite the cold, she’s sweating, damp at her pits.
Ignoring her reaction, his voice is calm and controlled. “Are you okay?”
“How did you do that? You were - you were all the way by your car!”
There’s a flicker across Edward’s expression. A crack in a perfect mask. Then he’s giving her a lopsided grin that looks all shades of wrong on his usually stoic face.
“Lucky timing.”
Bella stares at him in disbelief. “No. That’s not -"
“You’re in shock.”
She scowls. “I’m not -"
“You hit your head,” he cuts her off.
“Stop it,” she hisses.
She’s not quite sure what she’s demanding of him. Stop interrupting her. Stop telling her how she feels, what she’s experienced. Stop lying to her face. Because that’s what it all feels like, even if that isn’t exactly logical.
Sirens wail in the distance. Edward stands without answering her. Her hands tremble, but Bella forces herself upright. Her legs shake once she’s on her feet, her breath short and sharp.
Tyler is still in his van, wide-eyed and mouthing soundless apologies through the cracked glass of the windscreen. He seems more injured than her: blood streaks down his temple. Around them, students whisper and chatter excitedly.
Bella flushes, hating to be at the center of such pandemonium. The whispers aren’t helped any by Edward walking away as if nothing monumental has happened. Watching him go, and replaying the last few weird minutes, she can’t help feeling that something is deeply wrong with Edward Cullen.
“Run over on your second week, huh? Impressive.”
“Oh, shut up.” Bella rolls her eyes at the dark panelled kitchen wall, the receiver tight in her hand. “It’s not like I asked for it to be me.”
“Yeah, well, who else was it gonna be?”
She grimaces at the bright yellow cabinets. Her mom had painted them eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring sunshine into the house.
“Touché.”
Jacob snickers on the other end. “Charlie says you were being weird in the hospital. Thinks you’ve got a concussion.”
She presses her lips together, eyes now burning a hole into the old white linoleum floor. She was being weird in the hospital. But that’s only because Carlisle Cullen (the doctor caring for her and also Edward’s foster father) was as evasive as his son. He was polite, professional, and empathetic, as all doctors should be, and yet…
Edward was nowhere in sight, of course, no reason to be there, and Charlie was beyond embarrassing, threatening to revoke Tyler’s driving licence.
It’s been both a weird and mortifying day.
Charlie insisted they both take the afternoon off when she was discharged so he could keep an eye on her. He continues to do so now, eyeballing her phone call with Jacob from the old square oak table with its three mismatching chairs, cup of coffee in hand, and newspaper spread out before him.
“So does my mom,” she eventually answers. “I just spent an hour convincing her I’m fine.”
A total lie. She’s not fine, she’s obsessively replaying Edward’s strange rescue attempt. But physically – bar the tender tail bone and overall sheen of embarrassment at the public ordeal – she’s fine.
A pause crackles between them, static humming on the line. Bella stares at the off-white ceiling to avoid Charlie’s inquisitive gaze. He clears his throat, turning a page until it audibly rustles.
Jacob hums. “And are you? Fine?”
“Little tired,” Bella admits on a sigh. “Long day of nearly dying.”
“Not nearly.” His voice is smug. “You totally should have.”
“Thanks, Jake.”
“Seriously, Bells,” he continues, more serious now. “Charlie said the van almost crushed you. Like, not-walking-away crushed you. Said all the other kids told the cops there wasn’t time for anyone to get to you. Apart from that Cullen guy, apparently.”
Bella stills. A slow, creeping unease trickles through her. Charlie said that? That there wasn’t time? She glances at her dad curiously, but he’s now attempting subtlety and avidly scanning his paper.
“Apparently,” she repeats, mouth dry.
“Lucky you, huh? Which one was it?”
“Edward.”
Jacob makes a hybrid noise of thoughtful discontent. “Huh.”
She shifts on her feet. “What?”
“I dunno. Nothing.”
She presses. “No, what?”
“Just… I dunno, I don’t see them all that much, the Cullen’s. Not at school or the Rez, obviously.”
She’s not sure why the obviously part. People from Forks visit the reservation all the time.
“They keep to themselves,” Jacob tacks on. “Real snobby types, I think.”
Bella frowns. “I noticed.”
Charlie sniffs, clearly done pretending not to eavesdrop. “Noticed what?”
“That the Cullen’s don’t talk to people much,” she supplies, watching him carefully.
Charlie shrugs. “They’re good enough kids. Never had to haul them in like your friend Tyler.” His tone is final, like that should be enough.
Bella doesn’t argue, but something unsettled lingers at the back of her mind. She feels like she could say all her disquieting thoughts to Jacob, just not with Charlie listening so intently. Something about all this doesn’t sit right. Maybe she’s overthinking, but… maybe Jacob would have something to say.
Or be a distraction, at least. There aren't many of those kicking around.
“Hey, Jake?”
“Yeah?”
Bella looks down at the faint red mark on her wrist from Edward’s grip. “Did you wanna hang out again soon?”
Both Charlie and Jacob make surprised, pleased noises in the back of their throat. It’s kind of eerie how well they match each other.
“So, what’re you saying, Bells? That Cullen is super-fast and super-strong?”
“Well, when you put it like that,” she grumbles petulantly. “I just – Jake, there’s just no way he got to me as fast as he did. You shoulda seen the dent he left in Tyler’s truck. I swear, it wasn’t natural.”
Jacob squints at her, both of them sitting in his slightly cool garage. It smells like motor oil and damp metal, the kind of scent that clings to everything in the garage, even Jacob. She fully expects the, you hit your head, response, and the, are you feeling okay? follow up.
She’s surprised when he nods slowly, disturbing his hair so that it slithers down his shoulder. “Okay. So what? Did you Google it or something? What else you got to go on about this Cullen guy?”
Bella blinks at him dumbly in sheer surprise and relief. She knows she’s not altogether making sense, but Jacob’s willingness to hash it out with her fills her with gratitude. She overflows with it so much that she has to physically battle herself from hugging him in sheer delight.
Gaining her senses, she rushes to tell him all the information she’s gleaned about Edward so far. His weird moods, silences, disappearance from school, staring – including his siblings – and abrupt shift in personality. His gaslighting at the truck. Jacob pulls a displeased expression at that, which makes Bella feel viciously vindicated.
“So, he’s an asshole,” Jacob summarises.
“Huge asshole,” Bella agrees. “But also… I dunno, more than that. Creepier.”
Jacob nods again, listening intently and seeming to turn over this new bout of information.
“Well, Bells,” he eventually says, slowly and holding her eye. “I’ve only really got my own legends to go off. And he kinda sounds like…”
“A Cold One.”
She laughs nervously after she says it and surreptitiously darts her eyes around the garage as if she’s about to be dragged to a padded cell.
Jacob’s Rabbit sits in the middle of the room like a half-finished thought. Hood popped open, revealing a tangle of wires. It’s rusted and red, and the driver's seat is missing; yanked out and set against the wall. Tools and spare parts litter the floor, an organised chaos that only Jacob seems to understand.
“But…” Bella goes on, after chewing at her lip. “I mean, you believe your stories, right?”
Jacob tilts his hand from side to side in a so-so gesture. “I guess… well, most of them, yeah. They’re my culture; my heritage.”
She cracks a smile and nudges him. “So, you’re a werewolf then?”
He laughs, nudging her back. “If I am, then the wolf is gonna burst right out next to Cullen.” His voice softens, his eyes hooding. “You know, to protect you.”
She smiles softly, cheeks growing hot. Sitting as they are, messing around, the idea of myths, legends, vampires, and werewolves feels worlds away and silly.
She sighs eventually and scrubs her hand through her hair. “Guess I was just in shock or something.”
“Maybe,” Jacob agrees readily. “But he does sound like a creep. I’d stay away from him, Bells.”
“Don’t worry.” She grimaces. “I plan to.”
Jacob nudges her again. She glances down, pulling back from her zoning out to find him offering a smooth, long feather – dark brown streaked with cream.
“Here. It’s a hawk. They nest up in the trees past First Beach. Thought you could use it after nearly dying an all.”
She laughs but takes it reverently, stroking it with the tip of her finger.
“Thanks, Jake.”
“My grandpa always said they watch over you when you’re lost.”
Bella smiles, cheeks flushing. “So, I’m lost now?”
Jacob grins. “You ended up in the path of oncoming death. Thought it might help you find your way.”
That night, she has the dream again.
She runs barefoot, avoiding sleeping places. The trees are tall and whispering. The floor is damp and thick. She doesn’t know what she runs from or to, only that she’s being chased. There’s fear and curiosity, and a low howl, sorrowful, echoing. The giant shadowed wolf stands in its same place, with its wide amber eyes.
Not chasing, but watching; waiting.
The same tug in her lower stomach forms, and the same thorn-covered branches at her feet.
A whisper – Bella.
It’s right in her ear, setting her whirling to seek the source, but there’s no one there. She spins again, pirouetting like she used to in ballerina class as a child. Edward stands before her, half-shadow, half-silver light. His face is beautiful but distorted somehow – his eyes pitch black, his skin glowing like frost beneath moonlight.
He reaches for her, slowly, reverently – like a lover.
“I’m trying,” he whispers.
She steps back, scared of the light in his eyes, at the insane edge of it. His hand snatches air, nails extending into claws for just a blink before they’re gone. His eyes flicker – gold, then black, and then red.
She runs again, this time toward the wolf.
Branches tangle in her hair. Whispers in a language she doesn’t understand rise around her, voices speaking through the wind and tree bark. She’s surrounded by them; trapped.
A hawk feather flutters down from the sky.
The wolf steps forward and breaks into two – Jacob’s form stepping out of his own shadow. He’s older, taller, and wrapped in the scent of cedar. She cautiously reaches for him with shaking hands – and wakes up.
In the morning, she has to fight Charlie to be allowed to go to school. Which is ridiculous because he was happy to let her drive to Jacob’s yesterday evening, after a day of skipping out. Though admittedly, the bags under her eyes don’t serve her insistence that she feels fine.
The dynamic with Charlie is startingly different from Renée, who barely lets her have time off school short of being on death’s door. It’s strange to be treated like Charlie’s child – someone he has to protect and look after, when she’s always felt like the parent with her mom.
She almost wishes she had taken his advice and stayed home when she arrives at school, though. The atmosphere is heavy, she’s given an equal number of pitying glances and a bombardment of questions about Edward’s heroic rescue. Tyler follows her around, apologising endlessly. At least the pop quiz in English on Wuthering Heights is easy.
At lunch, Mike teases, “Does the whole hero thing do it for you, Bella? You got the hots for Cullen now?”
Bella scowls at her forkful of limp, dressing-soaked salad and then at him, in much the same way Jessica does. Truly, she doesn’t see him much, only Edward in that strange half-light of her dream beneath a violet sky.
“It wasn’t heroic,” she snaps, hating the way it makes her sound ungrateful. “It was just… adrenaline. It’s nothing to get worked up over.”
Mike gives her an odd look but otherwise drops it.
Adrenaline is one of the words from her computer screen. When she got back from the Black’s yesterday, she went straight to it. Jacob’s did you Google it or something? Bouncing around her skull.
Persevering through Charlie’s old dial-up connection to hit the internet was the most sanity-testing moment of living in Forks thus far. She looked up reaction times, strength limitations, and even car crash survival rates, trying to find logic in her intuition.
When that seemed to yield nothing, she turned to Quileute legends again, finding references to pale-skinned, blood-drinking creatures who avoid sunlight. Cold Ones. It was fascinating, but it didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. Nor did it help, and apparently gave her nightmares for her efforts.
Besides, Edward is in the sun every day. Albeit it’s a weak sun under a cloudy sky, but sun all the same.
At school, he completely avoids her, acting as if nothing is amiss. She doesn’t hasten to chase him down either, happy to have her own corner of space to analyse and understand. She doesn’t quite know what it is she’s trying to understand, but she knows she can’t accept his version of events or behaviour for what it is.
She sees Jacob again on Thursday evening, when he comes over with Billy for dinner and beers. Bella cooks the fish that Jacob hands to her. Thankfully, Charlie warns her prior to pause for Jacob and Billy to say, “thanks to the one that gave,” so she doesn’t dive right in and embarrass herself.
Her reward is Jacob’s glowing smile, and both his eager devouring of her meal, and sounds of approval.
By Friday, she’s decided to give it a rest with the whole Edward insanity. The hype of her brush with death is dying down, and the normalcy strives to make her feel absurd.
In Biology class, Edward ruins this new plan by speaking to her. “How are you doing, Bella?”
She startles, glancing up with her toothpick still pressing into the inside of her cheek, attempting to collect epithelial cells. Their lesson today is observing human cheek cells under a microscope, but Edward hasn’t begun. His toothpick sits untouched on the table, his golden eyes fixed on her instead.
She lowers her hand slowly, her fingers tightening around the wooden stick. “What?”
Continuing her work, she stains her slide blue with methylene to make her cells visible.
Edward’s gaze flickers to the slide she’s preparing, then back to her. “Are you-” He stops, reconsidering. “Do you still have a concussion?”
Her jaw tightens. She bristles at the implication that she ever had one in the first place. It’s a careful question, deliberate in its vagueness. It isn’t: Are you feeling better? Or even: Are you okay? It’s an inquiry that skirts around what he really wants to ask: Do you still remember what happened?
She chews over what to reply as she places her stick and slide under her microscope. She glances briefly at it, observing the results. Then, stepping back, she begins to draw the cell membrane, nucleus, and cytoplasm on her piece of paper.
“I never had one,” she responds eventually, keeping her voice cool.
Edward exhales sharply, something like amusement flashing across his face, but it’s gone too quickly to be catalogued.
He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to something just above a whisper. “That’s interesting. Carlisle seemed to think otherwise.”
Her fingers tense on her pencil. A prickle of unease traces down her spine. That feels like a threat. Carlisle seemed to think otherwise. Like there’s recorded evidence that she wasn’t thinking clearly. Like, there’s a version of events being built around her that she has no control over.
She glances over at him with a narrowed gaze, hoping he can see how unimpressed she is by that statement.
“I wasn’t concussed or confused, Edward.”
Edward’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s something heavy in the way he looks at her. Like he’s measuring her response, peeling it apart piece by piece.
Then, with a slow, unsettling smile, he finally picks up his toothpick. “Of course not,” he says smoothly. “My mistake.”
Despite picking up his toothpick, he does nothing with it. A hysterical thought bubbles into her head: why? Because your cells look different? And then another, when she glances back at her own. What would his cells look like under a microscope?
Deciding she’s being bat-shit insane, she ignores him and tunes back into Mr. Banner, who walks around the room, lecturing. She listens to him drone on about cheek cells constantly regenerating, leading into a discussion on cellular aging and DNA damage. All the while, Edward’s avid gaze burns into the side of her face.
Angela Weber, a tall girl with light brown hair and glasses, with who Bella’s begun to build a tentative friendship with (and grow to like), raises her hand.
Mr. Banner acknowledges her with a nod. “Yes, Miss Weber?”
“Sir, if something didn’t age on a cellular level, what would the cells look like?”
Edward shifts in her peripheral vision, and Bella stills, glancing up between the curtains of her loose hair.
Mr. Banner looks intrigued by Angela’s speculative question and seems thoughtful in his response. “An interesting hypothetical, Miss Weber. If someone or something didn’t age on a cellular level, their cells would theoretically continue to divide and replicate without the typical signs of wear and tear. Their telomere – the protective caps on the ends of chromosomes – wouldn’t shorten over time, which is one of the primary reasons for aging. So, their cells might look remarkably youthful, with no signs of damage or mutation, and they could potentially regenerate indefinitely. At least – in theory.”
He pauses, giving the class a moment to absorb the information before adding, “Of course, we don’t have any real examples of humans who stop aging completely, but it’s a fascinating concept that researchers are studying in fields like regenerative medicine and even cancer research. Imagine if that were possible…”
“Thank you, Sir.” Angela smiles shyly. “I was thinking about incorporating the idea into my Creative Writing.”
“Ah, for English?” Mr. Banner smiles. “You’ll have to send that along to me; I’d love to read it.”
Bella’s thoughts are barely keeping up with their remnants of conversation, and she misses Angela’s final response. The thoughts she’s having are downright stupid. Ridiculous. It doesn’t make sense. There’s no way – the intrusive image of Edward’s unshakable calm, his unnerving stillness, flickers in her mind. Her dream. Could he really be...?
Mr. Banner’s voice attempts to pull Bella back from her thoughts. She tries to focus on her slide, but her mind is too far away now. Telomeres not shortening... cells regenerating indefinitely... The words swirl in her head. She tries to push back at her crowding suspicions, dismissing them as crazy and impossible.
Something in Mr. Banner’s words lingers, though, unshakable. She remembers what she read about the Cold Ones the night before – creatures that don’t age or die. She never sees Edward tired or rumpled or changed, apart from his psychotic changes in mood, and of course, his eye color, which is bizarre by itself.
The eerie beauty of his face, the musical voice, the incredibly pale skin, the fact that she’s never seen him eat at lunch, the strength, the speed. The thought prickles at the edges of her awareness, like a constant hum she’s been ignoring: Edward is a Cold One.
Bella’s heart skips a beat, and she swallows hard. This is absurd. Even so, she can’t resist side-eyeing Edward. For the first time all period, he’s not looking at her. He’s staring at his microscope, even though he hasn’t set up his slide. His posture is incredibly stiff, his hands folded in his lap as though he’s trying to appear as invisible as possible.
Tension radiates off him like an invisible wall.
Imagine if that were possible, Mr. Banner had said.
Glancing at Edward Cullen, she can’t help it – the thought creeps back in, like a shadow at the edge of her vision. What if it already is?
The bell rings. Edward finally moves, standing fluidly, his chair making no sound against the linoleum floor. His toothpick remains untouched on the table.
Bella stares at it as he walks away.
It’s a stupid thing to notice.
But for some reason, she can’t stop staring.
Chapter 3
Notes:
A lot of this fic was birthed from the fact that Charlie deserved better. I love writing scenes with him and fixing that mess.
Chapter Text
On Saturday, it rains. Naturally.
The steady patter on the tin roof of Jacob’s garage is comforting, despite the cool breeze shoving through the cracks. Bella sits on Jacob’s workbench while he works on the Rabbit. The smell of rain and damp earth mixes with the increasingly familiar scent of metal and oil.
The radio is playing softly in the background. Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones. They’ve been somewhat silent for a while, and Bella is meant to be working on her Spanish homework. Instead, she keeps gazing at Jacob’s hands, chewing the end of her pencil.
They’re stained with grease, and there’s a smudge of it on his cheek, too. She kind of wants to wipe it away. She zones out of it a little, picturing it, and when Jacob turns to look at her, she jerks, scrambling to pay attention to her workbook once more.
“You’re frowning, Bells. Spanish can’t be that bad.”
Bella huffs, chancing a glance at him. “I have to write five sentences using past-tense verbs.”
Jacob purses his lips, slick and pink. “Spanish ain’t exactly my forte, Swan. Ugh… Yo… dormí?”
She smirks. “‘I slept.’ Great start.”
Rolling his eyes, he scrubs his hands with a rag. “Okay. Um… Tú… comiste?”
“‘You ate.’” She taps the end of her chewed pencil against her lip. “Not bad.”
Jacob grins, following the movement of the pencil. “I totally remember Spanish. One of my mom’s friends spoke it.”
“Sure,” Bella agrees, playing down her amusement. “You’re practically fluent.”
“Hey.” He points at her with a faux frown. “I never said I was good at it. I just remember some bits. You want my help or not?”
Laughing, she sets her notebook and pencil aside. “Not. I’m done for the day.”
He mock-tuts. “If you’re not doing homework, then you’ve got no excuse to be sitting around.”
She gapes in faux indignation. “I’m… supervising! Making sure you don’t, like, chop off your fingers or something.”
Jake snorts. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m basically an engineer.”
It’s Bella’s turn to snort. “Okay, Jake.”
His grin widens, taking up his whole face and scrunching that grease stain. It strikes her that when she’s with Jacob, she feels totally at ease and normal. She forgets about the weirdness of Edward, the tension at school. In the garage, on the beach, things make sense. Jacob makes sense.
There’s a split second where she debates bringing the Edward nonsense up again. Particularly what felt like thinly veiled threats in Biology yesterday. But she doesn’t want to disturb the calm, comfortable bubble.
“Do you ever get tired of fixing the Rabbit?” She asks instead.
Jake rolls a shoulder. “Nope. I like knowing how things work.” He smirks. “Like you.”
She’s not sure if he means he likes to learn things in the same way she does, or if he’s explicitly referring to learning how Bella herself works.
Before she can figure it out, he goes on, changing the topic. “You ever think what it would’ve been like if you’d grown up here? Like, the whole time?”
Again, Bella’s not sure if he means Forks or La Push specifically, but it is something she’s mulled over. Mostly, when her mom has made her feel old and tired beyond her years, cleaning up Renée’s messes. She’s wondered how different life would look, living with Charlie.
“Yeah… sometimes.” She shrugs, watching as he rises and makes his way over to her. “Think we would have stayed friends?”
Jacob sits down beside her and nudges his knee into hers. “Obviously. I would’ve been the coolest kid you knew.”
“Oh, no doubt,” she says around a laugh.
Jacob watches her then, his grin fading into something softer. The moment stretches between them, something unspoken settling into the space.
Quietly, almost to himself, he murmurs, “I think we would’ve been close.”
Bella’s breath catches, and she’s not too sure why.
“Hey, kids.”
They both startle, and she’s surprised to find herself pulling away from Jacob, unaware she was leaning into him at all. Charlie stands in the garage doorway, getting wet in the spitting rain. His eyebrows are at his hairline, so she can only imagine what it is she and Jacob look like, squished together on the workbench.
Shooting to her feet, Bella brushes the creases from her jeans. The moment between her and Jacob slips through her fingers. She shakes the feeling off, forcing a smile at Charlie.
“Hey, Dad.” Her voice is higher than usual, producing a flush in her face.
“Come and get pizza,” Charlie instructs, cop-level scrutiny in his gaze.
“Pizza sounds good.”
Jacob stands as well, grin widening at Charlie. “How’s the rain treating you, Chief Swan?”
Charlie grunts, clearly unconvinced by their innocent act. “Fine. Get inside before you two catch a cold.”
He gives them one last, narrow-eyed glance before turning to leave, rainwater dripping off his jacket. She chances a glance at Jacob, and her tension eases at the sight of his wiggling eyebrows. Bella laughs – a genuine, carefree laugh that feels like release – despite herself, and they fall into line, heading towards his house.
As they hurry through the rain and slick grass, Bella can’t help feeling as if something is shifting between them. It’s not the brief awkwardness that can crop up with Charlie, or the guarded distance growing between her and Edward. It’s something simpler, more natural, and maybe even a little bit… warmer.
“You’ll come dress shopping with us, won’t you, Bella?”
She glances up from her sentence in Wuthering Heights (terror made me cruel) at Angela’s pleading eyes behind her glasses. The Wednesday sun is having a rare bright moment today, and they’re sitting out under it. Jessica doesn’t open her eyes where she’s stretched back on the grass, sunbathing.
Bella fidgets on her sprawled jacket. She really hates shopping, but she’s also somewhat determined to make good friends.
“Erm…”
“Please?” Angela pouts slightly. “I know it’s not really your thing. But we’re going to Port Angeles, and we could have dinner after. It’ll be fun.”
“Wait.” Jessica cracks an eye open to look at her. “Are you even going to prom, Bella?”
“No,” Bella admits, fiddling with the dog ear of her page.
Prom is at the end of May, and Bella has absolutely no desire to submit herself to that torture. Despite Renée’s begging persistence that she must obtain a prom photograph of her only child.
“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” Angela pipes up with hopeful inflection. “When you see the dresses.”
Bella laughs, trying to let her down gently. “I won’t, and even if I did, I’d probably, I dunno, wear a suit or something. I’m not really into wearing dresses.”
Jessica gapes at her as if she’s said something horrendously scandalous. Angela looks at her with assessing eyes, like the idea hadn’t even occurred to her, but she’s not opposed to it.
Uncomfortable under both looks, Bella mutters, “When are you going?”
Angela grins, sensing her win. “Friday after school.”
Sighing, she concedes, “Yeah, okay. I’m there.”
“You? Dress shopping?” Jacob asks incredulously over the line that evening. “I know I haven’t seen much of you since we were kids, but I’ve seen enough plaid shirts since you’ve been back. Bells, do you even own a dress?”
Their phone calls are becoming somewhat of a daily habit; one Bella finds herself looking forward to. She could give Jacob her cell phone number, but the idea of talking to him alone in her room feels wildly different from the openness of the kitchen.
“It’s not for me, dork. It’s for my friends. I’m not even going to prom.”
There’s a shuffle on the other end. “How come?”
“Er, why would I subject myself to that horror show?”
“The pictures? The wacky bacci? The punch?”
“The wacky bacci?” She chokes, lowering her voice so Charlie doesn’t overhear.
She throws a look at him in the family room to be safe, discovering him to be absorbed in the TV. Her eyes snag the small fireplace with its row of pictures. A wedding picture of Charlie and Renée in Las Vegas. Bella and her parents in the hospital when she was born. A procession of school pictures, up to last year.
Bella ducks her head into the receiver with a grimace, muttering, “Punch?”
“Yeah, you know, like spiked punch.”
“Jacob, you’re fifteen,” she whisper-hisses.
“Bella, I’m sixteen.”
“What? When?”
“January fourteenth, literally the day you came back to Forks.”
“Wow. Happy belated birthday?”
He laughs. “Thanks. I saw you the next day, with your truck, remember?”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “But that’s beside the point. Have you even had spiked punch? Or wacky bacci?”
“Duh. Quil brings it to most bonfires.”
“Alcohol and fire, great combo.”
He scoff-laughs. “Never said it was the punch, Bells. You’re really not going?”
Bella groans, letting the confession slide. “Not you too. You’re as bad as my mom. I’ll survive dodging this rite of passage, thanks.”
“Well… what’re you gonna do instead?”
“Nothing.”
“Lame.”
“Great talk, Jake.” She rolls her eyes at the oven timer, glaring and about to go off for dinner. “Hanging up now.”
Jacob chuckles. “Wait, wait. Let’s do something.”
She frowns. “Like what?”
“I dunno, hike?”
“Hike? You’re insane.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“Your definition of fun frightens me.”
“What, afraid you’ll bust an ankle?”
“Well, now that you mention it.”
“Bella,” he groans her name in exasperation, but the tenor of it shoots sharp and hot in her stomach. She fidgets on the spot. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“My hero,” she mutters dryly. “I’ll think about it.”
The timer on the oven goes off – the chicken enchiladas are done.
The smile in Jacob’s voice is evident. “Great.”
Friday morning breaks grey and damp, not exactly inciting enthusiasm for her shopping trip. She grimaces all the way down the stairs, eyes heavy from more dreams. All are some variation of the same one. Always running. Always the wolf splitting in two. Always Jacob, russet and stunning. Always Edward, ice and beautiful.
Bella pads into the kitchen with sleep clinging to her limbs. Her hoodie sleeves slip over her knuckles as she rubs at her eyes. The smell of cheap coffee grounds thickens the air. Charlie stands at the stove, flipping pancakes, which is about the only thing he knows how to cook decently.
Friday is pancake day in Charlie’s house, has been since she was a child. She’s never quite learned why. He’s dressed for work already, sans belt and boots. One socked foot taps out a beat she doesn’t have privy to.
“Morning,” he mutters, not looking up.
Bella makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. Her brain tries to supply her with every single thing that could get her out of shopping. Outside, the sky is the colour of dishwater and the rain streaks sideways against the windowpanes.
Charlie spares her a glance. “Sleep okay?”
She shrugs. “Weird dreams.”
“Rain does that,” Charlie grunts. “Been here my whole life and still does that.”
She watches steam rising from the pancakes. “You ever have dreams that feel… like they’re trying to tell you something?”
Charlie flips a pancake, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Once in a while. Usually about fishing. Or losing my keys.”
He chuckles to himself, and she’s not quick enough at faking it with him because his smile falls. He plates the stack of pancakes, places it before her, and then leans against the table.
Glancing up at him, Bella’s struck by how serious he looks. It’s easy to forget that Charlie is a cop sometimes; he seems too laid back. But she guesses the look she’s getting now is one many a rogue criminal has seen before cell bars slammed on their face.
“I've never really been into all that stuff, Bells. Dreams having meaning and whatnot. Your mom was though. Always talking about signs from the universe. You get it from her. You know how she gets.”
Nodding, she looks away. She does know. She’s been present for all her mother’s eras. The crystal and yoga one was particularly intense. Whenever she looked at her mom, entrenched in a new mania, she felt embarrassed. And then shame at that embarrassment. Bella doesn’t exactly feel comforted by Charlie’s attempt to link them together with this.
“I’ll talk to her – give me something to say in my next email,” she acquiesces.
Mollified by this successful parenting venture, Charlie grabs syrup and his coffee. He places the syrup in the middle of the table and then sits across from her with a sigh. For a while, the only sounds are the rain and the scrape of forks against plates. Bella tries to eat as much as she can, but her stomach feels tight and strange.
“Remember I won’t be home until late,” she reminds him when she finally concedes and stands to empty her half-eaten plate.
Her dad half-narrows his eyes in that way where he’s suspicious but doesn’t want to seem menacing. “Jake again? In his garage?”
Bella blushes. “No, Angela and Jessica – shopping in Port Angeles. I told you the other night, remember? And the garage…”
Charlie raises his eyebrow, and she blushes harder, burning to the roots of her hair.
“Jacob showed me his car while I worked on my homework. He’s rebuilding it.”
Nodding slowly, he answers, “Rabbit, right?”
She blinks, taken aback by his standing down so quickly. “Erm – yeah.”
“Boy knows his engines.” Charlie sips his coffee, eyes distant. “He used to take apart lawnmowers just for fun. Billy said he figured out a clutch before he turned ten.”
The image comes to her, crystal clear and vivid like she was present to witness it. She turns to the sink, depositing her dish with a smile.
“Sounds about right.”
Charlie goes in for the kill, now that she’s lulled into supplication. “You like it out there?”
“Yeah,” she answers, at the same time he adds, “with Jake?”
Blood capillaries all but burst in her face, and she knows her dad sees it in all its terrible glory.
“It’s calm... La Push!” She clears her throat. “I meant. Mean. La Push is calm. It’s.... nice.”
“Nice,” he repeats in a drawl.
Bella smiles grimly, sweeping her eyes around. “I’m gonna be late. For school. Gotta go to school.”
“Uh-huh. Be careful in Port Angeles.”
“Will do!” She throws over her shoulder, having already shot out of the kitchen.
“Okay, seriously, Bella. Even without prom, you should still get something cute,” Jessica chirps.
Bella glances away from her people watching out of the small bay window. They’re on their fifth store, and her stomach is grumbling, which doesn’t put her in a fabulous mood. Angela found her dress three stores ago, but Jessica is being unbearably picky. The constant negative refrain is also not putting Bella in a fabulous mood.
My arms are too fat in this.
This colour washes me out.
Ugh, my ass deserves better than this one.
“I don’t need anything,” she dismisses and then frowns. “Well, I do need some kinda gift for my mom. I’m going to see her during spring break.”
“That’ll be nice.”
Angela smiles at Bella from behind Jess, holding their friend’s brunette hair up so she can observe her neck. Apparently, that’s something you do when shopping for prom dresses.
“Your mom’s not in Phoenix anymore, right?”
Bella smiles lightly. She likes that Angela listens and attempts to retain information about her friends. She’s the only one who has consistently checked in on both Bella’s and Tyler’s well-being since the parking lot incident.
“No, she’s in Jacksonville now,” Bella confirms.
Jessica sighs, shimmying out of Angela’s hold. “So much sun, I’m jealous. Thanks, Ang.”
“Do you have any idea what you want to get her?” Angela queries. “We might need to split up. Think everything will be closing soon.”
She chews her lip, pondering the merits of Angela’s suggestion while she observes the darkening sky.
Finally, “yeah, okay. Meet you guys at the food place in twenty? Reservations still for six, right?”
“Right,” Jessica confirms to Angela’s nod.
She gathers her stuff and slips out into the cool evening. Most of the stores are closing now, and the amber streetlights are powering on. Bella scans her eyes for something specific. Renée has a collection of vinyls that she adores, and it’s Bella’s go-to gift. Thankfully, slipping from East 1st Street to the mall on West 1st Street takes little more than a handful of minutes.
Inside the record store, it’s dimly lit, warm, and ambient. Soft music plays, though it’s a song she doesn’t know. There’s a girl behind the counter. She has a sloppy blonde ponytail and raccoon eyes, looking half dead and ready to end her shift. She scowls at Bella’s entrance, cutting it close to the end of business hours.
Bella grimaces in apology and hurries to scan the shelves. She scarcely pays attention to her purchase, rushing through the whole thing under pressure. The girl rings her up with an even deeper scowl and follows her to the door, pointedly locking it behind Bella and flipping the closed sign.
The other stores in the mall gape black and empty as she passes them, and at the entrance, a group of guys linger. An unease sweeps through her, crawling heat in her cheeks. She hurries past them, looking dead ahead.
“Hey, gorgeous,” one of them hollers.
The words drip with an uncomfortable, slimy kind of familiarity. She ignores it and pitches forward even faster, sneakers beating against the path.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!”
Bella’s stomach flips over at the voice, much closer than it should be. She throws a look over her shoulder and finds, with dread, that the three guys have followed her. She turns her head forward, heart in her throat, and then jumps clear out of her skin. She’s just run smack-bang into Edward Cullen. In the middle of Port Angeles. Where she is. And he’s cold.
His expression is tight, and he acknowledges her in a low, smooth voice. “Bella.”
For half a second, she’s in the real world and the forest of her dreams. Edward standing cold and beautiful, whispering her name. But there’s no wolf when she turns. Only the boys at her back, who have frozen, and Edward at her front, who seems to just be frozen in general.
She can’t decide what feels more threatening. The hairs on the back of her neck are raised, and her pulse is hammering.
“Are these men bothering you?” Edward asks loudly.
That seems to be enough of a threat. Edward’s good at those. The men at her back scarper with mutters of things she can’t hear, but Edward sneers after them like he can. With them no longer at her back, she puts more space between her and Edward at her front.
“How are you here?” Bella snaps, still unsettled and cagey.
“I drove,” he answers plainly.
She feels ridiculous at the comment, so she snipes, “I didn’t ask for your help.”
Edward watches the retreating figures, his jaw tight. He doesn’t answer her at first, just stares after them as if to ensure they really are leaving.
Then, almost absent-mindedly – if not for the clenched teeth – he asks, “Why are you here, putting yourself in danger, Bella? You’re not even going to prom.”
Bella’s stomach drops as if she’s fallen multiple stories. Ice water douses her from head to toe.
“How the hell do you know that?” She demands, taking another large step back. “How do you know why I’m even here?”
It’s dismaying to realise they’re mostly alone. She would kill to have Charlie right now, or Jake. Even Angela and Jessica swinging around the corner.
Edward seems to falter before tersely stating, “Never mind.”
“No, not never mind. What - what are you doing here?”
She wants to add: Are you following me? But that seems too preposterous even in the current circumstances.
He doesn’t shift or fidget like she expects, staring at her plainly. “I’m… struggling, Bella.”
“To…?” She prompts, hackles still raised.
“To stay away.”
She’s in the forest of her dreams again, with Edward reaching for her like a lover. I’m trying.
Something icy crawls up every vertebra of her spine. A mixture of confusion and disbelief chokes her throat, rattling her skeleton so she falls even further back.
You are following me.
“Try harder,” she barks, not sure to what version of Edward she’s addressing.
Edward looks like he wants to say something else, but ultimately doesn’t.
Bella decides not to allow him any more room to talk and promptly swings past him, nearly tripping over her own feet. She finds Jessica and Angela at the restaurant, hassled and sickly, no longer craving any food. She sits stiffly at a booth in the diner, feeling like her skin is too tight.
Angela is sweet as always, but Jessica chatters. Conversation turns to boys, Angela is interested in Ben Cheney, and Jessica is fixated for some inexplicable reason on Mike. Bella is hyper-aware of the other diners. She constantly glances around at the merriness, watching the glugs of wine from tipped glasses in the dim lights. But she nods and hums where required.
The overhead lights feel too bright; the air too stifling. She forces down her food without tasting it, striving instead to settle her queasy stomach with substance.
“You okay, Bella?” Angela asks during a lull.
Bella forces a smile. “Tired.”
Jessica moves on to gossip, blissfully pulling the attention away. They pay and make the drive home in Jess’ old Mercedes, after what feels like eternity. The roads are dark and empty, the shadows stretching too long, and every pair of headlights makes her stomach tight. She feels hunted, replaying Edward’s words.
When she’s dropped at Charlie’s house, she catches her reflection saying bye to the girls. Pale face, too big eyes. She barely manages to say hello and goodbye to Charlie before she’s in her truck, heading to La Push before she even fully decides.
The idea of Jacob – his warmth, his easy laughter – becomes something like a lifeline in her guts.
Chapter Text
The owl feather above Billy’s door sways when he opens it. He seems surprised – no doubt due to the late hour – but his wrinkled face isn’t unkind.
“Bella? Everything okay?”
She suddenly feels ridiculous, and her cheeks burn against the cool night. What is she even doing here? She can’t explain the restless energy inside her. She only knows that Edward stood before her like in the dream, but unlike the dream, she didn’t see the wolf splitting into two – one of them Jacob, before she woke up.
How the hell does she explain that to anyone, least of all herself?
“Uh – sorry, Billy. I know it’s kinda late… I was just wondering if Jacob’s home.”
Billy’s expression shifts. Something she can’t place – amusement? Understanding?
“He’s not here.”
Deflation rises in her guts, and her shoulders slump visibly, despite herself.
A smirk graces Billy’s additional words – one Jacob inherited. “He’s down at First Beach with the boys.”
She desperately tries to swallow her need to fall through the earth.
“Right. Thanks, Billy. Sorry again.”
She hustles away from his door, nearly tripping in her haste. It’s essentially pitch-black heading to First Beach, and she’s sweating with adrenaline by the time she arrives on the sand. She hears them before she sees them. Jacob, Embry, and Quil are running in and out of the waves.
She shivers just watching them – she’s not sure how they can bear the frigid water. Observing them splashing each other, Bella feels like an invader. She’s truly lost it. She can’t just show up like this – at this time of the evening, no less. She turns, but like a string connecting them, Jacob turns at the same time.
“Bella!” He hollers.
She has no idea how he can see her so far from the water or even know it’s her, for that matter. But then again, she’s able to pinpoint him immediately among his friends, despite the dimness. There’s some moonlight and a fire the boys seem to have made, but even still, finding Jacob is instinctive.
There’s a low tug in her stomach, yanking her closer, and she stumbles over the sand, following her feet. The closer she gets, the more moonlight paints Jacob. He rises from the water, wading out and revealing a body that doesn’t look sixteen. His shoulders flex as he shakes his hair from his face.
“Bella!” He calls again. “What’re you doing here?”
“Felt like a drive,” she mumbles, feeling Quil and Embry’s curious gaze.
The only other place to look to avoid their eyes is Jacob. He’s flush from the cold, dripping wet; too at ease in his skin for a teenage boy. He’s only wearing wet, black boxers that cling to his thighs and slip down his hips. His chest is completely bare, and his skin is honey brown.
Quil shouts, “Coming in, Bella?!”
What a terrible idea. But Bella feels a gnawing restlessness, and the sea, despite light wind, looks calm. She hesitates at the edge of the firelight, her shoes sinking into the damp sand. The wind catches her loose hair, whipping it against her cheek.
She shakes her head, half-laughing. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
Embry snorts, clearly amused. “Neither did we.”
She notices their state of undress then. The two of them have moved out of the water towards her, and she can see their own bare chests. Not as impressive as Jacob, for certain, but still more mature than any sixteen-year-old (how old are they anyway?) should be boasting. Regardless of their exact age, what are they feeding the kids around here?
Around Embry’s neck, she spies a piece of polished shell. It shimmers beneath the moonlight with iridescent blues, purples, and shimmering greens. It hangs from a tan leather cord, drilled and tied. Her eyes must linger on it too noticeably because Embry touches it lightly, and she flushes at being caught.
“It’s abalone,” he tells her, brushing it absently. “Ocean charm. For safe passage.”
She asks weakly, “Does it work?”
In return, he smiles. “Still here, aren’t I?”
Despite interacting with Embry, she can feel Jacob watching her. She looks to him, finding his arms crossed and his dark hair dripping down his chest. Strands curl in the sea breeze, beautiful and wild. He looks… calm. Grounded. Like the opposite of whatever she’s feeling.
“C’mon,” he instructs, his voice low. “You drove all this way. Might as well stay a while.”
Something in the way he murmurs it makes her feel like she should stay. That absurdly, if she leaves now, something will snap inside her.
“Okay, but I’m staying dry,” she warns.
Jacob grins, moving closer. Embry and Quil skulk back into the water, hollering and splashing each other again. The firelight flickers across Jake’s skin when he guides her towards it. He’s all limbs and heat and energy, even damp and half-shivering.
“Did something happen?” He queries as they take a seat on a piece of driftwood. “You okay?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it. What could she possibly say? I’ve been having dreams about Edward, and you’re there too, but you aren’t you. You’re… splitting? Glitching? I don’t know. But I think he followed me to Port Angeles, and he knows things he shouldn’t, and I just needed to see you.
Instead, she answers, “Shopping was – hell. Just needed…. wanted… calm.”
Jacob watches the fire, but observes, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Bella huffs a laugh. “Maybe I have.”
Or a Cold One. Or maybe I’m insane. Maybe this small town and its myths and legends are getting to me.
There’s a lull. The sounds of the waves crashing. Embry and Quil chasing each other like kids in the ocean. The fire is oddly still as Jake feeds it.
He turns his head toward her, eyes dark and serious now. “You know you can talk to me, right? Even if it’s… weird.”
Bella’s eyes dance over him, this boy she knew as a child, and is relearning now that they’re older.
“Thanks, Jake,” she murmurs, for lack of anything else.
They sit around the fire a good long while, and Bella never does gather enough courage to get into the water. She doesn’t return home until the early hours of the morning, and so she sleeps long into Saturday afternoon. During that time, she has a new, strange dream.
She stands in a forest where everything is still.
The trees are tall and grey, coated in fog like breath on glass. The sky above is a colour she can’t name – not quite night, not quite dawn. The ground beneath her is soft with moss, and when she steps, her footsteps make no sound.
There’s a figure ahead.
She walks toward it without choosing to. The trees arch over the path, closing her in like a tunnel of bark. Like walking through someone's ribcage. The figure grows clearer: bare feet, legs damp with sea water, and long black hair curling at the ends. She recognises the posture before the face – Jacob. He’s crouched low, one large hand pressed flat to the earth.
He lifts his head but doesn’t turn, digging his nails into the mud. “It’s coming.”
Over his shoulder, a flicker of white. It becomes a blur between the trees. A shadow too tall, too still. She doesn’t see the face, only the gleam of something pale, the whisper of movement like silk threading through the eye of a needle.
She looks back at Jacob, but he’s no longer there. In his place: paw prints in the mud. They trail off into the dark. A sound begins – not quite a howl, not quite wind – and the trees breathe in, pulling away from her. The forest recedes like the tide.
February slips away in a routine of school, silence from Edward, and time with Jacob. The dreams don’t abate, but they stop becoming weary. They’re so familiar that she can recall them to reality at any given moment. The scary part now is waking to shadows in the corner of her room that disappear when she hastens to turn on her lamp.
Before she knows it, March 19th has arrived – Spring break, and on the 21st, she takes herself as promised, to Jacksonville, to visit Renée.
Golden sun stretches long, loving fingers through the gauzy, sun-faded curtains across her mom’s kitchen floor. It warms Bella’s bare legs as she leans against the breakfast bar, eating mango slices straight from the chopping board. Juice soaks her fingers and chin in her haste, but she’s enjoying herself too much to stop.
While she chews, she takes in Renée’s kitchen. The walls are soft yellow, like sand. The fridge is old, a cheerful retro model in pale mint dotted with reminders, fridge magnets, and a coupon that expired two weeks ago. Bella rolls her eyes at that. It was always her job to remind her mom of time passing.
She tips her face toward the open window and groans, “I forgot how good this feels.”
Renée laughs from the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in soapy water. “You say that like you’ve been living in a bunker.”
Her mom places a bowl into the overflowing dish rack at her elbow, mismatched to its companions. The lemon she’s washing up with and the scent of Bella’s mango fill the room with citrus.
“Well, Forks is basically a moss-covered bunker.”
Renée dries her hands on a dish towel and crosses the kitchen, leaning her hip against the cluttered counter. In true Renée fashion, it’s covered with half-finished projects, as well as a fruit bowl brimming with mango and avocado, and another cutting board like the one Bella’s currently commandeering.
“Charlie says you’ve been spending time on the reservation. With that boy – Jacob?”
Bella nods. “He’s… great. Really easy to be around.”
Renée wiggles her light brows, playful as ever. “Easy on the eyes, too?”
Bella laughs, but her cheeks go pink anyway. “He’s only recently turned sixteen, Mom.”
Renée grins. “You’re not much older. Don’t act so ancient.”
Bella pops more mango in her mouth, chewing slowly as her gaze drifts out to the yard. The palm trees sway lazily, sunlight dappling the concrete.
“Do you ever feel,” she starts, then pauses. “… like you don’t want to be somewhere, but at the same time… like you know you’re meant to be there?”
Renée smiles warily. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
“I like the sun,” Bella mutters. “I missed it. But standing here, I also miss… the smell of salt and pine. I never thought I’d miss Forks. It kinda feels like it’s… calling me back?”
“And maybe that has something to do with Jacob, too?”
Bella blushes. “Being around him makes me feel… like I dunno, I can breathe deeper? I can’t explain it. It’s easy.”
Renée tilts her head, a smile growing. “That’s a good thing, right, baby?”
“Yeah. I just… don’t know what to do with it.”
“Maybe you don’t have to do anything,” Renée says gently. “Maybe it’s enough to let it be what it is for now.”
Bella nods, though her mind is already drifting. She can feel the cold air from First Beach on her skin, hear Jacob’s laughter, how it was louder than the wind, and feel the weight of him looking at her.
The sun is still warm here in the kitchen, and she still loves it. But Forks – no, La Push, has started to feel like a different kind of gravity.
“You’re happy, though, aren’t you, Bella?” Her mom queries, tension around her blue eyes. “You don’t want to come home?”
“I’m happy,” she agrees, stomach stirring slightly at what feels like a half truth.
“You’re back!”
“I’m back,” she agrees with a smile. “Glad to see you didn’t drown during your late-night swims.”
Jake chuckles over the phone line. “You were gone a week. I’m not as accident-prone as you.”
“I didn’t fall over once in Jacksonville, I’ll have you know,” she teases.
“Glad to hear it,” he teases back. “So, when are you coming to see me?”
She rolls her eyes, despite his not being able to see. “How about you come see me for a change?”
“Nah,” Jacob dismisses lightly. “You drive, and you like it here.”
It’s said with certainty and makes her blush deeply. Charlie catches the spreading warmth on her cheeks when he wanders into the kitchen. Bella smiles nervously at him and tilts her shoulder some more into the wall. Maybe she should give Jacob her cell number so she can start talking to him in the privacy of her room.
“Charlie’s coming for dinner on Saturday. I’ll join him.”
A sound escapes Jacob’s mouth, slipping through the receiver. It almost sounds like relief.
His words, however, are petulant. “That’s days away.”
Bella laughs at the open longing in his voice, not sure what to do with it. Yet also pleased by it.
“You’ll survive.”
Despite her teasing, Bella feels like she’s the one trying to survive until she sees Jacob on Saturday. Mostly because school is dull, but more so come Thursday afternoon when she’s leaving class. The weather is grim – low cloud cover and a drizzle that promises to grow more violent.
The grounds are mostly empty, washed in wet greys and mist. Bella slings her backpack over her shoulder and heads toward her final class. Her boots squelch against the concrete. Just as she rounds the corner of the covered walkway, she stops short. Edward is there, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting.
Like he knew she would come this way.
“Bella,” he acknowledges quietly.
Her spine straightens. “What do you want?”
“To apologise,” he says, tone unreadable. “For what happened in Port Angeles.”
Bella hesitates, fingers tightening on the strap of her bag. “For following me?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “For scaring you.”
She wants to deny it, that and the power it gives him over her, but her mouth is dry.
“You shouldn’t have been there,” he adds.
“I want to understand,” she croaks. “Just – just tell me. How did you even know…. How do you know things you shouldn’t? I only made plans with Angela an’ Jess, only we knew we were prom shopping. Maybe Mike and Ben, but – but it wasn’t like, school-wide news.”
“It’s a small school,” he dismisses.
Bella scowls. Edward looks past her, toward the parking lot where rain collects in glimmering puddles.
Eventually, he mutters, “It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
But he doesn’t. He just stares at her for a second too long, until the silence starts to crawl over her skin.
“I said I was sorry,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “That’s all I can give you right now.”
He moves past her, beginning to walk away. Then stops. She half turns his way, angling her head. He hesitates for a moment, lips pursed.
Then quickly, he says, “You look good in the sun, Bella. You deserve to stay there.”
Bella’s stomach plummets. She knows without doubt that he followed her to Jacksonville. He walks away before she can speak past the bile in the back of her throat.
Saturday finally comes, with pounding rain.
When she and Charlie arrive at the Black’s, despite it being relatively early, the kitchen glows warm and golden through the window. Jacob answers barefoot with damp hair curling at the ends. He grins like she’s the best thing he’s seen all day.
“You’re soaked,” he laughs, pulling her in by the elbow.
The smell of garlic and lemon hits her, thick and comforting.
“C’mon, get dry before Billy thinks I made you stand out there like a lost puppy.”
“Nice to see you too, Jacob,” Charlie grumbles from behind her.
Both she and Jacob laugh. He heads back to the stove. She shrugs out of her wet coat, letting Charlie take it when he offers.
While she’s toeing off her wet sneakers, Jacob calls, “Don’t judge the salmon. I might’ve accidentally flash-fried it into another dimension.”
Her eyebrow lifts in response. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
Billy chuckles from the dining table. “I saved what I could. It’s edible. Probably.”
The table’s already set – mismatched plates, cutlery, a bowl of wild rice, and a dish of buttery broccoli.
“Hi, Billy,” she greets, tucking damp hair behind her ear.
“Bella,” he acknowledges. “Chief. Hungry?”
“I could eat,” Charlie grunts, as if that’s not their sole purpose for the visit.
When she passes under it, she notices the kitchen archway has a line of feathers and herbs hanging from a string. Some seem to be owls and eagles, others she can’t place. Their shafts are wrapped in sinew and dyed thread, interspersed with tiny bundles of dried lavender, cedar, and sage. They shift softly despite the closed windows.
Bella isn’t sure what they’re for – decoration, protection, tradition? But they feel deliberate, like the ones on the front door. Her eyes linger on it, just for a second, before Jacob clatters a pan.
“You’re burning something,” she says lightly, moving toward him.
“I’m improvising,” Jacob defends, but he quickly flips the salmon, which is hissing in protest.
On the side at his elbow sits a small stack of oatmeal cookies that look suspiciously homemade.
“Did you bake?” She asks, nudging the plate as she passes.
Jacob shrugs. “Kinda. Burned the edges. Billy said they’re chewy. That’s a compliment, right?”
Billy snorts from the table. “If I have to soak them to eat them, it’s not a compliment.”
“Remind me to have you over for Bella’s cooking next time,” Charlie grunts, taking his seat.
Jacob rolls his eyes, and Bella joins the table. She takes a second to feel the warmth of the house settle over her.
It’s not long before Jacob is setting the salmon down with exaggerated flair. “Voilà.”
Dinner is delicious, despite the teasing, and is interrupted with laughter. Bella loads her fork with broccoli and rice, chewing slowly as she listens to the wind brushing against the windows.
“So,” Billy says eventually, “how’s school, Bella?”
Bella doesn’t look up. “Fine.”
Jacob snorts into his rice. “That’s Bella for ‘I’d rather be doing anything else.’”
She returns her own snort. “You say that like you’re not the one who dropped out of helping me with Spanish.”
“I had artistic differences with the curriculum,” Jacob says solemnly. “Besides, you’re doing fine without me.”
Bella shakes her head, amused despite herself. She catches Billy watching them with a slow smile and then shares a look with Charlie that makes her blush. Jacob elbows her gently when she begins to play with her food.
“You okay?” He asks under his breath.
Bella looks at him, then at Billy and Charlie again. She nods slowly. She doesn’t want to mention Edward either – doesn’t want to say his name here, in this house that smells like salt and burnt cookies and feels like safety. She wants to stay in the flickering golden hush, pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
Jacob’s eyes soften. “You know,” he says, voice low and joking, “you come here for dinner too often, and I might get the wrong idea.”
Bella arches a brow. “Wrong idea?”
He grins, easy and crooked. “That you like my cooking.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I think Billy saved this one, dude.”
“You’re welcome,” Billy interjects.
It reminds her that Billy and Charlie can hear every word of their conversation, and she turns back to her food, using it to keep her mouth shut.
Later, when the rain thunders louder against the roof, the four of them retire to the living room for some movie she doesn’t know. The Black’s living room is open from the kitchen, and humming with a kind of layered warmth.
The walls are a soft, sun-bleached cream, but years of wood smoke have left the corners shadowed with golden-brown smudges. Jacob throws another log onto the fire now and then returns to lean back beside her. They’re both on the faded red and ochre rug that covers the scuffed linoleum floor, their backs resting against the sagging corduroy couch.
Their knees touch, and the heavy patchwork quilt stitched from flannel squares brushes her shoulders. Everyone else watches the movie, but she observes the wooden mask hung above the stone hearth – a wolf, carved with sharp teeth and wide, hollow eyes. Its expression is neither friendly nor fierce, but watchful, like it has a duty.
A low bookshelf doubles as a resting place for framed photos. Jacob as a child, missing teeth and grinning beneath dripping hair, Billy in a fishing boat, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun. The entire family – Jacob’s sisters and mom included.
A glass-encased black feather. There’s a feather bundle tied with red thread to the spine of a book with no title; polaroids tucked into the frame of a mirror. Bella’s gaze snags on each detail.
Again, Jake asks, “You okay?”
Again, Bella nods, but her eyes linger on the carving of the wolf. Its eyes are fixed forward, unblinking. She can’t say why, but it doesn’t feel like décor. It feels like a warning. Or a promise.
Jake jerks his chin toward the front door. “Wanna sit out?”
“In this rain?” Charlie pipes up.
Usually, Bella wouldn’t be the first one to go and watch a storm. Outside, the rain is the heaviest it’s been all day – a dull drone. But the comment reminds her how observed they are, and a sense of privacy is suddenly all she wants.
“Sure,” she agrees to both Jacob and Charlie. Then adds, “We’ll be right outside, Dad.”
She knows it's not truly the weather he opposes, but he grunts in concession, swigging his beer.
As she grabs her coat and shoes, Charlie calls, “Jake?”
Jacob pauses in the act of shrugging his hoodie on. “Yeah, Chief?”
“I own a gun.”
“Dad,” Bella groans.
Laughing, Jake nods. “Yes, Sir.”
Charlie nods back, and Bella drags Jacob outside, desperate for the cool air on her hot face.
It’s narrow, but they sit side by side on the top step, knees close, getting soaked. The storm spills across the yard in waves, and in the distance, the ocean groans against the shore.
Jacob leans forward, arms on his knees. “You can always smell it before it hits hard.”
She watches the trees sway, not quite able to relate. “It’s different here.”
He glances sideways at her. “Than Phoenix?”
“Than Jacksonville, even. It’s like…” she trails off, trying to source the right words. “Heavier. Wilder.”
Jacob’s smile is faint. “Yeah. That’s what I love about it. It’s magic.”
A streak of lightning forks in the distance, lighting up the sky like an open vein. A second later, thunder follows – low and rolling. Bella’s breath fogs in the cold air. She tucks her hands into her sleeves.
“It should be miserable out here.”
“But it’s not.” He leans back against the front door. “You get used to the wet.”
They fall silent. It stretches, not awkward but warm. The rain becomes rhythmic, the thunder a lull. The lightning is beautiful and deadly when it appears. She shifts her knee slightly, and it brushes his. Jake doesn’t move away. She watches raindrops race each other down the porch rail, thinks of how different this is from every other kind of quiet she’s known.
It isn’t empty, it doesn’t echo. It feels… full.
“Thanks for dinner,” she murmurs finally. “Don’t think I said that.”
He smirks. “Even the chewy cookies?”
She smirks back. “Especially the chewy cookies.”
He laughs, and the sound threads through her ribs. She smiles.
“I like it when you’re here,” he whispers, ducking his gaze.
Bella’s stomach twists, but she manages to answer, “I like being here.”
He looks at her for a long moment, long enough that her heart races, and then back at the storm.
Neither of them speaks again, just sits together.
Chapter Text
At the end of April – the 25th, the quiet contentment she’s beginning to find in Forks, particularly her time spent on the Rez, cracks wide open.
Bella wakes in the early hours of Monday morning, after the dream where the feather lands at her feet, to find Edward standing in the corner of her room. She bolts up in bed, her hand clumsy as it locates her lamp. The bulb finally spills yellow light across her room, and she twists back with a heaving chest.
There’s no one there.
Through the windows, the sun rises as she tries to calm down her racing pulse. Her chest is tight. That didn’t feel like a dream, or a trick, or an allusion. She knows the difference; she feels it like anyone can. He was standing there. Just because he isn’t now, doesn’t mean he wasn’t.
She’s unsettled the entire day at school. She can’t focus on any of her classes, her body running hot and tight with leftover adrenaline. She stares too long at corners. Her skin prickles for no reason at all.
By lunch, she gives up pretending she’s fine. She doesn’t sit with her usual friends and doesn’t eat. She walks instead, across the edge of the lot, rain misting against her skin. It’s cold and her jacket is too thin. She rounds the school buildings to the empty greenhouse wall and stops short.
Despite being in the canteen when she left, Edward is waiting for her.
He stands beneath the awning, dressed in grey like he’s part of the weather. He watches her approach without blinking, breathing, or moving. It’s not like Biology, that first stiff or second overly polite time.
It’s not performative, it’s true reflection.
“Bella,” he says quietly.
With a thudding heart and a tight voice, she demands, “Were you in my room?”
A beat. Silence. No movement from Edward. He doesn’t look real. Or alive. Like the creepy mannequin dolls that have always freaked her out.
“I don’t –”
“Don’t lie,” she interrupts sharply. “I know you were there. You stood in the corner. You didn’t speak. You just…. Watched me. You were there, Edward. You were.”
Silence stretches so tensely she can’t breathe for it.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
The words wash her in relief and horror.
“I didn’t think –”
“You never think,” she hisses, taking anger over terror. “You just show up. You just follow me. Jacksonville. Port Angeles. My house – my room! You know things you shouldn’t. You hear things you shouldn’t. You move like nothing human. You lie constantly, and you just–just expect me to forget it all?”
Something in his posture folds then, like he remembers to animate himself. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? Because all I see is that I–I need protecting from you.”
She trembles from head to toe, gearing up for what she really wants to say; what she needs to.
“You’re not human, are you?”
He merely looks at her, and she propels on. “You’re cold, pale. You don’t eat. You move faster than anything I’ve ever seen. You stopped Tyler’s van with your bare hands.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. Her stomach crunches like she’s about to fall. “You’re a Cold One.”
Edward’s head jerks sharply. “Where have you heard that name?”
She laughs incredulously, barely breathing, so it comes out wounded. “I’m sorry, is vampire more appropriate?”
He narrows his eyes at her. “You spend time at the reservation.”
The breath leaves her all at once. It seems to strike her in that moment that there was something he didn’t know about her. For all the times he’s turned up in places he shouldn’t, and known things he shouldn’t, this was information he didn’t have. Why? He followed her all the way to Jacksonville. Why couldn’t he do the same to Jacob?
“I wanted to stay away,” he says softly when she doesn’t answer. “I tried. I’m still trying. But you’re… like gravity. Your scent… It’s like my own personal brand of heroine.”
Bile burns the back of her throat.
“Don’t – don’t say that like I should be…. Flattered or something. That’s not justification for – for stalking and breaking into my room!”
Bella steps back, her heart hammering. The truth is out, and yet it doesn’t bring her the relief she thought it would. It brings weight. Edward’s eyes follow her feet, and she stutters to a halt.
He grimaces. “I won’t hurt you, Bella.”
She scoffs. “You say scent, but you mean blood. You drink blood, right? You want to drink mine. Funny, I think that might kill me.”
It’s very sarcastic considering how terrified she is – a terror heightened by the knowledge that he must hear her rabbiting heart.
He flinches. “Only animal. It’s why my eyes are golden. They go black when I’m hungry, and they stay red from being turned drinking human blood. But being a vegetarian doesn’t make me… safe. Not around you. You’re what my people call a singer. Someone whose blood calls to you – highly irresistible. My brother Emmett, he met his many years ago, and – the girl didn’t survive.”
Bella only stares, feeling as if she’s floating in the surrealness of it all. Rain soaks her hair and runs chilly down the back of her neck. Her breath quickens with every second.
“Then stay away,” she finally croaks. “I mean it.”
If he intends to answer, she doesn’t let him. She turns away, not caring for her final period and bolting for her truck. She walks faster than she should (given her clumsy disposition), shoes slipping in the wet grass. She doesn’t stop until she’s in her truck, the door slammed and locked behind her.
The drive back home seems long and grey, and Bella does it on autopilot. Rain splinters the windshield like static, the road winding ahead through a blur of trees. Bella keeps the radio off. She doesn’t want noise. Her brain is too crowded. Charlie isn’t home when she gets in, having skipped out early. She uses autopilot to shower, change, and cook.
Feeling mindless, she puts herself on the sofa in front of the TV, some game on that she stares at but doesn’t see. Charlie looks mildly alarmed by the sight when he comes through the front door.
“Hey…”
“Hey, Dad,” she intones. “There’s baked ziti in the oven.”
“Huh,” he grumbles, hovering.
Bella doesn’t look at him. He seems to give up and disappears upstairs in his usual routine. In what seems like mere minutes, he’s back, freshly showered with a beer in hand, joining her on the sofa.
He grunts cautiously, “You okay, Bells?”
“Just tired,” she tells him, without looking away from the TV.
Charlie studies her from the corner of his eye, which she observes from the corner of hers. Like father, like daughter. He doesn’t press – he never does, but his presence is steady, a kind of quiet lighthouse in the middle of the fog currently pulling her under.
“Bells… that Cullen kid’s not still bothering you, is he?”
Bella jerks. “What?”
“You said he wasn’t nice to you, first day. What? I remember stuff.”
She laughs, her shoulders easing. “I’m fine, Dad.”
He looks at the game while he answers, “You know if there’s anything ever going on, you can tell me. I’m a cop.”
Bella smiles, pulled a little from the chaos of her mind. “I know. Thanks, Dad.”
Her dad nods, eyes still on the screen, but his hand pats her foot (through the blanket she has draped over her lap) in a rare, quiet show of affection.
Jacob rings her that evening, on her cell. She finally succumbed to sharing her number, so she didn’t have to stand under Charlie’s hawk stare in the kitchen.
“Hey, Jake.”
Bella stares at her reflection, barely visible against the darkened glass of her bedroom window. She doesn't see anything out there, but the feeling of being watched persists. Her skin crawls. She can’t decide what’s worse: the thought of Edward not being there — or the thought of him being there unseen.
“Bells,” he greets, not sounding as upbeat as he usually does.
“What’s wrong with you? You sound sick.”
There’s a pause where the rain taps against her window like fingernails — too soft to ignore, too irregular to soothe.
“Not sick,” Jake replies. “Just…” he sighs. “It’s Embry. He’s… I dunno, gone.”
“Gone?” She repeats, straightening up in her rocking chair. “Missing?”
“No, no, nothing like that. He’s stopped hanging with me an’ Quil. He’s… It’s a lot to explain.”
“Try.”
She waits patiently, hearing the devastation laced into Jacob’s tone. He needs to talk, and she wants to be able to listen.
“There’s this group of guys – older guys, from old families. On the Rez. One’s a Uley – Sam, a Lahote – Paul, and a Cameron – Jared. They’ve been watching us for a while.”
“Us?” Bella repeats. “You and the guys? Embry and Quil?”
“Yeah.”
“What for?”
“We don’t know. Never did. But it was like… sounds crazy, but it’s like they were waiting.”
She frowns; her eyes lost in the dark outside her windows. “Waiting for what?”
Jacob sighs heavily. “I don’t know. But it felt like – like they already knew something that we didn’t. Like they were in on a secret.”
A hot rush burns in her chest. Edward’s confession today. The Cold Ones. The shape shifters. The wolves. Something shaky and watery floods in her belly, the heat and cool fighting until it’s acid reflux in the back of her throat.
If one is true, then surely the other… but she can’t speak past the lump in her throat. The idea is too much. Edward is one thing. He’s a shadow, an idea, a person she doesn’t know past his cryptic messages and freaky behaviour. Jacob is her friend, quickly becoming her best friend. Someone she’s known literally since childhood.
Jacob’s just… he’s Jake. He’s calm and peace, and warmth. He’s so viciously human. He can’t be… something else. He just can’t. But then her dream is there, the wolf splitting into two, and Jacob stepping out.
“… feel it more lately,” he’s saying when she tunes back in. “Especially at night. Like I’m being watched.”
Her skin prickles, and she feels as if she’s shifting – sliding, into some other world that was nestled into hers the entire time.
“Embry said he was feeling that, and then suddenly, he’s not talking to me or Quil. Always out with Sam an’ the other two. And he’s… he’s cut all his hair off. He’s just – just different. It’s weird, Bells. It’s weird. My friend’s gone.”
The final words are said with such finality that it feels as if Embry has died. Bella’s chest tightens, and she struggles to swallow.
“I’ll come see you after school tomorrow,” she responds softly.
Jacob laughs, stating, “I’m fine,” but he sounds relieved.
“Well, maybe I’m not,” she murmurs hesitantly. “Maybe I need you.”
“Well,” he breathes softly. “If you need me, then I’m here. Always.”
At school the next day, she avoids Edward, and he avoids her in return. Though she notices his siblings – if they even really are that – watching her. It occurs to her all of a sudden that they must be Cold Ones too. That Carlisle, trusted in hospital with vulnerable people, is one. The idea of it has her shaking all the way home, and on her drive out to La Push.
The familiar clank of tools greets her when she arrives at Jake’s garage, as promised. He’s bent over the Rabbit, sleeves rolled up, shirt smeared with oil. The sight eases the panic in her chest.
“You should start charging me for emotional support hours,” she jokes in greeting.
Jacob straightens, beaming at her, and wipes his hands on a rag. “Only if I can also start charging you for the psychological strain of your cryptic texts an’ spontaneous appearances.”
“Oof,” she teases. “Those were some big words.”
His grin widens. “I have this real smart friend.”
She leans against the frame, smiling. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”
He softens and tosses the wrench in his hand. “Wanna learn how to change a tyre?”
In her worry for Jacob and her avoidance of the truth about Edward, she finds herself becoming isolated from her friends. And therefore, at La Push, more than home. Every spare moment she can, she spends with Jake. Charlie comments on it frequently, but since he also frequently goes to see Billy or vice versa, he also gets to supervise much of the time.
On a Saturday in the middle of May, she and Charlie join a bonfire on the beach. Harry Clearwater, his wife Sue, and their children, Seth and Leah, join too. Quil is there, with his grandfather Old Quil, and there’s lots of food and little kids. It’s a nice way to spend the day, and Jacob stays by her side for most of it.
It doesn’t seem exclusive to their group, but more like the entire community of the reservation is out. There are lots of smaller groups and fires, with people milling and intersecting between all of them. For the first time, Bella gets to see Sam, Paul, and Jared, as well as Embry, sticking close to them.
Jacob was right. Embry is different. The shape of him, the confidence in his bones, the lines of his face. It’s startling. It’s not like he’s gone as she thought, but like he’s transformed. It took her a second to recognise him at first – his short hair alters him the most.
The group doesn’t seem to speak much, even amongst themselves. Sam’s posture exudes quiet command. They look at Jake often, too, and she begins to feel a protectiveness gather in her breastbone every time she catches them.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“What?”
Bella jerks from looking at the group of them, particularly Sam’s dark, watchful eyes.
Jacob scoffs a laugh, a ruddy flush to his face. “I was saying… well, I keep dreaming about you. But you’re not–not always you.”
Her heart stalls, and she swallows. “What am I?”
Jacob grimaces, dragging a stick through the sand. “I don’t know, but you don’t look right. You don’t smell right.”
Your scent… It’s like my own personal brand of heroine.
Bella shudders, attempting to laugh it off, nudging their shoulders together. “I dream about you, too.”
His eyes widen, flickering between hers rapidly. She blushes.
“What happens in them?”
Her lips peel apart. “You –”
“Bells, you want a burger?” Charlie shouts.
She sighs and leans back from Jacob to answer her dad. His timing has been irritatingly precise any time she and Jake have gotten close today.
“No, thanks – I’m stuffed!”
Jacob grabs her hand, encouraging her to look down at it. “Come walk with me?”
Nodding, she lets him pull her up and, (while Charlie’s back is turned), hurries off over the damp sand with him. The fire behind them flickers weakly, the last bursts of laughter fading into the brush. Only the rhythmic hush of waves fills the air.
“So… dreaming,” Jacob prods.
Bella blushes, not wanting to talk about her own. “You said you were dreaming about me.”
Jake concedes, “not just about you. But they’re all weird. And I’m hearing stuff too… in the woods like – I dunno, dogs, maybe. Sounds that vibrate in your ribs.”
The pulse in her neck jumps. Her vision swims a little, and she swerves around a moss patch – one she recognises as a sleeping place now.
“And I’ve been feeling angry,” he goes on, voice hushed. “Like all the time. Like something’s crawling under my skin.”
His eyes flick toward her, pupils wide and dark. “But it goes away when I’m with you.”
There are no words waiting to come, no matter how hard she tries. The most she can manage is to squeeze his hand, which he hasn’t dropped since he grabbed it on the beach. There’s a part of her that wants to run screaming. If it’s all true… if Jacob really is… maybe Edward isn’t the only one to fear.
But the Cold One’s drink blood, and the wolves protect the land. Which subtly can only mean killing, right? She thinks of Billy and Jacob thanking their meat for their sacrifice before eating it. She thinks of the hawk feather Jacob gave her lying on her desk, and the owl one for protection over his front door. Her head spins with it all.
“We still doing this hike instead of prom?” He suddenly enquires, spinning the conversation on its head.
She startles but nods. “Yeah, sure.”
“Definitely not going then?”
“No, I told you I wouldn’t change my mind.”
He laughs. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a dress.”
“That’ll be the day. I’d have to buy one first.”
Suddenly, Charlie’s voice is pitching, “Bells?! Where’d you get to?”
She sighs, dragging Jacob back with her towards the sand. “Come on, before he shoots you.”
“Nah, he likes me too much.”
Back on the beach, Charlie relaxes when he catches sight of her. Billy seems to take pity on his friend and commands Jacob to help with something. He gives her an eye roll before obeying his dad, leaving Bella to herself. The fire’s crackle is quieter now, collapsing into glowing embers.
Most of the others have drifted into stories or games, their laughs softened by distance and nightfall. She walks the shoreline a short way, trying to breathe through the weight of her recent events. She notices Sam a few feet away, staring out at the dark horizon. She hadn’t realised he was nearby, walking without seeing.
This close to him, though, she can’t turn back. She shakes a little, like she did when confronting Edward.
“Cold night to be wandering,” Sam says, not turning.
Bella hesitates, tucking her hands into her pockets. “Could say the same to you.”
A pause stretches between them, filled with the rush of waves and the hiss of wind that fills it.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time here lately,” Sam observes, his voice level – not accusing, but not casual either.
“I guess,” Bella agrees. “It’s quiet here.”
He hums. “Not as quiet as it seems.”
Sam’s face is unreadable, carved in shadow. The faint glow of the dying fire dances in the dark of his eyes. There’s something worn about him, like he’s already carried too much for someone so young.
“You’re close to Jacob,” he remarks.
Bella’s pulse quickens. She knows what they’re skirting around, and like she did with Edward, there’s something she’s gearing up to. She’s still reeling from that truth all these weeks later, and she doesn’t want to face the reality that her only grounding presence in Forks so far is different, too.
What does it say about her that these things seem to keep finding her?
She thinks of the things Jacob’s said – about the dreams, the anger, and the crawling of his skin. About how Embry has changed, and stands away from Jacob now, won’t see him or Quil. How Quil has been reserved and worried, his usual bubbly spark diminished. The same worry is in Sam’s face, and she doesn’t feel the fear she did with Edward.
This side of the tale doesn’t incite terror, but it does dredge up apprehension at the unknown. Her dream – the wolf splitting into two; one of them Jacob.
Bella takes a big, deep breath, sucking in the ocean air, and on its exhale murmurs, “Jacob deserves to know what’s coming.”
Sam almost smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a clever girl, Bella.”
“I’m observant.” Her lips twist. “My dad’s a cop, you know.”
“Jacob is observant too,” Sam replies quietly. “He already knows. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“That’s not cryptic at all.”
The smile grows, if only the tiniest amount. “I’m not here to scare you. I see you care about him. There’s... a bond. So be careful.”
“Is he – will he be –” She pauses to swallow her nerves. “Are the wolves dangerous?”
“Yes,” Sam answers immediately, dousing her in ice water. “Being close to us is dangerous. But adapting to us is harder.”
Us.
She stares at him, unsure how to respond to even more cryptic messages. They can’t be in the leagues of the Cold One’s – of Edward, and the Cullen’s. They don’t harm humans; they protect them. Sam’s words aren’t cruel – they’re weary. Sad. Heavy with something he won’t say.
“Jacob wouldn’t hurt me,” she says firmly. “And if I told him –”
Sam turns sharply then, and she stumbles back, noticing how tall he is and how he towers over her. Us. Being close to us is dangerous. He’s a wolf. He changes. He shapeshifts into something else. Something bestial.
“It’s not your place,” he snaps harshly. “You’re welcome on our lands, Bella, but you’re not part of them. Don’t overstep.”
She swallows, cowed. It’s not like she could imagine how she would go about the conversation anyway. But then, what can he really do to stop her?
Sam steps back, softening his shoulders. “There will be a place for you, Bella. If you accept it. You have your own part to play.”
“What does that mean?”
“When the time is right, find Emily Young – my fiancée.”
The name drops like a stone in her chest, baffling her into silence. Bella watches Sam walk away, vanishing into the shadows between the trees, his silhouette swallowed by night. The weight of his words lingers.
Emily Young.
She doesn’t know her. Doesn’t know why her heart feels heavy just hearing her name. But it does. Maybe it’s the way Sam said it – gentle, solemn, like the syllables themselves were sacred. Or maybe it’s the implication beneath his warning. That Emily has a place in all this. That Bella might, too.
She swallows hard and turns toward the bonfire.
Her eyes land on Jacob, crouched beside the flames, laughing at something Quil just said, his smile warm and easy, so utterly human.
Bella’s chest tightens. Not with fear, not exactly. But with the terrible sense that things are shifting again. That soon, she might look at him and see something else entirely.
And that maybe – Emily Young already has.
Chapter Text
Sunday evening, Renée sighs so heavily it warbles down the phone line and clangs around Bella’s eardrum.
“You’ll pop a lung like that,” Bella grumbles.
“Well, any mother would be reacting the same way! A hike, instead of prom? Really, Bella?”
Bella rolls her eyes. “I warned you ages ago.”
“Well, I was hoping you’d see sense. You’re my only child!”
“Mom, please. I’d suffer and have the worst time. Do you really want that for me?”
Her mom sighs again, this one less dramatic. “I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry, baby. I just really wanted a lovely picture of you.”
“Gee, thanks,” Bella quips.
“Oh, you know what I mean. What does Charlie think about this plan? Hiking off into the woods alone with a boy?”
Blushing, she mutters, “It’s not like that. And Charlie wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but he’s working a double, and there’s nothing he can do about it.”
“Well, you be safe,” her mother stresses. “You know, protection.”
Rubbing her temples, Bella squeezes her eyes closed. “I’ll make sure to have my hiking boots on. I gotta go, Charlie is starving downstairs waiting for chicken pot pie.”
Renée laughs. “Okay, baby. I love you. Have fun hiking. Say hi to Jacob for me.”
“Love you too. And I will. Bye, Mom.”
She hangs up and throws herself down on her bed. She already fed Charlie; she just needs the quiet time. Her brain hasn’t stopped hurting since yesterday, and her conversation with Sam. She feels like she’s betraying Jacob, holding information that could answer all his worries.
But she also keeps thinking of Sam’s words about overstepping. He’s right. Who is she to come in and tell Jacob his heritage? His family legacy? Sam didn’t seem frightening. Well, no more than being a shapeshifter allows. She thinks Jake is wary of him because of the secrecy, not because he’s menacing in a deliberate way.
She also keeps remembering his instruction to find Emily, his fiancée. The question is, why? What was her part he alluded to? What does any of this have to do with Bella?
Through the stress of it all, the basic truth doesn’t seem to have sunk in yet. Edward is a Cold One – a vampire. So are the Cullen’s, here in rainy Forks. And in La Push, in that magic place of her childhood, her best friend is a werewolf.
What else is possibly out there? Mermaids? Unicorns? Ghouls? Her whole world is a cracked open wound, and she’s desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.
Who else is a werewolf on the Rez? And if they aren’t one themselves, then who else knows the truth? All of them, by account of their stories. But who truly believes in them? Thinking of Billy’s kind eyes and wise face, he seems like the keeper of such ancient knowledge. People like Old Quil and maybe Harry Clearwater, too.
Do they all watch their descendants, waiting to see the way that Sam does?
Bella shivers and rolls onto her side, staring at her wall. What the hell has she gotten herself into? Better yet, why is it coming at her on all sides, and what is she meant to do about it?
The following Saturday, the sun is a dull glow behind the clouds, casting a dim silver sheen over the bigleaf maple treetops. They tower over her and Jake as they hike, leaves bright and yellow-green. Pale green moss coats most of the bases in a gentle creep.
Rotting logs, soft with fungus, attempt to impede them, aching her thighs when she has to routinely step over them. Bella adjusts the straps of her backpack as Jacob leads her deeper into the forest. The trail seems half-forgotten, swallowed by stinging nettles, some nearly reaching her waist.
“I don’t think anyone’s been up here in years,” Jacob says, grinning over his shoulder through the foliage. “I only know about it from my mom. She liked coming to Forks.”
Bella smiles faintly. She’s tired, stressed about secrets, myths, and legends. Not to mention her looming finals that she still has to study for, despite all the recent craziness. Being in the forest is slightly unnerving, too, considering the dreams she’s been having since her first bonfire with Jacob.
“Is this the place you were telling me about? Raven’s Rest?”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “You’ll like it. It’s… peaceful. We’re almost there.”
It takes just under an hour total in the end, but Bella feels a shift long before they arrive. The trail grows narrower, less defined, swallowed by moss and shadow. The deeper they walk, the quieter the forest becomes. Even Jacob, always so full of warmth and noise, falls silent beside her.
The trees here are older, taller, and she can’t name them. Draped in curtains of blue-grey lichen, their limbs bend inward like they’re gossiping. Thick, glossy salal bushes crowd the path, and sword ferns spread wide like green antlers. The air is damp with cedar and decay, cool even through her sleeves and exertion.
Then suddenly the trees open like a held breath released. The clearing is small, ringed by blackened trunks that rise like cathedral columns. In the centre stands a boulder, slick with moss and veined in white. Quart, she thinks. Someone – long ago it seems – had carved something into its surface, lost now to near-erasure.
Jacob exhales beside her, voice low. “My dad says the name comes from the birds gathering here every spring. Some say it’s where they come to die.”
Bella doesn’t answer. The place feels sacred, so much so that she’s almost scared to speak. The light above them flickers through clouds and canopy, casting long shadows that don’t always seem to match their source. Bella moves toward the stone in the centre but stops before touching it. The air around it feels… heavier.
“Wow,” she breathes eventually, finding her voice.
Jake chuckles. “I know.”
He places his hands on his hips, looking at ease and not as out of breath as her.
His dark eyes scan the tree line. “We used to come here sometimes. My dad hates it. Said the place gives him a bad feeling. Mom loved it, though, and I always have too. Don’t get chance to come out much.”
“It’s beautiful,” she comments, catching sight of raven feathers. Then, “We’re eating here, right? I’m starved.”
Chuckling, he nods and flops down into the grass. “Me too. Time to show your spoils.”
They’d both agreed to bring food without telling the other. Bella produces her haul: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apple slices, bottles of water, and granola bars – oat and honey.
Jacob smirks. “Nice.”
“Out with it,” she encourages, her stomach rumbling.
With flourish, he presents turkey and cheese sandwiches on hoagie rolls that seem to have too much mustard, pretzels, jerky, and a worn metal canteen of water.
Bella smirks, parroting, “nice.”
They eat eagerly, Bella not having had breakfast, and Jacob having no excuse but the appetite of a growing teen. Jacob tells her stories of his mom, what he remembers of her. They lounge back into the grass when they’re done, and then eventually lie down all the way. It’s not particularly warm, but the sunshine is strong, and Jacob is hot at her side.
“Bells?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for coming with me.”
She tilts her head towards him. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“Better than prom?”
“Oh, much,” she agrees.
“What about the dancing?”
Bella scoffs. “I can’t dance, so.”
“I doubt that.”
“Seriously, I have two left feet.”
“No.” Jacob shakes his head and sits up suddenly. “I think you’re bluffing.”
“Jake,” she half-laughs. “You’ve seen me nearly slip over a dozen times.”
“Bella,” he sighs, a wry smile on his face. “I’m trying to get you to dance with me.”
She sits up in surprise, blinking dumbly. “Oh. But… there’s no music.”
“I’ll hum,” he chirps, standing to his feet.
“Please don’t.”
He rolls his eyes and reaches down for her hand, pulling her up. “I’ll let you stand on my feet.”
“Erm, no. I’m heavy.”
Jake scoffs. “Please.”
His hands slip under the armpits of her Henley – her jacket having been discarded when eating – which makes her flush in mortification. She hopes she’s not too gross from the hike. Then he deposits her on top of his feet, hiking boots and all. Her jeans brush his cargo pants with a rasp.
“Jake,” she groans, self-conscious.
He laughs at her, holding her close and swaying. “See? We’re dancing.”
Bella’s breath catches as his eyes fall to half-mast, and then to her lips.
“I can see that,” she stammers.
“Bells,” he whispers. “You’re so…”
Her mouth dries out. He stares and she stares back, pulse racing. His hands cup her hips. Then he straightens up abruptly. His body tenses against hers like a wire pulled taut. Her head swims from the sudden change, her chest gripping tight with dread.
“Jake?”
He doesn’t answer. He looks about and then shoves her behind him so hard she nearly falls.
Three figures emerge from the tree line like smoke.
A tall and well-built olive-skinned man with dark hair. A creamy-skinned redhead, moving with feline grace. She’s flame made flesh, excruciatingly beautiful. A lean brunette guy with a feral grin across his face – excited and predatory.
They’re all graceful, collected. They all have blood-red eyes.
Bella’s stomach plummets.
They stay red from being turned drinking human blood.
They can only be –
“We didn’t expect to find anyone up here,” the olive-skinned man calls, his voice honeyed.
The woman’s eyes lock onto Bella, crimson and eager.
“Oh,” the brunette man says, cocking his head, eyes on Jacob. “Laurent, he’s one of them.”
Laurent – the first speaker – sniffs the air, frowning. “Smells… off, though my friend James is never usually wrong. An excellent tracker.”
“Smells like a pup,” the woman snarls, baring her teeth.
James grins wider, his teeth gleaming white. “Victoria likes pups, don’t you, my love?”
Bella grabs Jacob’s arm hard. “Jake.”
He’s breathing hard and fast, his body shaking. Sweat beads on his skin, and steam visibly rises off it.
“Bella – step… step back.”
“What?”
“Something’s wrong, Bells.” He groans, full body shaking. “I don't - Something’s wrong with me. Bells, step back.”
He screams then, and she grabs his shoulder without thinking. Instinctively, deep in her gut, she knows what’s happening. But she can’t let herself process the idea. She should step back – Jacob’s right. But the scream he releases is stomach-churning, inhuman. His spine arches and cracks. His bones move and reform beneath his skin.
Across the clearing, Victoria snarls loud and feral. Laurent grips her wrist and flings his arm out to trap James, where he leans forward as if to pounce.
“I thought you said he was a pup?!” Laurent demands, not taking his gaze from Jacob.
Fur begins to tear through Jacob’s flesh as he speaks. His body ripples with heat, blasting Bella. Something snaps inside him before her eyes, like he folds in on himself. A sound like a tearing muscle. One second, Jacob is there, gasping, clutching his sides, and the next, the boy she knows is gone. His black t-shirt and red flannel explode into shreds of fabric.
The thing he becomes – vast, dark, wild heat, fur and rage – grows and expands, right into her space.
She doesn’t register the pain at first, only that she’s sent sailing through the air and unable to catch her breath. She lands so hard she doesn’t get it back, choking on unbreathable air. Then the fire blooms. A burning streak across her ribs, stretching down her stomach to her hip.
Deep and hot and wet.
Bella’s vision swims. Her hands spread out instinctively when she was falling, and now her wrists smart from catching her weight. She tries to breathe, but it’s like breathing through broken glass. She attempts to get up but can’t – her whole body throbs something awful. She looks down, noting her navy Henley is turning a dark reddish black with fresh blood.
“Bella!”
She recoils, glancing up, expecting to see Jacob and instead seeing Edward, of all people. Her shaking hand presses to her wound, still gasping for air. She looks over his shoulder dazedly and doesn’t find Jacob, only a massive, snarling wolf. Victoria is hissing, and James is lunging back and forth, dancing. The wolf meets him, teeth to teeth, fury to fury.
Edward spins in a white blur, speaking at an average volume over the wolf’s snarls. “What are you doing here?”
Laurent raises his hands. “I warned them it wasn’t wise to hunt where there were others.”
Edward glances over his shoulder at Bella, his eyes intent on her streaming blood. He hesitates, and she holds her breath, staring at him.
Your scent… It’s like my own personal brand of heroine.
You’re what my people call a singer. Someone whose blood calls to you – highly irresistible. My brother Emmett, he met his many years ago and – the girl didn’t survive.
For half a heartbeat, she sees her own death looking back at her.
Edward growls to himself, and then he rushes into the fray behind him. She fears he’s going to hurt Jacob, and her heart stalls. But he grabs James instead and flings him into the stone at the centre of the clearing. This pulls Victoria’s attention from Jacob, and she jumps on Edward’s back, trying to rip his head off.
Bella staggers to her feet, streaking blood across the tree trunk in her haste. The four vampires around her snap her way, stilling her in place. Death. Nothing but death in their gaze. Then shapes burst from the trees – massive wolves, howling as they descend.
Laurent spins and flees in a streak of colour too fast for Bella to follow, even as she stumbles closer. Victoria and James are left surrounded by four wolves, including Jacob. Bella hurries right into the middle of it all, the world as she knew it shattering around her.
“Jacob!”
The russet wolf stops and its giant head whips her way. Something slams into her as they make eye contact. It physically bowls her over. She lands back on her ass, crying out in agony. Jacob whines, his ears flattening, and he hunches down, his eyes still pinned to her. A coat of fog slithers over her, and despite the pandemonium, it’s just the two of them.
“Jake,” she croaks hoarsely. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Jacob prowls closer to where she lies prone, leaving Edward and the wolves to fight James and Victoria. Then the large grey wolf with dark spots turns, despite not facing Jacob, like he can sense Jacob’s approach to Bella. He howls, runs, and head-butts Jacob full force, shoving him into the trees.
“NO!” She cries, averting her eyes from a chunk of crimson hair flying. “Where are you taking him?!”
Edward is suddenly at her side again, gripping her shoulder in a vice-like hold as she regains her feet shakily.
“Bella, stop!” He commands.
“Get off me!”
But try as she might, she can’t shake him off.
“It’s dangerous! You’re hurt! You’re bleeding! He’s hurt you, Bella! Don’t you see that?” He grabs both shoulders now, shaking her. “He’s hurt you!”
The black wolf thunders over to them, snarling, and Edward quickly raises his hands, facing it.
“I’m not going to feed, Sam,” Edward intones.
Sam?
Bella observes the hulking mass before her, dizzy and aching. Her ribs are scorching, and blood soaks through her fingers.
Edward’s nostrils flare. “She’s not coming back with you.”
“Yes, I am!” Bella snaps, albeit weakly.
The strangest tug in her stomach yanks somewhere low, as Jacob and the grey wolf enter the tree line. It’s like something's trying to rip her along with him, like the further he gets away from her, the more her insides shred. She sways where she’s stood, and Edward reaches for her. In the same instant, the black wolf reverts into the human Sam Uley she knows.
His eyes are dark and devastated as he looks over her. “A’kik, Bella, I warned you!” He snaps.
“Is he okay?! Is Jacob... okay?” She gasps back.
She’s lost sight of him completely. Savage sounds rip into the air from the ongoing fight. The whole world seems to be shutting down.
“Where have you taken him?!”
“Home, where he’s safe. We thought maybe a couple days… we thought there was time.”
“Well, you were wrong,” Edward seethes. “She needs the hospital.”
“Stop speaking for me!” Bella cries. “Sam, please, take me to Jake. Please!”
She sounds whiny and desperate, but she is desperate.
Sam looks at Edward, whose lip peels back from his teeth.
“No. It’s not possible,” Edward says.
Bella blinks, unsure if she’s slipping into unconsciousness. Sam didn’t say anything.
Then Edward replies, to no spoken word, “She’s different. I can’t read her thoughts. It’s some kind of shield. It will stop the bond, I’m sure of it.”
I can’t read her thoughts.
You know things you shouldn’t.
Edward can read minds. She reels, the world swimming.
Sam glances at her and seems to speak for her benefit alone. “They’re bonding already. And were before it. You can’t stop it. Look at her! She needs to be close to him right now, in the first hours of it! You’re killing her trying to keep them apart!”
Killing me?
But he’s right. She does feel like she’s dying. She’s growing cold and weak. Blood is pouring between her fingers. Her vision is spotty and floating. She feels desperate and lost, and in need of Jacob’s presence.
“– don’t understand our ways; but I know you understand enough,” Sam’s saying. “He will kill you for wanting her. He’ll scatter you across the continent.”
“Let him try,” Edward snarls.
Bella stumbles forward and grips Sam’s arm. Running from the Cold One to the wolf.
“Sam, I don’t want to go with him. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I need Jacob. I need to see him.”
Sam glances down at the blood that smears his bare chest from her hands. It occurs to her that he’s naked, but it seems minor in the grand scheme of her current reality.
He grimaces. “He won’t want to see what he’s done to you.”
“I’m fine.”
Sam sighs heavily. “That’s the adrenaline. Come here.”
He loops his arm around her waist to support her, and she groans at the tug in her ribs.
Edward stiffens beside her. "Bella, don’t do this. I can’t follow you there. Let me take you to Carlisle. He can help. What will Charlie think? I could go and tell him you’re hurt. He’d start a manhunt for you.”
She swallows tightly. “Then do that. Explain why you found me because you were following me.”
Edward bares his teeth, and Bella squeezes Sam’s forearm.
“Emily will help you,” Sam tells her when he turns around and walks. “I hope you’ve got some adrenaline left, because you’re going to have to get on my back. My wolf back.”
Bella stumbles, from both his words and the scattered pieces of James and Victoria that she comes across.
The pack has torn them to shreds.
Eyes rolling into her skull, she finally gives in and faints.
Chapter 7
Notes:
Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments and support for this fic. Seeing 'Twilight if it was well-written' and 'Bella's rational' in my comments is exactly what I was going for. I also love that you like my version of Bella, because I was worried she'd be too OC.
I know I've slowed down in posting for a hot minute, but I'm just clearing out the end of my essays, and then I promise, you'll be attacked with this fic as summer rolls in.
Again, thank you so much; please enjoy!
Chapter Text
Bella wakes up in a room she doesn’t know, vision smudged and half dressed – only her underwear and some bandages for decency.
She’s not entirely sure what the worst of these horrors is.
The room, at least, isn’t a dank dungeon, hospital ward, or what she imagines the Cullen’s house to be like. While her vision might be hazy, and her head might be swimming, she knows she’s on the reservation. She’s been growing a bond with La Push for some time now, seeking safety and comfort here. But this is different. This is – a knowing. A feeling. An instinct.
Jacob is close – that’s instinct, too.
The feelings are foreign, strange, and muted as if they’re numbed. Like having a tooth out with anaesthetic – the pressure but none of the pain. Something that she doesn’t know how to fully realise yet, doesn’t have the full intensity of.
There’s pain in her ribs, along her sides, and in her stomach. Her whole mid-section is tender and burning, aching in a way she’s never felt before.
The room, at least, is comforting – from what she can tell through the blur of her gaze.
There’s a large headboard above her, intricately carved but with what she can’t move her body to tell. The bedding is thick with blankets and layered quilts she’s buried under – deep greens and rusty oranges. The sheets are soft against her skin, if not a little damp from her excessive sweating.
There’s a nightstand to her left, holding a lamp that lets out soft light into the fading twilight. Across the room, there’s a sturdy wood dresser decorated with photographs of people she doesn’t know. A carved box sits on it, open on its hinges with piles of jewellery nestled inside. Whatever else is in the room, Bella doesn’t observe because delirium grips her once more.
When her eyelids flutter open the second time, a cool hand is lying on her shoulder. With enough rapid blinking, she finally clears the blur she woke with earlier.
“Don’t move too much, Bella.”
Straining, she pulls her swimming vision into focus and finds a young woman before her. Her hair is long, black as pitch and her copper skin is beautiful, unmarred but for the side of her face that is heavily scarred. Her dark eyes watch Bella avidly, scanning her features with apprehension. She perches on the side of the bed.
Lamplight coats the room as it did earlier, but Bella can see it’s no longer twilight, and now fully dark outside.
She sits up too suddenly and hisses with the agony it incites.
“Careful!” The woman cautions, her hand firmer on Bella's shoulder. “You’ll rip your stitches.”
“Stitches?” Bella parrots incredulously. “What time is it? Where’s Jacob? Is he okay? How – how long was I out? Where… where am I? And… who... no offense, but who are you?”
The woman smiles softly, lowly instructing, “breathe, Bella. Breathe. Jacob is okay. I’m Emily.”
“Emily… Emily Young; Sam’s fiancée? I’m at Sam’s house?”
“Mine and Sam’s house,” Emily corrects, smiling still.
She proffers a mug toward Bella, then asks, “Will you drink this for me? It’s willow bark. It’ll help with the pain.”
Bella shuffles into something of a sitting position, allowing Emily’s hovering hand to guide her. When she’s comfortable, she takes the steaming mug, which holds a russet-brown liquid that smells like honey. Taking a cautious sip, she can identify the honey that must have been added, but it’s mostly earthy and bitter.
Her nose wrinkles, and her mouth immediately feels dry after. “Erm, thank you.”
Emily looks rueful. “I tried to sweeten it a little for you, but it’ll help, I promise.”
“Thank you,” Bella repeats, more intentionally. “For the tea, and um – stitching me up?”
Emily’s face grows more serious, the smile slipping. “I’m sorry you got hurt like this, Bella. I know what it means to be caught in their path.”
She waves a hand over her face, and Bella swallows another gulp of her drink. She knows with certainty in that moment that she’s going to be scarred for life. That it’s bad. It certainly feels bad.
“Jacob’s okay?” She presses. “Is he… is he back? Human – I mean.”
Emily shakes her head, her waterfalls of hair shimmering over her shoulders. “They stay wolves for twelve hours. He’s got another four to go.”
Bella does quick maths and gapes. “It’s ten pm?! I was out for eight hours?! Charlie is gonna be freaking out – ”
“We called Charlie,” Emily interrupts. “He’s been to see you.”
“What?”
Despite everything going on right now, this feels like the worst news to have to deal with. Charlie saw her in bed, half-naked, comatose, and bandaged?
Emily grimaces. “He wasn’t impressed that you didn’t go to the hospital. Sam didn’t want to call him at all, but Billy said we couldn’t go so long without him having word from you. We told him you’d been hurt falling during your hike with Jacob. He wanted to see you; we couldn’t deny him that. But Billy convinced him to wait at the Black’s.”
Bella feels queasy, and she groans softly. “He’s never going to let me leave the house again.”
Emily lets out a laugh that’s not quite amused. “That’s what you’re worried about? Bella… you realise the severity of what you’ve got under those bandages, don’t you? You’re… changed now. Your body will never be the same. And the imprint –”
“Imprint?”
Emily stalls. “Right.” She shuffles where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Takes a deep breath and then informs, “You know a lot of our stories. But there are things about the pack – things like the imprint – that are even lesser known. That are sacred only to them and the elders.”
Nodding her encouragement, Bella sips her drink dutifully to be rewarded with information.
“An imprint is a soul bond. It’s rare that it begins to happen before the transformation, but that’s what seemed to happen with you and Jacob.”
That’s what Sam meant – there will be a place for you, Bella. If you accept it. You have your own part to play.
“Sam and I, for instance,” Emily continues, as if sensing Bella’s thoughts. “We knew each other before he phased, but well – we never saw each other like that. In fact, he –” Emily hesitates, flushing prettily and looking down into her lap. “He was my cousin’s high school sweetheart. You’ve seen her: Leah Clearwater.”
Bella recalls the visage of Leah. A beautiful jawline, almond eyes, and full lips. A stunning girl. A sullen one too, reserved and quiet on the beach, brooding on the sand. Bella sees it for what it is now: heartbreak.
Emily adds, slightly breathless with defence, “I would never – but the imprint, the laws of the wolf, it doesn’t adhere to the laws of man –”
Bella shifts, slightly uncomfortable at the visible discomfort on Emily’s face. The sheet feels wet beneath her, and she feels overly gross and overstimulated in the nest of blankets. Even still, she doesn’t move from them, despite the fact that Emily must have seen it all already.
Emily sighs, twisting her fingers and watching Bella’s face, as if she’s being judged. “I would have fought it if I could. But the bond doesn’t allow that. I think you know what I mean. You feel Jacob now, don’t you? Maybe even before you felt… at peace with him. Safe. Like you were meant to be by his side.”
A hot flush burns Bella’s chest, and she drinks more to avoid answering for a minute. After a moment, she nods her agreement.
Nodding back, Emily goes on. “The pack will tell you the way it feels for them is that they’ll be anything their imprint needs. Even if that’s a friend or a protector from afar. And I’m the only imprint of this generation, so I have no one else to compare it to. But I can tell you what it’s like for me, and it’s… all consuming.”
Bella must physically blanch because Emily rushes to reassure, “I don’t want to scare you, Bella, but you deserve honesty. I feel ill when Sam isn’t near. I need him; his presence. I love the feel of his skin and the shape of his eyes. I love him down to the molecule. That kind of devotion… I couldn’t imagine us just being friends. It’s… It’s passion. It needs an… an outlet. For me, it could never be platonic.”
All of her drink is gone, her mouth is completely dry, and her head is beginning to swim again.
“So, there’s…” Her voice breaks, mortifying her. She clears her throat and tries again. “So, there’s no choice?”
“You always have a choice, Bella,” Emily whispers. “It’s just… hard to fight it. It’s even harder for them. I don’t know why. Something about the wolf being its own entity. It’s… another side to them, not just part of them. It’s like two beings folded into one.”
Bella's dream plays in her mind, the wolf splitting into two, and Jacob stepping out of the shadow of it. She drags in a shaky breath. There’s so much to deal with right now, and if she can’t see Jacob yet, then Charlie has to be her next priority. She suddenly recalls Edward and feels a vicious turning in her stomach again.
He must have been following them to be there so quickly. The thought of him watching Jacob and her lying in the grass, eating their picnic and even their dancing… the way Jacob looked at her… it makes her feel dreadfully ill.
“Emily,” she murmurs into the silence, “Edward said he couldn’t follow me here. What did he mean?”
Emily blinks. “The Cold One? Sam told me about him. He seems… engrossed with you. The Cullen’s have a treaty with the pack – a long-standing one. They don’t hunt humans, and they get to live in Forks. But they’re not allowed on the Rez.”
Jacob’s voice, from what feels like a lifetime ago, tells her, I don’t see them all that much, the Cullen’s. Not at school or the Rez, obviously.
She tunes back into Emily. “Sam says they’ve left and returned over the years, when people notice they aren’t aging. But they’ve never really been a problem. They’ve helped sometimes, with nomads like the ones you met today. Edward’s infatuation with you is... dangerous. Even without Jacob’s imprint, hunting a human the way he has been with you is veering close to breaching the pact. Sam’s calling a meeting with Carlisle – their leader, about it.”
That’s officially enough for Bella. It’s all too much at once. She drags in air through her nose and shakily puts down her mug on the nightstand.
“Could I… erm, could I have a moment, please?”
Pity fills Emily’s eyes, which makes Bella’s stomach squirm.
“Of course. Charlie brought you a change of clothes when we…. Explained. I know you may want to, but I wouldn’t shower yet. You shouldn’t change your dressings for another couple of hours.”
“Thanks,” Bella mutters, feeling slightly spaced-out.
Emily stands and leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her. Bella simply lies staring at the ceiling for a long time, her brain whirling. Edward’s hunting her. Not just stalking, but hunting. Like predator and prey – a lion and a lamb. Jacob is no longer human, and they’re bonded in some way that is going to be all-consuming and strip her of agency.
Finals are soon. Bizarrely, she keeps thinking about the school work she’s neglecting. The friends she’s avoiding. The normal life she still has to live through all this. She watched two vampires be torn into shreds by werewolves today. She’s in agony and she’s scarred for life. She has to dredge something convincing up for Charlie. What the hell can she say?
Best to assess the damage first.
Heaving herself up gingerly, she studiously undoes the bandages covering her. They’re soaked with blood and fluid, which makes her slightly woozy. She’s never been all that great with grotesque things or injuries. Breathing through her mouth, she reveals it finally, in all its glory.
It’s… devastating.
How she’s going to pass this off to Charlie as a simple accident on a hike, she has no idea.
The slash spans from the top of her left rib down to her right hip. All the places that protect her vulnerable inner organs and could have killed her. It’s startlingly violent, a vicious, raw red. It’s ragged, but neatly stitched with dozens upon dozens of rows of thread.
Along the wound's path, there’s extensive bruising – dark purple and blue. They spread across her stomach and sides, extending from her ribs down to her hips. It’s swollen too, especially along her stomach and chest. Her ribs are tender to the touch when she presses hesitant fingertips there.
Despite being the most grievous, it’s not her only suffering. Her whole body pulses like she’s been run over by a truck. Minor cuts and abrasions decorate her legs, and she can feel blooming aches along her lower back.
It surprises her when she starts crying. She lets it happen, not sure what she’s feeling. Pain, mostly, and maybe some damage to her ego. She feels drastically changed, marred, and reformed – both internally and externally.
After some minutes, she hunts for the clothes Charlie brought her. Thankfully, he had the forethought to bring a comfortable outfit. A loose t-shirt, one of her favourite oversized hoodies, and a pair of sweats. Admittedly, they’re the ones with the hole in the hip, but she can’t expect miracles.
Sneakers, too, thank God, because she has no idea where her hiking boots have got to.
Charlie.
She has to deal with him next. Guilt floods through her shock, bringing her to further alertness. Her poor dad. He must be going out of his mind, and when he sees – what is she going to tell him?
There’s a light rap on the door.
Bella swallows and calls, “Come in.”
She straightens when it’s Sam who walks in, not Emily, as she expected.
“Is Jacob okay?” She enquires immediately.
Sam doesn’t answer, running his eyes over her instead, clinical and assessing. She resists the urge to run her fingers through her greasy hair. She wishes she had a hair tie right now. Or the permission to shower.
“I’m sorry for what you went through today, Bella.”
“I’ll live. Jacob? Is he okay?”
Sam sighs. “Jacob’s fine. He’s gone into his sleep now. It’s the last part before he phases back. He’ll be groggy and disoriented for an hour or so when he wakes. His memories will come back piece by piece.”
“And that’s what you’re worried about,” she guesses. “When he remembers what he – what happened.”
Sam nods. “Yes. It’s hard… To deal with.”
Emily’s face. She never said whose path she got caught in explicitly. But now Bella knows from the grief in Sam’s dark eyes.
“When can I see him?”
“Charlie will want to take you home before Jacob’s ready.”
“No,” Bella denies, shaking her head. “No, I have to see him first.”
“Bella,” Sam’s voice is low, coaxing. “Charlie has been worried sick all day, and you need to heal. We have Jacob, we know what we’re doing.”
“Sam,” Bella chokes, more vulnerable than she wants to be. “Don’t – don’t make me leave without seeing him first.”
He sighs again. “It’s not up to me, Bella. Your dad is worried, and you’re still his child. Go home with him; reassure him. You’ll see Jacob. When he comes to, he’ll feel the way you do. You’ll see each other. I promise.”
Not one bit of her likes it, but she thinks of Charlie again. Charlie, who has worked a double shift and sat – worried – waiting for her to wake up. Who loves her in quiet, powerful silence. Her awkward, grumbling dad. And God knows what he’s told her mom already. She wasn’t hurt by Tyler’s truck, and Charlie called her before he was even on the scene.
“Okay,” Bella finally concedes. “But Sam, please… please look after him.”
Sam smiles at her, just a quick flash. “We will. We’re kin. Pack. That has meaning, Bella.”
She nods, and then something occurs to her. “Back there, you said it was killing me for us to be apart. Won’t it… kill us to be apart now?”
Sam shakes his head. “Jacob’s been right outside, in the trees with you all day. You’ve been as close as you need to be for the initial hours. You’ll be okay, now.”
Something warm unfurls in her chest. Jacob stayed with her all day, in the way he knew how. It nearly makes her cry again. Before she can think of a response, Sam’s head tilts towards the side of the house.
“Charlie’s here.”
Dread swamps Bella, but she nods again. “I’m ready.”
Sam leads the way, and Bella walks through a hall to a living room. She doesn’t get chance to take in her surroundings, noting only that the living room and kitchen is one large, warm space. Charlie stands at the front door, talking to Emily but when Bella emerges, his head snaps up, as if he has supernatural senses too.
“Bella!”
She hurries forward and lets him swamp her in a hug. She contains her groan at the pain, squeezing into him. Charlie’s breath is shaky over her hairline, and his hands rub at her arms, holding her loose around the midsection but tight at her shoulders.
“God, Bells, don’t ever scare me like that again,” he grumbles. Pulling back, he demands, “Why didn’t you go to the hospital? What happened?”
Bella tries not to look away from his eyes, and appear deceptive. “I didn’t realise how bad it was, Dad. I fell during the hike into these like… rocks. Sharp rocks and thorns and stuff. I fell quite a bit – you know how clumsy I am, so I think like, the adrenaline just didn’t let me feel the pain. Me and Jake got all the way back to the Rez before I realised how bad it actually was. You know I’m no good with blood and stuff. I just… passed out, and Emily helped me. She’s been amazing.”
Charlie doesn’t look like he believes her one bit; his eyes narrow. But what else can he say? He couldn’t dream of the truth. Finally, he breathes deeply and pulls her close again, cupping the back of her skull and burying her face into his shoulder.
Over her head, he says to the silent Sam and Emily, “Thank you both.”
“Of course, Charlie,” Emily answers softly. “Bella’s practically family.”
Bella’s eyes squeeze shut against Charlie’s shoulder, but despite the comfort, she has to pull away because it’s hurting too much.
“Dad, I’m sorry you were so worried,” she murmurs.
Charlie eases back and strokes a hand over her hair, grease and all. “Alright, kid, let's get you home.”
Bella turns to smile at Emily and Sam, lingering with Sam in the hopes that her gaze expresses her earlier words about Jacob.
“Thank you again.”
Sam nods, and Emily smiles. “We’ll see you soon, Bella.”
The weight of those words crushes her chest, and Bella nods, letting Charlie hold her waist and guide her out the door.
A new worry seems to emerge as she thinks about home. Will Edward be waiting for her?
Chapter 8
Notes:
I know, I know. I have been absolutely forever with this. I could give a million excuses, but I'll simply apologise. I hope the wait was worth it.
Chapter Text
Edward doesn’t come.
Jacob does.
Bella doesn’t know what she was expecting. A knock on the windowpane where rain taps. A shadow in the corner. A rustle of the trees outside. Something. It’s late, but she’s stayed up tussling in and out of sleep, hoping he’d come, like Sam said.
Instead of anything she imagined, her bedroom door opens without sound, and Jacob stands in the doorway. Bella nearly tumbles out of bed, her heart jumping into her throat. He immediately lifts his finger to his lips, cautioning her to be quiet.
The first thing she notices in the dimness is that his beautiful, long hair is gone, cropped short to his head. It ages him, and she sees the version of him that was in her dreams – the Jacob who stepped out of the wolf. The next is that he’s barefoot and dressed only in shorts. He looks taller, older, and more imposing.
It’s him, but it’s not, and something inside her clenches around it.
He closes the door, leans back against it, and whispers, “Hey.”
Bella’s throat tightens. She tries to answer, but something heavy and uncertain knots between her ribs.
Eventually, she manages a shaky, “hi.”
He hesitates like he’s not sure if he’s allowed in. Then he steps further into her room, pacing toward her bed. Bella sits up cautiously. The blankets pool in her lap, still wrapped around her legs from her restless sleep. She feels suddenly too small in the room; too fragile.
Jacob pauses a few inches from her bed. His eyes are dark and watchful. They flick down her frame, once, and she knows – he’s looking for it.
The injury.
“Bells I – I’m so sorry,” he whimpers. He falls to his knees at the side of her bed, startling her. “I can’t believe I – I would never – Bells –”
“Jake, it’s okay. I’m okay,” she soothes, a lump forming at the rawness of his voice. “I mean… yeah, it hurts. It hurts something awful, but I’m gonna be fine.”
Fat tears crest Jacob’s eyes, sliding down his cheeks without shame.
“I wish –“ He begins, voice cracking and then trying again, “I wish I could take it back.”
The way he says it – Bella’s not sure if he means the injury or his entire friendship with her. The thought of that hurts deep in her chest. Higher than her injury, somewhere in her soul.
This close, he smells like rain and forest and warmth. His hand hesitates on the edge of the mattress, and then it finds hers. She startles at the heat of his touch. Different heat now – deeper, almost feverish.
“You didn’t mean to,” she reassures, around the lump in her throat.
“I still did it,” he responds with venom directed inwards, his eyes red. “I still hurt you.”
“If anyone’s to blame, Jacob,” she whispers back, gripping his hand tight. “It’s me. I knew it was coming. I didn’t move away.”
“Sam said you…” Jacob frowns here, as if he can’t believe the words about to leave his mouth. “... Worked it out.”
Bella ducks her head, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry for not telling you. It wasn’t my place –”
“Bells, it’s okay. Don’t turn this on yourself. I’m in the wrong here. I’m the monster.”
A harsh breath sucks in through her teeth; shocked. “Don’t say that, Jake.”
He gently tugs her hand to his chest in answer. Places it flat there on the left side, over his heart. Her fingertips graze something new – a raised piece of skin. She pulls her hand away to squint in the dark and make it out fully. It looks like a spiral, something raised and white.
Like a scar, like a branding.
He lets her map it curiously with her fingers, lets her feel that there’s something beneath the surface of him now.
Something wild and old and not entirely human.
“What...?”
“It’s some kind of phasing mark,” Jacob whispers, covering his hand with hers. “It’s a sign that I’ve changed.”
Bella feels a thrill run up her arm from the contact and has to take a deep breath of surprise. Her eyes rise to Jacob’s, connecting in the dimness. That tug she felt when he phased returns, dragging at her lower stomach – a foreign feeling. Like when they made eye contact in the clearing, and it physically bowled her over.
Emily’s words come back to her – It’s… It’s passion. It needs an… an outlet. For me, it could never be platonic.
There’s a new energy between them that wasn’t there before. It was kindling, for certain, but it’s as if it’s been sped up – accelerating past its natural timeline. It makes Bella feel out of control, like her body isn’t her own to move anymore. Considering how broken her insides feel, it’s not a welcome sensation.
She gently pulls her hand free from beneath his, taking deep breaths. His brow furrows, but he lets it happen.
“You should be sleeping,” Jacob says softly now, voice slightly hoarse.
Bella shrugs a shoulder gingerly, her cheeks hot. “I slept all day. And I… needed to see you.”
“I needed to see you, too,” he murmurs.
“Because of the imprint?”
His eyes flick up to hers, holding them brazenly. “Because of you.”
Bella’s breath catches. “Does it… Feel different now?”
Jacob’s jaw tightens. “Everything does. Like my head finally stopped buzzing, but the world’s louder than it used to be. The trees talk. The ocean growls. You – You’re the quiet in all of it.”
“That’s how it feels for me, too. A – around you.”
He smiles, but it’s sad. “I’m scared, Bells. Being around me got you hurt. What if it gets you killed next time?”
“I’m not scared of you, Jake,” she whispers.
There’s silence after the words, and the longer the silence drags on, the more ridiculous Bella feels. She should be scared of him, shouldn’t she? Scared of him in the same way she’s scared of Edward turning up in her room again. How naïve can she be when she’s already mangled because she got too close?
Maybe she should be scared, but she’s not. And that's more terrifying than Jacob’s claws.
Eventually, Bella tugs her blanket back and shuffles over, just to break her spiralling thoughts up.
“Don’t stay on the floor. Just – come here?”
Jacob blinks, observing her offering. “You sure?”
She nods. He carefully climbs into the bed beside her, staying above the covers. They lie side by side, and he wraps a big arm around her shoulders. It sears her, sinking into her bones like wildfire.
“Jesus, Jacob. You’re hot.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna mention it,” he teases, though it’s weakened by his wet sniffle.
She smiles to herself and lightly nudges his side with her elbow. Even that slight movement twinges her guts and makes her wince. Jacob tenses but gently strokes his thumb across her collarbone, where his hand cups her shoulder.
Bella swallows, her stomach in knots. “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“The imprint… Emily spoke about it like… like it was fate.”
Jacob’s breathing accelerates just slightly before he answers, “I think it’s something older than that.”
“What do you mean? Do you feel like… I dunno, you don’t have a choice?”
Her heart speeds up in her chest, and she’s not quite sure what answer she wants to hear.
“I don’t know, Bells,” he breathes eventually. “I know I was… feeling something for you before I phased. But now... It’s so – intense. I can smell you, right now, you know. Your injury. The blood. Your skin is knitting itself together.”
Wrinkling her nose, she replies, “That’s disgusting, Jacob.”
He laughs. “It’s primal.”
That sobers the mirth they were just managing to scrape together.
“Get some sleep, okay? Your body needs to heal,” he murmurs against her hairline.
Bella shuffles a little, holding back her wince so she doesn’t invoke any further guilty tears from him. She gingerly lays her head across his chest and allows him to slide a little further down her headboard so he’s cradling her gently. She has to immediately kick her leg out of the covers to combat the heat pouring off his skin.
For a while, her brain whirls with thoughts, and her body pulses with pain. She wonders about her sanity, lying in bed with Jacob as she is, knowing what she does. She wonders about fate and destiny, and remembers their eye contact in the clearing. Her desperate need to be near him, which is finally soothed; an itch scratched.
The result is that she has a sleep that doesn’t register as sleep. No dreams either to inform her of the time passing. And so, when sunlight stabs her eyeballs, and she wakes up to her bedroom door opening, she’s confused and bleary-eyed.
“Jake?” She mumbles.
When her eyes clear, Bella finds Charlie entering her room with a raised eyebrow and a tray.
“Oh.” She clears her throat, her chest flush. “Hey, Dad.”
Her eyes quickly scan her bed, finding she’s completely alone in it. Jacob is gone, no warmth or dent left behind to show he was ever there. Charlie’s eyes follow hers, and he squints slightly as he crosses the room, his tray wobbling.
“Wanted to get some food in you.”
Bella pulls herself up as gracefully as she can and accepts the tray. She’s offered orange juice, scrambled eggs on toast, and painkillers. And a single flower in a vase, looking like it was ripped out of the ground mere minutes ago. She presses her lips together to suppress her smile, lest Charlie think she’s making fun of his attempts at quiet love.
“Thanks, Dad. This is really great.”
Charlie mumbles something she doesn’t catch, cheeks pink. Bella strokes a finger over the delicate arching stem of her flower. Its blossoms hang in soft-pink droplets like tiny hearts, each one split down the centre. The leaves are still damp from the everlasting rain, and a few petals look bruised from Charlie’s grip.
Bleeding hearts – dicentra formosa, she remembers suddenly. Her mom had planted them once, when she lived here. They only bloom in the shade. She doesn’t imagine Charlie knows they represent deep, tender love, emotional, and sometimes painful. Bella always suspected that’s why Renée planted them.
Though considering they literally look like a heart breaking open, she would have thought even Charlie could sense the themes of heartbreak. But she also remembers they mean compassion and empathy. Charlie continues to hover after Bella comes back from her small zone out, and she hurries to drink her juice to show her gratitude.
Clearing his throat, Charlie perches on the edge of her bed. Bella raises her eyebrow but dutifully bites into a corner of overly-buttered toast. A runner of it drips right down her finger.
“Listen, Bells. I know you’re nearly done with school, but I don’t think you’re in any shape to go in.”
“Dad, I’m –”
“Don’t tell me that you’re fine, Bella. Now I know I ain’t the smartest guy in town, but I’m the Chief of Police for a reason. I’m observant. You’re in pain. Much as you pretend you’re not. I think there’s something you’re not telling me about this accident.”
Bella's lips part quickly, her toast still held aloft, but Charlie raises his hand.
“If you wanna tell me, I figure you will. But right now, I can see my daughter is recovering, and as your parent, I’m not letting you delay that process for some finals.”
“Dad, those finals are everything. They’re my whole future!” Bella protests.
“I hear you, I do, Bells. I know you’re a smart kid. So, I know you’re going to ace it. But I’m gonna call the school tomorrow, and we’re going to sort something for you.”
“I don’t want the fuss,” she says quickly, placing her toast back on her plate. “There are only a few weeks left of school, I can handle it.”
“Really? Because you look grey from just sitting upright, Bells.”
She pinches her mouth together and mutters, “I’m alright. I’m feeling better.”
Charlie sighs and scrubs a hand over his mouth and chin. “That’s my decision right now, Bella. Eat your food, take your meds, get some more sleep.”
He stands then, before she can protest, and kisses her atop her head. He’s left her room before she can think up a new argument to give him.
She finishes what she can of her breakfast. Then in classic Bella Swan fashion, she attempts actions, rather than words, to prove her point. That doesn’t turn out so well. Making it to the bathroom has her sweating through her clothes. Showering is like standing beneath an avalanche of lava, no matter how cold the water.
Cleaning her wounds – raw, ugly, and red – nearly makes her pass out altogether. Determined, she re-dresses in bandages and loose clothes, then hobbles down the stairs. Thank God Jacob isn’t here to see her. She’s entirely sure he would cry again at the grunts of pain she can’t suppress.
When she makes it to the bottom, she stares at her sneakers and nearly cries. Sitting to put them on is as disgusting, agonising, and humiliating as she thought it would be. Her scalp is soaked with sweat beneath her freshly washed hair by the time she’s done. Charlie finds her in this state, having come in from the outside.
Immediately, he demands, “The hell are you doing, Bella?”
Bella desperately tries not to sound out of breath. “Just going for a walk around the house. Get some fresh air.”
Charlie sighs heavily through his nose. A sigh that says I knew this was coming, and not I completely approve of this plan, Bella.
“You’re as stubborn as ever. This ain’t gonna convince me to send you to school. You’re white as a sheet. And sweating.”
With that demeaning statement, he throws open the front door. At Bella’s bewildered look, he adds an eyeroll. Sometimes, she can really see how much she takes after her dad.
“You’re obviously not going alone.”
The bewilderment on her face morphs into half-gratitude and half seriously? But she keeps her mouth shut. Just in case he decides to march her back to bed. Besides, she’s in too much pain to be clever, and she kind of wants the company. Waking up without Jacob has left her with a feeling of abandonment.
God, I hope this imprint doesn’t give me abandonment issues.
Her sneakers are lead weights on her feet when she stands. Her torso aches like she’s been gutted and stitched back up with fishing line – really not that far-fetched from the truth, come to think of it.
Even still, she keeps her face absolutely straight and wills her pores to keep the sweat to a minimum. The urge to move has become unbearable; she doesn’t want to get back into bed.
The porch groans beneath their weight as they step out of Charlie’s two-story home. The street is quiet, as always. It’s damp, though. Always damp in Forks. Yet right now, the damp, cool air is the best thing she’s ever felt on her flesh.
Mist clings to the yard like silk threads. The rain has stopped (for now), but the world around them is soaked. The scent of wet earth and pine needles is so rich it makes her chest tight. The sky is the colour of a steel sink.
“You okay?” Charlie checks, hand hovering.
She hums, fearing that if she opens her mouth, she may actually throw up everywhere. The coolness is helping, but she feels hot and dizzy. Which is usually the Bella Swan pre-emptive to sickness.
Predictably, they walk in silence after that.
The gravel of the drive crunches underfoot. Her truck sits like a loyal dog, soaked, rusting, and her windshield beaded with raindrops. They soon skirt it to exchange to the narrow path. It winds around the side of the house, cutting through the overgrown and patchy lawn. Well, more moss than lawn, truly. Charlie’s never been much of a gardener.
The edges of the yard are eaten up by brambles and low shrubs. A few flower beds still hold the ghosts of what Renée once planted. She spots the gaping hole where Charlie must have ripped out the bleeding heart for her breakfast tray. She’s not much of a gardener herself, but she winces at the butchery he’s made of the roots.
Renée would be horrified.
Bella’s always liked that Charlie’s house doesn’t have a fence, just an open backyard merging with the dense trees. Her favourite part: the forest swallows them almost immediately. Her hyper-fixation on learning about plants started right here, as a child. Wanting to know what trees were emitting the sap she could smell.
She can smell that sap now, along with wet soil and fungi. They don’t head that deep inside, thank God – she doesn’t have to pretend to have stamina. But the moment they cross the mossy threshold, the air changes. Thicker. Greener. Move alive.
The trees tower over them: thick-bellied western red cedars and sitka spruces with bark that flakes like dried skin. Their needles drip with last night’s rain. The ground is a sponge of dead leaves, slick roots, and moss so bright it looks artificial.
“Watch your step,” Charlie cautions.
Bella nods, breathing carefully. Every movement hurts (Charlie might have been on to something about not going to school), but the air out here tastes better than anything she’s had in days. Like petrichor and pine and some earth sweetness she can’t name. Like Jacob. Exactly like Jacob. Walking in these trees feels like being with him again.
The thought nearly causes her to stumble. Is that what the imprint is? Something that alters her so much that she’ll spend her life subconsciously trying to be near him?
A Douglas squirrel chitters angrily from a high branch as they pass beneath it. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a jaybird calls out, shrill and metallic. A crow answers back. Bella spots mushrooms poking through the mulch – pale caps, some the colour of rust, others delicate and white, like porcelain.
She uses these pretty things to stop, pretending to admire them. Charlie doesn’t seem convinced, especially with her heaving in lungfuls of oxygen. Her body feels like it’s been scooped out.
On one such pretend mission, she stops inside a small clearing. Specifically at a lilac bush, its branches knotted like an arthritic hand reaching skyward. A mix of full blooms and drooping ones.
“Didn’t Mom use to cut these?”
“Every May,” Charlie confirms, following her gaze. “Said the smell made the whole house feel alive.”
Bella smiles and subtly leans against a cedar tree. The bark peels off in vertical strips beneath her hand, red-brown and damp. Everything smells like rain and rot and growing things.
“Why, though? Didn’t she hate this place? Something about the trees making her feel trapped?”
Charlie shrugs. “Something like that.”
Eloquent as ever, her dad.
A crow calls again from somewhere high above, its caw sharp and lonely. She looks up through the branches at the sky, now a shifting veil of pale silver clouds.
“You know, you don’t have to babysit me,” Bella mumbles, with no real bite.
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Charlie sniffs. “Just… walking with my kid.”
A breeze moves through the cleaning, picking up her hair and the collar of Charlie’s jacket. It smells like rain and cedar, but something else too. Something old. Bella inhales slowly, her ribs flaring in protest.
The new sensation of a pull in her lower stomach tugs.
“Come on, kid. You’ve pushed yourself enough.”
Charlie takes her elbow firmly when he says it, and it’s clear there’s no arguing. Conceding, she lets him guide her, but her eyes roam the outer edges of the clearing. She finds him almost immediately. The shadowy bulk of Jacob, the wolf, and those familiar amber eyes. Despite looking for him, she stumbles and gasps.
“Whoa!” Charlie cries, gripping her tightly and adding his arm to her waist. “Do you need me to carry you?”
“No!” She protests, the word shaky. “No, Dad. Really, I can make it. Just – don’t let me fall, okay?”
“Never,” he promises solemnly.
He doesn’t let go of her the whole walk back to the house. As predicted before their walk, he marches her right back up the stairs and to her bed. Which is good, really, because Bella is lost in her head – she doesn’t think she would be able to walk without aid. Jacob was watching. And waiting. That’s the sense she got from him.
She knows (or is delusional) that he’s waiting for her. Waiting for her at home. On the Rez. Despite Charlie’s prohibition from school and her impending lockdown, she needs to go back to Emily’s.
Chapter 9
Notes:
Thank you so much for all your wonderful, wonderful comments. I'm grateful; please enjoy.
Chapter Text
Hunched at the kitchen table, Bella nurses her coffee like it’s doing something useful.
Spoiler: it’s not.
Her stomach’s a ball of nerves. Which is saying something - her insides these days consistently feel like they’ve been put through a blender.
Charlie stands fiddling with the knobs on the stove, like it’s not the same one he used the day before. She stares down the back of his flannel, pulse pounding in her wrists.
“Dad,” she begins, voice carefully neutral. “I was thinking… about going to La Push today.”
Charlie doesn’t turn around.
He doesn’t miss a beat with his eggs either (poached today), which are somehow already burnt. She’s pretty sure the eggs are meant to be a form of punishment for her silence about what really happened on the hike. Considering he can cook pancakes fairly well. But Fridays are sacred pancake days. Being only Wednesday, Charlie would find the suggestion sacrilegious.
“No.”
Bella blinks, suppressing her huff. “That’s it? Just… no?”
“You’re still hurt, Bells.” He glances over his shoulder to pin her with a frown. “You’re only just sitting upright again after two days. You need rest, not to go tromping around the Rez.”
“I’m not tromping,” she retorts. “I’m walking. Or… sitting. Probably sitting.”
He harrumphs while he plates eggs. Her limited appetite isn’t helped by the sad flop of them hitting the plate like a dead fish.
“Jacob can come here if he wants to see you.”
Little does he know that Jacob has been here every night since Sunday. Arriving when she’s half asleep and feverish with pain. Disappearing before she wakes up, late into the afternoon. She can’t seem to bring herself to full consciousness when he arrives, just slips off back to sleep.
It’s infuriating, and she’s had enough.
“It’s not just Jacob, Dad.”
She’s interrupted by her plate landing in front of her, and Charlie’s demand of, “Eat.”
Gingerly, she pokes at her eggs and moves them around her plate. She tries a forkful and swallows without chewing. His worst ones so far. But she smiles gratefully at Charlie. He takes a seat opposite her with his own plate. She scoffs at another three mouthfuls just to please him.
“I need to see Emily, too.”
She waves her fork around, being over casual. Charlie watches a piece of egg drop onto the table with a frown.
“It’s not just… just a hangout. Not even a hangout at all, actually. I need to say… You know, thank you.”
Charlie continues to stare at the egg-strewn dining table. “We have a phone, Bells. I can get her number from Billy.”
“No, Dad.” Frustration grows, infecting her with a jiggling foot. “It should be in person. It’s – it’s too important.”
Charlie looks up, hands paused. “Important like getting back into school? Because we’ve already delayed that for this mystery injury that no one will explain.”
Bella holds back a wince. “I told you. I fell –”
“On what? A bear trap?” He snaps.
Silence.
The guilt tastes worse than his eggs.
Throwing his cutlery onto his plate, Charlie sighs heavily. He scrubs a hand down his face, looking tired.
The guilt continues to grow.
“Bells, I’m trying here. You’re clearly dealing with… something. But going off to the Rez, in this condition? That’s not happening.”
“But Dad –”
“You’re grounded, if that helps.”
With an unhinged jaw, she demands, “Seriously?”
“You refused to go to the hospital, and you won’t let me see whatever the hell happened to you out there. This is the bare minimum response.”
There’s a deep wrench beneath her ribs when she exhales sharply. Charlie sips at his coffee and looks out the window, pink in the face. He roughly clears his throat, not bringing his eyes to hers.
“You want something from the diner? Give you a break from the eggs?”
When she sullenly doesn’t answer this olive branch, he tacks on, “My stomach could take a break too, come to mention it.”
Wrinkling her nose, she drops her fork and leans back into her chair. “Too much information, Dad.”
He grunts (Charlie’s version of a chuckle), and some of the tension fractures. Once on his feet, he gently touches the side of Bella’s head. The hesitant touch is full of love, and strangely nearly makes her cry.
“Why don’t you lie down until I get back? We can watch a movie.”
Bella squints up at him. “A movie? What, are we watching Lethal Weapon again? Besides, the VHS barely even plays anymore – it sounds like it's gasping for air.”
He sniffs, dropping his hand. “I’ve also got L.A. Confidential.”
“That came out in ninety-seven, Dad.”
Charlie picks up his keys from the side while answering, “It’s a classic. You didn’t hear me judging your Pride and Prejudice marathon yesterday.”
“You called it ‘the long, bonnet show’ and fell asleep twenty minutes in.”
“I was resting my eyes.”
“You snored so loud you woke yourself up.”
Charlie rolls his eyes, but there’s the shadow of a smile under his mustache. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop by the rental shelf at Thriftway. Maybe they’ve got something newer, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
She groans theatrically.
Charlie pauses in the kitchen archway. “You want anything besides a burger and a movie?”
Bella tries to play it cool. “No, thanks.”
Worst. Daughter. Ever.
The keys in his fingers jingle as he fusses with them, his voice growing soft. “I’ll be back in twenty. Thirty, tops. Rest.”
A lump forms in her throat, but she nods like they’re not both emotionally constipated. He returns her nod, apparently not noticing that her heart is thundering. He disappears from sight, and she starts to count.
Door, engine, tires.
Go.
She moves – fast as she can manage. Grits her teeth through the pain of yanking on her coat and shoes. No phone, no note; no time. The guilt threatens to keep her bound at the front door, but she pushes past it. The pull in her lower stomach counteracts it, yanking her off the porch.
A hiss of breath escapes her teeth when she jerks open her truck door; her ribs scream in protest. She didn’t even consider that driving is going to hurt like a bitch. The motion of opening the door alone feels like getting gut-punched.
“I’m fine,” she lies to both herself and the Universe. “I can do this.”
Sliding into the cab takes everything she’s got. So possibly, she can’t. Her hands tremble when she places them on the steering wheel. Persevering (and dripping sweat), Bella shoves the key in the ignition. The engine sputters to life. She exhales shakily and pulls her seatbelt on slowly, carefully. It fits tightly to her stomach.
Very much not ideal.
Reversing out, every jolt of the tires over gravel feels like a body blow. By the time she’s on the road, her vision is dangerously fuzzy. She cranks the window down. It helps – the sharp wind slaps her in the face.
Despite this, driving hurts. Badly.
Bella’s jaw locks, pressing her molars together against the pain. A louder groan escapes when she has to check her blind spot.
Okay, not my best decision.
Thankfully, the Rez is a small place. It’s not hard to piece memory and geography together to find Emily’s house again. It sits just off a gravel road, tucked into the forest like it grew there on purpose. The consequence of this is a sloped, dark roof slick with moss.
Emily’s own truck is parked out front, so Bella has to park hers a little further away. Getting out of the cab is fresh hell. She grips the doorframe for balance, slouching until her knees stop wobbling. Even when she’s ready, it takes her a moment to walk up. Thankfully, the ever-present Pacific mist is rolling over her feverish skin.
Sam and Emily’s yard is more of a suggestion of a lawn – patchy grass, overrun with chickweed, and flanked by tall salal bushes. Beyond it, dense spruce and alder trees press in all around, their branches kissing the roof. A faded gingham curtain flaps out of one of the front windows, which is fogged.
The small house emits warmth long before Bella steps inside it. Literally – waves of heat. Which really doesn’t help her already sweltering disposition. Perhaps that’s why the front door stands open. It’s clear that the oven has been going for hours.
The smell of food is so chaotic that Bella can’t decipher specifically what’s being cooked. In practised movements, Emily manoeuvres around the kitchen, dancing between pans and mixing bowls. She’s barefoot, wearing a long t-shirt and an apron with straps criss-crossed behind her.
From her vantage point, Bella can see the left side of Emily’s body – the unmarred side. But can still so easily picture that long, puckered scar on the right, from temple to jaw.
Around Emily are a ridiculous number of plates. They cover nearly every inch of counter space. Fluffy pancakes packed with blueberries. Smoked salmon strips. Some kind of golden bread that looks to be brushed with honey. Crispy hashbrowns flecked with an herb Bella can’t identify. Split biscuits that billow steam, bowls of jam, and whipped butter.
Thankfully for Bella, there’s no one else but Emily and the food inside. Trembling slightly, Bella lightly taps her knuckles on the front door. The side of Emily’s mouth tips upwards as she picks up a mixing bowl.
“Come in, Bella.”
A nervous flutter clenches Bella’s body, jolting her.
“How did you know it was me?”
When Emily looks up at Bella, there’s kindness in her eyes, as well as a little mischief. “No one else knocks.”
Huffing a laugh, Bella tentatively edges inside. Emily turns from the counter now, a large mixing box full of batter in the crook of her arm. Her other hand expertly pulls a whisk through it.
“Sit down, would you? You look grey.”
“I wish people would stop saying that to me,” Bella grumbles.
Even still, she dutifully takes a seat. The table is big but old, scarred with knife marks and water rings.
“Bella, you look like a stiff breeze could take you out. You didn’t drive yourself here, did you?”
“Thanks,” Bella evades dryly. “I take it the others are due?”
Emily nods, her cheeks a russet red. “Less than an hour, so I don’t think my cornbread will be ready in time.”
She looks genuinely displeased by this idea and takes it out on her mixing bowl, whipping the batter faster.
“Are you hungry? There’s venison sausages on the stove.”
When Bella looks, she sees it – a battered cast iron skillet on the burner. Sausages sizzle inside, a hissing in the background.
“Or something lighter?” Emily tries, at her hesitance.
Without waiting for an answer, Emily hands Bella a muffin. It’s still warm. The cracked top leaks the scent of vanilla, banana, and brown sugar. It strokes her appetite (which hasn’t been great lately), surprising her.
She laughs softly. “Emily, you don’t have to feed me.”
Emily scrunches her face in obvious disapproval. “Don’t be ridiculous. I feed everyone. It’s my thing. Don’t you take it from me, Bella Swan.”
“Okay, okay. Thank you.”
She bites into the muffin eagerly, using the excuse to conjure a real conversation. As she eats, she lets her eyes slide over the surrounding space. It opens into the living room and the hallway that Bella previously walked through. That gives it the illusion of open space, but it can’t be any more than twelve feet.
The kitchen floor is worn linoleum, scuffed with years of foot traffic. The cabinets are a faded honey oak, chipped at the corners and dotted with mismatched knobs. One drawer doesn’t look like it quite shuts properly. On the windowsill, a bunch of wildflowers rests in an old coffee tin.
“Those flowers are beautiful, Emily,” Bella compliments.
Emily glances over at them and grins, a smile so wide it completely changes her face. She places her mixing bowl on the side and turns down the heat on the sausages.
“Aren’t they? Sam brings me a bunch every couple of days. He covers some ground with four paws, so I get all sorts. I know some plants, but I don’t know the names of those.”
Time for Bella to thrive. She chews her mouthful of delicious muffin first, gearing up.
“The white, feathery plume ones are Goatsbeard. The fiery red? Red Columbine. And the violet-blue are Wild Iris.”
“Wow.” Emily laughs, but it’s not malicious. “Jacob’s right, you are smart.”
The fridge covered in photographs and to-do lists suddenly becomes very interesting. Her eyes dance between each of them to avoid Emily’s.
“I’ve always liked learning stuff. Especially plants and trees. Stuff like that.”
The next interesting thing is the shelves packed with hand-labelled jars of dried herbs. Emily laughs again, and Bella lets her eyes rise back to the other woman, still hot in the face.
“What?” She asks tentatively.
Emily shrugs, that mischievous light in her eye. “I just think it’s funny you weren’t truly raised in Forks, when your very soul seems to want to be here.”
Bella blinks dumbly in surprise. She’s never considered it that way before. She’s always disliked Forks growing up. She loved the heat and the light. Not the damp and dark.
“Anyway, how’re you healing up? Do you want some more willow bark to help?”
“Yes, please.”
She doesn’t particularly want that dry mouth tea again, but it feels like the least she can do. Emily starts to fuss with mugs and pots of herbs.
She says, “Thanks, Emily,” when a cup of steaming tea is put in front of her, not a few minutes later.
“Em’s fine.” Emily joins her at the table, pushing her long, dark braid down her back. “How’re you? Really?”
“It hurts,” Bella finds herself admitting.
There’s something about Emily’s kind eyes that forces her to puke truth, apparently.
“I just came from a sort-of fight with Charlie,” she rambles on.
“So, you did drive yourself!”
Emily mutters something in Quileute after this that Bella can’t catch, but she can guess it isn’t flattering.
“I’m assuming he wanted you to stay home.”
“He’s already kept me from school. Arranged everything with my teachers to get my finals done. He’s even taken vacation time at work. My mom nearly keeled over when I told her. Said he hasn’t had time off since I was born.”
An amused smile curls the functioning side of Emily’s mouth. “But that’s… sweet. What he should be doing, as your dad.”
“I know. And I’m grateful, really. But I’ve been cooped up in the house for days. In pain. I feel like – like I’m on my deathbed or something. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“And you needed to see Jacob.”
Heat fills Bella’s face. “And you,” she defends. “I wanted to say thank you, properly. For the way you looked after me.”
Emily smiles prettily. “You’re welcome, Bella. But you could thank me by actually resting and not letting my efforts go to waste.”
Shame floods Bella’s chest.
“I’m sorry. I just – how can I just lie in bed after… everything? I need to talk about it. I need to understand.”
“You need to ask questions,” Emily summarises.
“And to escape Charlie’s attempts at cooking. He’s done just about every variation of egg there is.”
The sudden thought of Charlie coming back from the diner turns her stomach. She can picture her poor dad calling for her, a burger and VHS in hand. She left her phone behind, but it’s not like she didn’t tell him where she was going. She’s half expecting him to turn up soon, but she’s mostly banking on his aversion to drama.
There will be a storm of a speech waiting for her when she gets back, though. And perhaps bars on her windows.
That’s future Bella’s problem.
Present Bella (like Emily called out) needs answers.
Admitting it now, she mumbles, “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I mean, I get parts of it. But… Emily, I didn’t ask for this.”
“Is that what’s bothering you? That you didn’t ask for it?”
The mug scorches her fingertips when she clenches it. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s just – it's a lot. I’m only seventeen! And what if… what if it’s not me Jacob’s seeing? What if it’s just… fate, or – or biology. Magic, or whatever this thing is? How do I know he actually wants me?”
Emily studies her for a long time. Then: “Why don’t you ask him?”
Bella huffs. “I’ve been trying. He comes every night, but it’s when I’m half-awake. It’s so – nice… to have him there. The safety of his touch. The furnace of his body. I can’t bring myself to come to properly.”
There’s a moment she takes to breathe through her embarrassment at such a confession.
“But he never stays. He’s gone when I wake up. It’s like he’s afraid to be around me or something. I saw him, his wolf, on a walk with Charlie. But the human Jacob? I haven’t seen him since he cried from what he’d done to me.”
Emily’s face softens. “He’s going through a lot, too, Bella.”
Bella lets out a long breath that rattles. “More than me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But he is, isn’t he? All those changes, on top of all this guilt he has because of me –”
“Bella,” Emily interrupts, looking more serious than Bella’s ever seen her before. “It’s not just that. Jacob is... different now.”
“I mean, I figured turning into a wolf would change anyone’s life.”
“No.”
Emily reaches across the table and lightly touches Bella’s hand. The act makes her feel as if something terrible is about to be shared with her.
She tenses. “Em...?”
“Jacob can shift into a wolf now, yes. But you have to understand that he’s sharing his body now. The Wolf is a spirit, Bella. A spirit unto itself.”
“I don’t understand.”
Emily sighs. “Think of it like having a split personality. But this isn’t just in Jacob’s head. This is another entity. Another person, if that’s how you want to see it. There’s Jacob, and there’s The Wolf.”
Bella's head throbs. “So you’re saying... what? That Jacob’s avoiding me because of his wolf? Or it’s The Wolf that’s coming to see me?”
Releasing her hand, Emily sits back slightly in her chair. “I think The Wolf is bringing Jacob’s body to you. But I think Jacob himself is the one who's avoiding you.”
Groaning softly, Bella rubs at her temples. “Okay. That’s... a lot to process.”
With a sympathetic curl of her mouth, Emily nods. “It was for me, too. Sam’s Alpha. His wolf is... intense. We had so much shame around our connection because of Leah that Sam did much of what Jacob is doing. Avoided me, but his wolf... couldn’t stay away.”
Emily trails off and raises her head to the front door, looking preoccupied. Bella turns her head there, too. Sam's sudden presence fills the doorway. He must easily be past six feet; he barely fits. She wonders how old he is, considering none of the boys around here look their age. His dark eyes and stoic expression are probably aging him ten years.
“Sam,” she acknowledges.
“Sam,” Emily breathes.
Discomfort squirms beneath Bella’s skin at their shared look. It’s like she’s interrupting something intimate. Sam smiles at Emily and takes the time to walk over and kiss her head. Standing at her side, he holds her around her shoulders. It pulls her body alongside his leg and hip, like they can’t bear to be apart from each other.
It’s endearing but slightly too much for Bella’s taste – she’s always been a little prudish. That said, it’s their house, and she doesn’t want to be rude. She tries to smile reassuringly, but she doesn’t think she’s much pulling it off.
Sam looks her over with a slight grimace. “Jacob is slowing your healing down.”
Taken aback, Bella leans further into her chair. “What do you mean?”
“He’s avoiding you.”
She frowns. “Kinda. I mean, he’s with me every night. Though Emily thinks it’s his... wolf...?”
“It is,” Sam tells her simply, like that doesn’t make her head spin. “Jacob – he’s the one avoiding you, Bella. And The Wolf is suppressing your dreams.”
Craning her neck to accommodate for Sam’s height, she queries, “What do you mean, my dreams? Why would The Wolf come to my bed just to suppress my dreams?”
“I'm guessing you haven't dreamt since before Jacob phased, which was what? Three days ago, now? That’s because you’re a dream walker. One of the powers of the imprint bond is that Jacob’s wolf can give you rest from it.”
She blinks up at him owlishly. “Sam… you’re losing me.”
“Slow down, Sammy,” Emily chastises, lifting her head from Sam’s side. “We’re giving her too much information at once.”
Emily then gets up from her seat, and Sam takes it, sitting opposite Bella. In the background, Emily flits around once more, filling up a plate.
“Coffee?” She calls.
“Yeah, please, baby,” Sam calls back.
“Still got my tea, thanks, Em,” Bella responds.
Sam raises his brow at the nickname, and Bella feels incredibly silly. She doesn’t dislike Sam, but she dislikes that he’s interrupted her conversation with Emily. She feels observed now, whereas Emily’s energy alone was calming. It let her open up without fear of judgment.
“Do you want to take a break, Bella?” Sam asks, softer than she’s ever heard him before. “You look a little g –”
Emily cuts in, “ – don’t say it –”
“ – rey,” Sam finishes. “What? She does.”
“I’ve heard,” Bella mutters. “I don’t need a break – I came here for answers, Sam. I’m doing okay, really. Well, apart from being under house arrest.”
“Charlie’s a good man; he’s doing what he thinks is best.”
“I know,” Bella concedes. “Sam. You were saying?”
His eyes assess her for a moment longer before speaking. “Every imprint in our history has been a dream walker. We don’t know why. The elders think it's something to do with being open to spirit.”
“But what is dream walking?”
Sam leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “It means your soul is open while you sleep. You don’t just dream – you travel. See things… feel things…”
Those dreams of Jacob as The Wolf. The feather fluttering to her feet. Edward in the forest. The ones that she’s had since her first bonfire on the Rez. The ones that were telling her everything before she even knew anything.
Prophetic dreams? Somehow, that feels more ridiculous than werewolves and vampires.
Sam's eyes flick to Emily as she approaches with his coffee and a plate of food. “Something about you is different, though, Bella. And I don’t know how it affects your dream walking. That mind-reading Cold One said you had a shield. Something that stopped him from hearing your thoughts. He seemed to think it would resist the bond.”
The mention of Edward jolts her. She had almost forgotten him during her own woes.
“What’s going on with him? Emily said you were talking to Carlise about his… stalking of me.”
“We are,” Sam confirms, accepting the mug Emily slides into his hand. “Thanks, Em.”
They share a soft smile, something that feels too intimate to witness.
“This Friday,” Sam continues, looking at Bella once more. “Don’t worry about the Cullen’s, Bella. That’s our job. You need to focus on yourself and your imprint with Jacob.”
She sighs heavily, rubbing at her temples where a growing headache is forming. “Okay, so back to dream walking. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Dream walking isn’t just about travelling. You can target yourself; map your own psyche, your own spirit.”
Bella shifts, the wooden chair creaking under her. “And Jacob’s wolf… has been stopping that these last couple of nights?”
“Jacob’s your protector now. Even from your own subconscious. It’s meant to happen occasionally, to let you rest. But he’s doing it every night – he’s suppressing it.”
“But it’s not his decision,” Bella snaps, the heat back in her chest.
It’s not like she has any idea what Sam’s really talking about, but the mere mention of a choice taken from her is too much.
“Jacob doesn’t get to control me. Waking or sleeping.”
“He’s not doing it to control you,” Emily says softly, standing once more at Sam’s side. “He’s doing it because he’s scared. You went through something really traumatic. He doesn’t want you to relive it yet.”
“You have to realise, Bella,” Sam intones, “that Jacob is sharing his body now. He’s been... struggling. Fighting control with his wolf.”
“So... Jacob, my Jacob, is avoiding me, and his wolf is suppressing me. Great. So they’re both jerks.”
Sam exhales through his nose, the way people do when they wish they had better answers. At the same time, he spoons jam onto a golden piece of bread.
“Jacob is learning to merge souls with his wolf. And he’s learning to share you with The Wolf, too. That disconnection... the resistance... It’s why you feel so unwell, on top of your recovery. Agitated. Like something’s constantly pulling at you.”
Her hand slides down to her stomach without thought. That growing-familiar ache. It’s like background noise now, like breathing and blinking.
“So Jacob’s really struggling then? To adapt?”
Sam takes a second to chew before he replies, “Yes. He’s started patrolling with us, but he doesn’t do much else than brood. We have what’s called a Pack Mind. It means we can hear each other’s thoughts when we’re shifted.”
“That’s… invasive.”
Sam nods.
“He’s not doing it on purpose, but Jacob’s actions are rejecting the bond. If he pushes too hard, it’ll reject him back. And if that happens…”
Emily picks up the thread while Sam eats, quieter now: “Then you both live with half a soul. For the rest of your lives.”
Chapter 10
Notes:
I just want to say a massive thank you again for all of your encouragement, whatever form that comes in. You inspire me to keep going, truly. I just want to note that I am trying to be really respectful of the Quilete tribe and their language. I want there to be authenticity, so there is Quilete language sprinkled in, but a lot of it is made up, in an effort to keep that respect. I hope that's okay with everyone. Please do let me know if you feel like I'm tackling that wrong or right. I'd really appreciate it.
Chapter Text
The boys rachet reaches Bella before they do.
Jared and Paul are the main culprits, both of them scuffling and laughing, knocking into the doorframe. Bella’s surprised the whole house doesn’t come down from the way they make it vibrate. The pair of them are muscled beyond reason.
Compared to Paul’s cocky smirk, Jared wears an easy grin on his face. Both of their dark hair is mussed from their tussling, but Paul’s is cropped shorter than anyone else’s.
Then she feels him: Jacob.
His dark eyes are fixed on her immediately. And with them, a ring of amber around the iris. It takes Bella’s breath away, and she clenches the mug of untouched tea in her hand. Did he have those eyes when he fell to his knees at her bedside? She wracks her brain, but it was dark in her room. So even if he did, she doesn’t think she would have noticed.
Before he even crosses the threshold, his newly intense gaze is upon her, informing Bella that he must be able to sense her. In much the same way, she’s starting to develop a sense for him.
She stares at his approaching figure like she’s going to see the wolf spirit etched right on his face. Like she can make out the new entity hijacking her best friend’s body with a simple glance. In some ways, she can. He’s all tense shoulders with an air of brooding, as Sam described him.
His hair is damp. Chest bare. Only shorts and sneakers for clothing. A look that’s quickly becoming his go-to. A stranger from her long-haired, plaid-shirted best friend, who she saw only three days ago. And now seems to be gone forever.
She darts her eyes over his shoulder, expecting Embry next, but most surprisingly gets –
“Quil?!”
Quil’s head turns her way, his long hair shorn short, and his chubby face shaved of a few inches of fat.
He grins widely at her. “Hey, Bella!”
“You’re…” She waves a hand over his general self from her seat. “You’ve shifted?”
“Monday night.” He runs by her for the plate of smoked salmon. “We think the nomads triggered it, like they did Jacob.”
“Hello to you, too, Bella,” Paul grouses, flopping down in a seat at the table. “Oh, nice to finally meet you, Paul!” He adds in a falsetto.
Emily whips his shoulder with a tea towel. “Be nice!”
Paul jumps and trembles lightly. “Well, it’s kind of rude.”
“You’re kind of rude,” Jared states, smacking Paul upside the head.
“No, he’s right,” Bella jumps in, hot in the face. “It was rude. It’s nice to meet you, Paul. And you, Jared. Thanks for… You know, your help. At the clearing.”
Paul scoffs derisively. “Oh, what, you mean for saving your pale ass?”
“Paul!” Jacob snaps.
Bella jumps out of her skin, but Paul merely rolls his eyes. “Well, we did.”
“And she said thank you,” Quil interjects with a mouthful of food. “Quit it.”
Bella grips her fingers to quell her rising anxiety. She doesn’t think there’s any real tension here, but she doesn’t understand the dynamic enough yet to assume.
Swallowing softly, she quietly says, “Erm… hi, Jake.”
“Bella,” he answers flatly, wringing her stomach. “Charlie called Billy.”
Bella grimaces, painfully aware of their audience. “I told him I was coming to see Emily.”
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he bites back.
The tone he uses with her is nothing like she’s ever heard from him before. It continues to be the sharp whip he just used with Paul. Is this the influence of The Wolf?
Gone is the teary-eyed Jacob from her bedside, the grinning boy in the garage, the friend who watched storms with her. In his place is something else. Someone else. Someone Bella doesn’t know yet and still, somehow, feels a pull too.
It’s disorienting and maddening.
The room spins for half a second as she makes it to her feet. It’s too hot. Or maybe it’s just her – she is still in her coat. Or perhaps it’s the way Jacob’s looking at her like she’s broken a rule she didn’t know was in place. She’s so confused by his behaviour. She thought he wanted her here; why else would he have been waiting at the edge of that clearing?
Or maybe it’s The Wolf that wants her here, and not Jacob.
Yeah, because that idea doesn’t make her feel sick to her stomach.
“I was leaving soon anyway,” Bella mumbles.
Jacob’s tone continues to be short. “Yeah? Good. I’ll drive you back.”
Paul whistles through his teeth and only provides a shit eating grin when Jacob throws him a withering glare.
“Jacob,” Sam warns. “Ease up.”
“I don’t need you to drive me,” Bella states to Jacob.
The fact that Sam of all people had to come to her defence is setting her cheeks ablaze. Everyone’s eyes are crawling on her skin. And the idea of being in the truck with this new, sharp-edged version of Jacob turns her stomach.
“I’m driving you, Bella.” Jacob’s voice is even firmer now. “I told Charlie I would.”
She glances around. Paul gleefully watches the exchange as if he’s invested in a juicy drama. Emily is frowning and glancing at Sam. Sam is glancing back; some kind of silent conversation no one else is privy to. Jared and Quil are munching everything they can get their hands on, forgoing plates and using the crooks of their arms.
“Thanks for having me,” Bella says weakly to Sam and Emily.
They glance up in sync, which is slightly eerie.
“I’m always here, Bella,” Emily answers pointedly.
Bella gets the feeling she’s being told they have a pack of their own now. An imprint sisterhood. The only imprints of this generation. But in this moment, Bella doesn’t feel like she’s fully part of it. She feels like she’s being shunted away by Jacob, no less.
In defiance, she walks over and hugs Emily tightly, ignoring the men in the room. Emily hugs her back very gently, light as air. When they part, they share a smile. Bella provides a pathetic wave to the rest of the room, then moves past Jacob without looking at him. Which hurts something deep in her stomach, like she’s resisting a breath.
Despite his long legs, Jake lets her stay up front. She almost wishes he wouldn’t – the looming presence of him at her back is unbearable. The silence when they get in the truck is almost worse.
“What the hell was that back there?” She demands as he jams the key in the ignition and turns it. “Why are you suddenly mad at me?”
Jacob glances behind him to reverse, arm clinging over the top of the seat. His warm fingertips brush at her loose hair, and she shivers. She despises the betrayal of her body and huddles right up against her door to keep away.
“I’m not mad at you, Bella.”
She stares at him incredulously. “Well, it sure seems that way. Or is it... him? Her? It? The Wolf?”
His hands tighten on the wheel, and he puts his foot down, snapping her back into her seat. The scent of Billy’s remnant tobacco and peppermint is there as always, too stubborn to leave. It reminds her that Jacob helped fix her truck for her – that he was part of her homecoming before she even arrived in Forks.
That the very day she returned was his birthday, no less.
Is that fate? Or just a coincidence? Either way, it makes her miss him, even when he’s sat right next to her. She misses his easy smile, his long hair, and the laughter he was so quick to dole out.
It sucks.
“Jacob, don’t keep ignoring me,” Bella prods tersely, throat tight.
“Not everything is about The Wolf, okay?” Jacob snaps back, tilting the steering wheel to the left. “You’re supposed to be healing. But instead, you’re sneaking off like –”
“Like what?” Bella jumps in, her chest heaving; eyes boring into the side of his face. “Like a person? A person who needed to get out of bed before her spine fused with the mattress?”
He doesn’t answer, but his jaw works back and forth. The gas pedal grinds under the weight of his foot.
She exhales sharply through her nose. “Why don’t you tell me what’s actually bothering you, Jacob? Just – God, just let me in. Stop shutting me out.”
Silence but for the tick of the turn signal.
“It’s about the imprint, isn’t it?” She presses.
He cuts a glance at her once they’ve rounded a bend. A mixture of guilt and longing that gives her more questions than answers.
“Yes.”
She blows out another tense breath. “Because you don’t want me. Is it The Wolf who wants me? The imprint is through me, and it? And you... You just feel forced.”
Bella expects him to deny it immediately. So Jacob’s responding silence hits harder than a slap. He continues to speed down the road, the engine rumbling beneath them.
“Don’t you ever say that again.”
The words aren’t angry, but shocked, and therefore harsh because of it. Bella jolts in her seat, surprised by both the delay and the venom of them.
“I – of course I want you.”
Bella doesn’t have much capacity to unpack that right now. Despite all this mysticism, realistically, they’re not together. He’s not her boyfriend. They haven’t kissed. They haven’t even dated. She decides to slip back into her frustration, to evade the spiralling topic.
“Then what, Jake? You’ve been avoiding me; don’t deny it. Sam and Emily had to be the ones to tell me everything! Dream walking, you having another spirit inside you; the meeting with Edward. Oh, and that you’re suppressing my dreams. Or – The Wolf is, because… because they want me to rest or something. I’ve had all sorts of warnings about having half a soul for the rest of my life because of something that I didn’t even ask for!”
“Oh, and I did?!” He snarls back, turning a corner sharply. “You think I had a choice, either? Think I would choose to share my body like this?! You have no idea what this is like, Bella! No idea! You could have warned me, and you didn’t. So don’t treat me like I’m the only one holding back answers!”
Bella flinches, looking out the window. The ball developing in her throat grows tighter, and she blinks rapidly to clear her eyes. Jacob sighs heavily, and she’s mortified to realise he can probably smell the salt of her tears.
Do I get no dignity anymore?
“I didn’t want to tell you anything like this, Bella. I wanted you to rest; to recover before I landed even more shit at your feet.”
He sighs again, the sound weary. “The Wolf, he’s been suppressing your dreams because – Well it’s really the only thing we agree on. Dream walkers don’t have full sleep when they move around in the astral realm. He wants you to heal so he can meet you properly.”
Jacob scrunches up his face. “Before the Choosing Ceremony, ideally.”
Bella frowns out the window at the passing late afternoon, refusing to look at him. She’s pretty sure her cheeks are blotchy, and she will outright cry if she does. Besides, all of this new information keeps rewriting her reality, and she’s doing her best not to drown.
“And the Choosing Ceremony is?”
“The English term. On the Rez, we call it K’wahti Nawk’a – The Soul’s Choice.”
She tries to break down the new word in her head, imitating Jacob’s tone. Kwah-tee naw-kah.
“Is K’wahti something to do with Q’wati, the Transformer?”
Jacob almost smiles. “Yes. The Transformer has a hand in changing your destiny, but your soul still has its choice.”
There’s a lull of quiet while she digests this, when Jacob speaks up again. “It’s not like a ceremony with flowers an’ stuff. It’s not… pretty. It’s ancient. The kind of thing we only do when the human soul is… resisting.”
Jacob rolls to a stop at a red light. Bella looks at his furrowed brow. All she wants to do in this moment is reach over. Rub her thumb over a wrinkle. Watch his face soften and feel his cheek fit into the palm of her hand. But paired with the agony of her midsection, she can so clearly remember his claws nearly tearing her in two.
“When you say human soul...” She clears her hoarse throat. “Do you mean mine or yours?”
Jacob grimaces. “Mine. Bella I – The Wolf could take over me. That’s what the Choosing Ceremony is. He could take my body, do you understand?”
“But – but no one else… I mean, Quil seems exactly the same…” She stammers.
“No one else has struggled to adapt this much before,” Jacob mutters with petulance. “Apart from Sam. But mine – the bastard is strong. He wants all of me.”
The light turns green, and they continue down the ribbon of road to Charlie’s.
“Well, how did Sam overcome his?” Bella asks quickly, her mind spinning.
Jacob heaves a heavy sigh. “It’s not easy to explain, Bells. It’s – personal. Personal shit. What worked for Sam won’t work for me.”
“Okay.” She swallows, playing with her fingers. “So I guess the next question is, why is yours so strong?”
“I –” He clears his throat and makes another turn. “My grandfather was Alpha. It’s my… legacy, I guess. But I don’t want it. The human part of me doesn’t want it. The Wolf does – he feels like he deserves it.”
They pull into her driveway before Bella can verbalise any further thoughts, muddled as they are. Charlie’s cruiser is parked crooked. The porch light is on (unnecessarily, being late afternoon) and is clearly intended as a spotlight. Charlie is the judge, jury, and executioner beneath it. Her dad can be so dramatic when he wants to be.
Gingerly, she opens the truck door.
Charlie’s voice cuts through the air like a bullet. “Inside. Now.”
Bella stiffens. Jacob kills the engine, and they both get out of the car.
To Jacob, Charlie points his finger and says, “Not you. And go and put some damn clothes on.”
Bella cringes, wondering what that looks like. “Dad, it’s not Jake’s fault.”
“Inside, Bella. Now.”
The tone brooks no argument. Bella throws a helpless look over her shoulder at Jacob. There’s still so much to say. He gives her a curt, unreadable nod – the distance back in full force. More formal than he’s ever been. She turns away from him, hiding her grimace when she passes her dad.
Charlie closes the door behind them with too much force. The slam echoes like the prelude to a horror movie. Unbearable silence stretches between them as Bella strips off her coat and shoes.
Then finally, his voice comes, steelier than she’s ever heard it. “You’re grounded for the rest of the summer.”
Snapping her head up from her newly bared, damp socks, she demands, “Seriously?!”
“Dead serious.” He really looks it, too. He starts pacing like he’s trying to wear the floor down into submission. “And it’ll be the afterlife too, if I have my say.”
“Dad. Come on –”
“No, Bella. You come on. You left without telling me. You’re injured. And you drove. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I don’t slap a tracking anklet on you?”
“I told you I was going to see Emily! You knew exactly where I was!”
He jabs a finger toward her like he’s physically handing her his disappointment. “And I told you no! You lied. You snuck out. You’re seventeen. And hell, Bells, whatever this is, whatever happened to you, you won’t tell me. I can’t protect you if you keep me shut out!”
Bella flinches. “Dad, I’m sorry. But you don’t need to – to lose it.”
“You’re damn right I’m losing it!” Charlie’s face grows tomato red, a vein in his forehead beginning to throb. “You scared the hell out of me with that fall. And then you run off today to – what, huh? To what, Bella? Tell me what’s going on.”
She slightly shakes her head. “I – I can’t, Dad. Please, just trust me.”
“Trust you?” Charlie scoffs, hands on his hips. “I’ve tried to give you space, Bella. I’ve tried to be the good guy. But this?” He waves a hand, as if to indicate that the entirety of her person is the problem. “I won’t sit back and watch you destroy yourself for whatever this is. I spoke to your mom, and she agrees. If you won’t rest yourself, I’ll force you.”
Bella screws up her face, not appreciating the threat. “You can’t be here all summer. You have work.”
“Bella, so help me,” he shakes his head, still burning crimson. “I’ll post a squad car outside if I need to. Now go to your room. We’re done tonight.”
“Fine,” Bella bites out.
She storms upstairs as fast as her battered body will allow her. The ache in her ribs flares like a punishment.
The walls of her bedroom feel smaller than they did this morning. Not helped by her slamming her door. She sits down on her bed in a huff. Stands again. The information dump she’s received today is hurting her head. And Bella has only ever circumvented overthinking with research.
Time to tackle Charlie’s dial-up again. She boots up the old computer, chewing on her lip while she waits for it to function. She types the minute she can: What is dream walking?
A thousand links appear. Most of them are nonsense. She scrolls further down the results. Then there’s something: a link to tribal oral histories. Another about shamanistic beliefs.
The dream walker moves through spirit space.
Dream walking may begin as observation but evolves into interaction.
Certain tribes believe only those with spirit ties – totems or animal guides – are granted the ability to walk the dream paths.
Animal guides... like The Wolf? The spirits that share bodies with the Quileute people? Breath growing shallow, she writes her next question, and then the next.
Two-spirit people.
Alpha Wolf characteristics.
She spends hours at it until her eyes are sore and itching.
Choosing Ceremony… Ceremonies… Wolf lore…
She switches off the computer when her lids grow too heavy, ignoring her mom’s latest email. Bella staggers to bed without showering, too fuzzy to battle her squeamishness and deal with her recovery.
Her body sinks into the mattress, but her mind won’t rest. She twists and turns, drifting in and out of mini sleeps and dreams that disappear when she wakes.
At one such point, cool air washes over her, jolting her from her sleep. She gazes around with a fuzzy gaze, because though half asleep, she knows there’s too much cool air. Bella’s eyes lift to her window, the curtain flapping in the gust of wind.
Except she never went to bed with the window open.
Stiffening, she comes awake all at once. Every nerve in her body lights up. Her eyes zip over to the darkest corner of her bedroom. There’s the shape of an outline there. Her heart stops dead in her chest; her ears are ringing with white noise.
It’s a shape she unfortunately knows.
Edward is in her room.
Despite the dread crawling up her throat, Bella doesn’t scream. She knows she should. But in her fright, her voice is not hers to control.
Edward is merely a silhouette when she first spies him. His pale skin drinks in the darkness of her bedroom. He stands still, rigid, arms straight at his sides. Perhaps he thinks that if he moves, Bella will release the scream tangled in her vocal cords.
“Bella.” His voice is as soft as snowfall, barely above a whisper. “Breathe. Your heart is racing.”
The reminder that he can hear it tightens her chest. She sits up slowly, pressed back against her headboard. Fingers clenched in her sheets, she raises them with her. She’s fully dressed, but the extra layer feels like protection. Feels like if she were to duck under them, then the monster in the dark can’t get her.
“You –” Her voice cracks, and she licks her lips; tries again. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
The silence after this admission is thick and strange. Bella’s entirely certain Edward isn’t breathing. Or blinking, for that matter. Like he can’t even be bothered to pretend. There’s nothing human in his shape right now.
She swallows roughly, and her throat audibly clicks. “How long have you been standing there?”
Shame flickers across Edward’s expression – new and ill-fitting. “A while.”
The confession sends shards of ice through her veins.
“You’re sick,” she hisses. “Get out. Get out before I scream the house down.”
“There’s nothing Charlie could do with his gun, Bella. You know that.”
“Is that a threat?!”
Edward frowns, as if he can’t fathom how she’s jumped to this conclusion. “Of course not.”
“I mean it, Edward. Leave.”
Instead of doing this, he stays exactly where he is. Waves of helplessness infect her limbs with tremors. What can she truly do to make him go? He’s right – she could scream, but what could Charlie do? She would just get him killed. The question isn’t how to make Edward leave, it’s: what does Edward truly want?
Bella has an unfortunate feeling that she knows the answer.
“You know,” Edward murmurs, low and sweet, almost musical. “I haven’t been able to get near since that mutt mauled you. This is the first time your dog hasn’t been around. Not for hours, at least.”
The confirmation of Jacob’s abandonment hurts, especially watching a slow, creeping smirk climb Edward’s lips.
It turns her nasty, a cornered animal.
“Jacob will tear you apart when he finds out, and don’t think for a second I’ll stop him.”
A flash of something flickers across Edward’s face; something indecipherable. “I deserve that.”
She scoffs shakily. “So, you do have sense.”
“Yes, Bella, I do. I’ve been alive for a very long time.”
Bella shivers at the confirmation, hugging her sheets tighter to her body. Though Edward hasn’t moved from where he lurks in the shadows. She could turn the lamp on, save her blood pressure some, but giving him light feels like permitting him. It has to remain wrong, in the dark, where it belongs.
“I seem to have ignored it since I met you. And now I have a meeting to attend with the wolves in a few hours, because of it. I’m not supposed to be near you. Carlisle forbade it.”
“Nice to think one of you isn’t a freak,” she snaps.
Despite the edge of her words, she feels ridiculous. Edward can hear her heart pounding. Can see her trembling. Can smell her fear. How silly she must look to him: a little kitten striking out tiny claws.
Laughable.
Edward steps a little out of the shadows, and she shrinks deeper into her headboard. In the moonlight, he looks like stone under running water.
“I might not be able to see you again after tomorrow, Bella. And I wanted to tell you something important.”
He frowns, but no skin moves between his brows. A porcelain doll. Bella's skin crawls. He continues to linger in his dramatic pause, as if Bella is going to beg him to finish. She doesn’t.
“I wanted to tell you that something is different about you, Bella Swan.”
She doesn’t bite, and grits her teeth at the reverent caress of her name on his tongue. Blissfully, Edward loves the sound of his own voice and doesn’t make her wait.
“You’re… something else. Your mental shield is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Because of it, you’re the only thoughts I can’t hear.” His smirk morphs into the softest smile she’s ever seen grace his face. “You’re my quiet, Bella.”
Live worms wriggle in the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t even care to work out the whole mental shield thing. Disgust crawls throughout her body. She’s Jacob’s quiet, and he’s hers. Edward doesn’t get to take that from them. She sits up straighter in her ire, ignoring the protest of her body.
“Do you practice your interactions with humans in a mirror? Because that was creepy, even for you.”
Edward ignores this insult and thoughtfully intones, “Things like this – my mind reading, your shield, it crops up in rare humans. And it amplifies when they become… like me. My sister Alice has visions. She was prone to them as a human, too.”
Bella stares at him open-mouthed. “Are you suggesting… that I – that I’m destined to become a vampire or something?”
He takes in a deep, audible breath, which seems grossly theatrical considering he doesn’t need to breathe.
“No, Bella. I would never wish this life on you. I’m merely suggesting that you’re not just Jacob’s imprint; that you don’t belong entirely to the wolves.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” Bella seethes, because for all his pleasant words, it certainly sounds as if he’s implying what she thinks he is. “Now for the last time, get the fuck out of my room!”
The words come out viciously under the pressure of staying quiet. But she knows Edward can hear her perfectly well. He moves, fast as anything. A streak of white. Bella gasps, watching him manipulate the very air around him. One second, he’s in the corner, and the next, he has one leg out of her window and his hand braced on the sill.
“Be very careful, Bella,” he warns lowly, framed by the night sky. “Whatever path the wolves are pushing you toward… make sure it’s your own.”
In the blink of an eye, Edward is finally gone.
Bella is left alone, heart hammering, her sweat cooling into a chill.
Chapter Text
Bella’s walking. Or floating. Or something in between.
She’s in the forest again. Not the ones of reality, or her prior dreams. It has the sense of being something older, wiser.
Almost… unhinged.
The trees twist impossibly high. They shimmer like oil, their trunks coated in a film of colour that shifts as she moves – electric blues melting into rich purples, vivid greens blending into shocking reds. Their bark throbs faintly, like veins under skin. And they lean into each other like a great council converging.
At the base of every tree she passes, flowers bloom and die in rapid cycles. Ghost pipe, bleeding heart; devil’s club. Through their translucent leaves, the sky changes every few seconds. Black night, pink dawn, purple storm clouds, and blood orange dusk – like the world can’t make up its mind.
There’s no moon, but there’s flickering moonlight among the leaves.
Each breath she takes tastes and smells like a memory – Renée’s perfume, Charlie’s pancakes, Jacob’s garage.
It’s disorienting, familiar, and wrong all at the same time.
Moss underfoot glows faintly, like crushed fireflies. It feels soft as velvet, but pulses with her steps, like it’s breathing with her.
A path of bone-white stones winds through the trees before her. She starts down them, and each time her bare feet touch them, a ghostly echo rings out – like glass being struck underwater. With every step, blood stains the stones, leaving scarlet footprints behind. Though there’s no pain in her feet.
In the distance, Bella hears a howl – ragged and raw like a throat torn bloody from mourning. She flinches and doesn’t run toward it this time. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. The trees close in tighter the further she walks. Their leaves murmur in a language she doesn’t understand, syllables like rustling silk and cracking ice.
The trees finally part, revealing Raven’s Nest, where Jacob phased. But instead of the great stone, in the centre of the clearing, is a great, ornate mirror. It’s nailed to a tree with rusted spikes, once gold but flaking. In it, she sees herself, but she’s older. Her face is determined, but her eyes look tired.
Another mirror to her left, grey like smoke this time. She’s standing with Jacob, but something separates them. A wall of ice. He pounds on it, lips moving, but no sound comes out.
There are mirrors everywhere she looks.
In a black matte one, she finds a reflection that doesn’t move. It just stands, eyes pitch-black and mouth sewn shut with thin silver thread.
The reflection lifts a hand – though Bella hasn’t moved – and gestures behind her.
She turns away, but the stone path has vanished. There’s a fire where the clearing's opening should be, ringed with black obsidian stones. And sitting beside it is a russet wolf, staring into the flames. It’s Jacob, but it’s not. The Wolf is too big and still.
There’s a pile of body parts at his feet, which sparkle like the flesh is frosted.
It turns its giant head her way, amber eyes glowing. It doesn’t speak in a conventional sense, but she hears it, deep in her belly where that pull is.
Mate.
It raises goosebumps on the back of her neck.
The fire whirls and dances, shifting to form visions. A bleeding-heart split open like a flower. A crow tearing through a lilac bush. Jacob leaping off a cliff into mist. The fire splutters, turns blue, and vanishes like a candle pinched between fingers.
It takes The Wolf and its butchered Cold One with it.
In the darkness, whispers rise – dozens of them layered on top of each other. She can’t understand what they’re saying, but they scare her. The voices speak over one another in cacophony, until her eardrums feel like they’re going to rupture. She slams her hands over them, wincing.
All around her, the mirrors begin to tremble. They screech and splinter, wailing as if under great pressure. They warble, distorting her image all around, showing her infinite versions of herself. Bella crouches into her own body, where her injury gives her no pain, recoiling from their violent sounds.
Then the mirrors shatter.
Bella screams.
Thousands of slivers of glass spray her and tear at her skin. Though she feels the stinging pain, she doesn’t bleed; the wounds are glowing and dripping gold instead.
The howling in the distance picks up, louder and rawer, interlacing with her screeching.
She tries to run, but her feet have grown roots. Roots that dig into the moss and wrap around her ankles, tender but inescapable. The ground trembles, and then it begins to pull her down. It’s not violent, it doesn’t swallow her. It draws her in slow and soft, like it’s cradling her; not consuming her.
The last thing she sees before the earth covers her gasping mouth is a shower of eagle feathers.
Bella awakens to attempted murder.
That is, the sun blazing through her open curtains. It shoves light through like it means to burn her retinas permanently. She groans in protest at it. That and her sheets clinging to her like she’s been dipped in soup overnight.
She sits up cautiously – her skull throbs something terrible. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the corner, now full of slices of sunshine and the dust motes swirling in them.
Like last night never happened.
But it did.
Edward was here.
Not a dream. Not another trick of her fraying subconscious. She closed her window right after he left, but the smell of him lingers. Like winter – frigid air and pine needles.
She hugs herself and tries not to throw up. She feels so much worse today, and she’s not sure why. The mini separation from Jacob? The dream? The fear cocktail from Edward? Or just simply her body healing?
Charlie is already banging around downstairs. A cupboard door shuts, the coffee pot clicks, and there’s a burst of angry static from the radio. Then Jackson Browne fills the kitchen and drifts up the stairs.
He caterwauls along gleefully. “Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields…!”
At least he seems to be in a better mood this morning. Bella thought he might burst an artery in his ire last night. Being grounded like she’s twelve is a little demeaning, but overall fine. Because grounding, she can handle. Strange dreams, mystic imprints, and midnight visits? Less so.
She needs to talk to someone. Someone free of all this mess. Maybe Angela or Jess. Friends she’s been neglecting for a while now. They both called when she didn’t show for school – Jessica nosy, and Ang concerned. Angela had offered to help tutor her, but Bella hadn’t wanted her friend to see the state she was in.
Lying to Charlie was already enough hard work.
Plus, Bella’s ashamed. She’s been so self-absorbed lately that she’s been a really shitty friend. She didn’t even ask how prom was to either of the girls; something she could tell Jessica didn’t appreciate.
The smell of Edward hovers in her room, and she wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t want to, but she opens her window again. It’s broad daylight, and the day that Edward has to meet with the pack. She thinks for now, she’s safe. But if she can smell him so strongly, no doubt Jacob will too – if he ever shows up again.
And if he does, he’s going to lose it when he finds out. So, it’s best if he finds out from her. She winces at the thought of him. Yesterday had been… a mess. Maybe not an actual fight, but definitely the kind of conversation that leaves bruises.
Speaking of bruises.
Slowly, Bella drags her body off to the bathroom. She went to bed without showering last night, which was beyond grim. Neglecting her wounds isn’t going to make her feel better, so she needs to get over her squeamishness.
The minute her clothes are off, she can see the bandage is pink-stained. It comes away stiff, and a sharp hiss escapes when air hits her newly revealed skin. The gashes are deep, red, and knotted with black stitches.
Bruises radiate outward in ugly sunset shades. The edges are a dark, angry scarlet where the stitches tug the skin taut. Due to the way the claws tore, the skin is puckering in places, healing unevenly despite Emily’s best attempts. Raised tissue forms along the deepest parts – early scabbing, but still raw.
Carefully, she dabs around it at the blood seepage. Then her ribs where it’s tacky and crusting. Her tender muscles twitch under her fingertips, like her nerves aren’t sure if it's help or hindrance. Her stomach also doesn’t know whether it wants to empty, but she resists its warning squeezes.
In the shower, the water stings her inflamed flesh like she’s stepped into a hailstorm. She manages to wash her hair and herself without fainting, though. So. That’s something. She pulls on a fresh pair of loose sweats and a hoodie once out. She braids her hair to get it out of her face.
Then she makes the slow descent down the stairs. When she enters the kitchen, Charlie glances up from The Peninsula Daily News spread out on the table.
“You look like hell,” he chirps helpfully. “And grey.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He takes a long sip from the coffee mug in his right hand. “I’m glad you’re up. The school called this morning. Your finals start on Monday.”
Bella sways on the spot. She has to grip the back of the dining chair to stay upright. Thankfully, Charlie misses it, glancing down at his paper. For all her barking insistence to go back to school, she doesn’t feel like she has the time right now. She hasn’t studied at all, for one thing. It’s Friday, which means she now has a weekend of cramming ahead of her.
“Am I going to school?”
Charlie shakes his head, eyes still scanning the crime section of his paper. Hiker Found Safe After Overnight Search in Olympic Forest.
“They’re sending someone over. There’s some policy… proctored at-home testing or something. For sick kids.”
“I’m not sick,” Bella defends on autopilot.
Charlie’s gaze slides over her, where she’s currently swaying on her feet. “Uh-huh.”
Bella really wants to sit, but to be stubborn, she meanders over to the cupboard for a mug.
“So, did they tell you my schedule?”
Closing the cupboard, she subtly leans against the counter to fill her cup with coffee.
“Yeah, I wrote it down for you. It’s on the fridge.”
Bella attempts not to grimace at the fact that she doesn’t have permission to sit down yet. Over to the fridge she treks, and runs her eyes over Charlie’s scrawled handwriting.
Mon 6th – Bio (10-11.30)
Tue 7th – Spanish (1-2.30)
Wed 8th – History (10-11.30)
Thu 9th – English (10-11.30)
Fri 10th – Trig (1-2.30)
“Great,” she mutters to herself.
There’s no way she’s getting out of the house again until next Friday.
Charlie takes an obnoxiously loud slurp of his coffee, which somehow sounds smug. She knows he’s thinking the same thing.
“I think it’s best if you and Jacob take a break from seeing each other for a little while. You’ve got so much studying to do.”
Turning, Bella narrows her eyes at him. “Looks like it.”
Charlie smiles sweetly. “That means no sneaking out. Believe me, Bella, I will get that ankle monitor.”
“Gotcha.” She pairs this with her own sweet smile. “Could I invite Angela over, though? To study?”
Without hesitation, Charlie chirps, “Yep. Love to have Angela over to study.”
This time, she doesn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m gonna go do that. And get studying. Since I have so much to do.”
Sighing contentedly, Charlie kicks his feet up on the opposite dining chair. “Sounds like a plan. And hey, while you’re at it, talk to your mom, would you? She’s been harassing me all morning.”
Now with a growing list of calls to make, Bella trudges back to her room. Despite Angela and Renée being on the to-do list for her human life, Jacob is waiting for her supernatural one. Her bedroom window still stands open, reminding her of her late-night visitor.
She has to put some charge into her phone first, and when it boots up, she finds three missed calls from Renée. Sighing, she dismisses these and calls Jacob. As it rings, she pushes her bedroom door closed.
The phone connects, and it’s Billy who states, “Black residence.”
“Billy? It’s Bella. Um, is Jake there, please?”
There’s the sound of the television being turned down in the background. “Bella? That you?”
“Yeah, Billy. Is Jake there, please?”
“He’s out with Sam. Is everything okay?”
Right, the meeting. How could she forget? Bella chews her lip, hesitating.
“Bella?”
Blowing out a big breath, she admits, “Edward was in my room last night.”
Billy curses sharply in Quileute. “I’ll tell him.”
“Will you... um – also tell him that Charlie will shoot him on sight if he turns up here?”
She blushes at the implication of Jacob slipping into her room of a night. Which he does. Still, priorities.
“That man,” Billy grumbles. “Will do. Call me right back if you need me. I’m here too, Bella. I don’t know if Jacob’s told you, but… I’m a part of the elders. I can help.”
“I will. Thanks, Billy.”
With that part of her life in motion, she turns to the other side of it and dials her mom.
Renée picks up immediately. “Bella? Where have you been, baby? Are you okay? Is Charlie keeping you fed? Oh, God, sweetheart. I’ve been so worried, I’ve been saying to Phil that we should fly out. But he’s –”
“Mom,” Bella interrupts, squeezing her eyes shut. “Stop. I’m sorry I’ve worried you. But I’m fine, really. You don’t need to come here. All I do is lie around, you’d be bored out of your brain.”
“And I’d have to deal with Charlie,” Renée sniffles.
Bella sighs, easing herself into her desk chair. “Don’t get upset, please. I should have got in touch sooner. But I’ve got my finals coming too and I’ve been – um, studying.”
“Oh, good, Charlie told you then. I was just talking to him this morning about it. Protected at home testing or something?”
“Proctored at home testing.” Bella rolls her eyes at herself. “For sick kids.”
“Oh, that’s good. He is good, isn’t he? Charlie, he’s always been a good father. You do tell him that, don’t you, Bella?”
Guilt and shame tug in her stomach, and she rubs at her temples. “Not as often as I should. Look, Mom. I’m sorry to rush you, but Angela’s coming over to study.”
“Okay, baby. Well, you send me a proper email, okay? I want a real update. I feel like I hardly know what’s going on with my only child, Bella.”
Bella thinks that’s a bit rich, considering that was the case when they both lived under the same roof. But she doesn’t have the mental capacity for the conversation right now, so she appeases Renée right off the phone.
When they’ve hung up, she finally manages to call Angela.
“Okay.” Angela’s eyes are dark behind her glasses and eager. “Chloroplasts.”
Sprawled out on Bella’s bed, her friend is surrounded by textbooks. Bella is sitting at her desk. She couldn’t handle the slouching, and she wanted to appear somewhat able-bodied. She glances down at her notes spread out before her (which unhelpfully look like they’re written in Sanskrit), trying to locate chloroplasts.
“What’s their function?” Angela quizzes.
Squinting at her chicken scratch notes, Bella attempts to distinguish the green highlight. She could have sworn she was using green for Bio. The longer she searches, the silence stretching, the more absurd she feels. Her ribs are raw, her thoughts are on dream mirrors, and Edward Cullen broke into her room last night. Not for the first time.
Now she’s just expected to cram for finals? Normalcy is a joke, and Bella Swan is the punchline.
Groaning, Bella rubs viciously at her face. “Their function is to mock me.”
Angela snorts indelicately and readjusts her glasses. “Try again.”
“Didn’t you take this on Monday? Couldn’t you… like… I don’t know, just maybe give me a hint?”
Angela looks downright scandalised by the suggestion. “You don’t want to skate by with cheating, Bella! You’re smart. You’ve got this, you know you do. Now, come on. What’s their function?”
Bella wracks her soup brain. “They make glucose. Through photosynthesis.”
“And what pigment do they contain?” Angela lightly bites her lip and then quickly adds, “This may or may not be important.”
Offering a weak smile, Bella answers, “Chlorophyll a and b.”
“And…?” Angela sing-songs.
Absolutely nothing comes to mind.
Bella groans and lowers her head into her arms. “I’m going to fail everything.”
“You are not,” Ang says firmly. “You’re doing okay, Bella. Better than okay, really.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t feel okay,” Bella mutters sourly, raising her head back up.
The implication was towards the studying, more than her physical state. But Angela’s intelligent eyes sweep a glance over Bella’s oversized hoodie. One of Charlie’s old ones that doesn’t cling to her skin.
“Hey,” Angela begins gently, tapping her pen against an open notebook. “You want to talk about it?”
Playing coy, Bella hums. “About what?”
Her friend raises both thin brows over her glasses; unimpressed. “You’re having to do your finals at home, Bella. People said you fell down a hill? I mean – what are you? A cartoon character?”
That pulls a laugh from Bella – a much-needed one. “I – yeah. I fell.” She laughs again, but this one sounds much more fake. “It was dumb; I just lost my footing on a hike with Jacob.”
Angela studies her closely. Bella shifts in her seat, trying not to wince.
“I’m not pushing,” Ang says eventually. “I just… You know I’m here, right? I –” She blushes. “This is going to sound lame, but… I like you, Bella. I want to be friends. Good friends.”
Bella shakes her head with a wry smile. “It’s not lame, Ang. And we are friends. Good friends.”
Angela brightens and flips the page of her textbook. “So the other pigment found in chloroplasts is carotenoids.”
“Carotenoids,” Bella repeats with a nod. “Chlorophyll a, b, and carotenoids are the pigments of chloroplasts.”
Grinning, Angela comments, “Perfect.”
They fall into a rhythm – reading, scribbling, quizzing. Bella loses herself in the normalcy and the stress of it. For the first time in days, she feels completely mundane. Just a girl studying for her finals in a quiet, rainy town.
Late into the afternoon, Angela’s Volvo disappears down the street, and Bella lingers in the doorway, clutching the frame like it’s the only thing holding her up.
For the first time in days, she almost feels like a normal teenager again.
Chapter 12
Notes:
This is one of those chapters that I've written, re-read, re-wrote, and basically pulled my hair out over. Thanks to all your stunning comments, I finally got it to a place that I wanted it, and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you so, so much for all of your support. I can't adequately describe what it means to me, but I'm so grateful.
Chapter Text
Charlie gifts her cramming session with pizza and even brings it upstairs to her. As soon as he’s left the room, though, she ignores the steaming box and begins to cry. Like at Emily’s, she’s not quite sure what she’s crying for.
It’s always been this way for Bella. Her analytical brain tells her it’s because she’s mothered Renée from a young age and can’t process her emotions well. Another voice tells her she’s an idiot and to get it together. But she doesn’t. She curls up on her bed and cries softly, hugging a pillow.
She tries to puzzle her way through her own emotions. There’s pain from her recovery, and frustration from all the strange new moving parts of her life. But there’s also a touch a loneliness mingled with grief. Her life as she knew it is over. What she believed about the world is over.
And in some capacity, she feels like she’s lost Jacob, before she even got to fully appreciate him for the friend he was. Now, there feels like there’s an expectation to them. As if they have to be this connected pair of souls forever. A small part of her likes that idea, of belonging to someone. Another part of her feels suffocated; out of control of her own destiny.
She thinks of school, of laughing with Angela over nothing, of the way Jessica gossiped with her during gym. All of that felt simple. Manageable. This doesn’t. This feels like someone handed her a script written in a language she’ll never learn.
After her mini breakdown, she takes herself for a shower. She really shouldn’t, but after cleaning her wound, Bella doesn’t put a bandage back on. She just wants a second where her ribs don’t feel so tightly bound, where she can move a little easier.
It’s a cool evening (as always), but her healing flesh is hot to the touch. So, she makes sure her door is tightly shut and re-dresses in only a pair of sweats and a sports bra. An hour or so later, she’s three cold slices of pizza down and back in her biology study.
The problem is, she’s read the same sentence five times. Her page is a blur of diagrams and red scribbles, and none of it is sticking.
Because all she can think about is Jacob.
Where is he? Why hasn’t he come? Does he not care that Edward was in her room? Should she ring Billy again?
A split second before the tug in her lower stomach, a hulking mass flies through her open window. Bella takes a sharp breath. But when he rises to his full height, she knows (even without the innate sense) that it’s too big to be Edward.
Jacob’s breathing is hard, like he’s run the entire way. His bare feet are dirty, and his chest heaves. His shorts are damp, as is his hair. His eyes are different. Wide. Black-ringed. Swallowed with amber.
“You’re safe,” he states, voice low and ragged.
“…Jacob?”
No answer. Bella’s breath hitches. The longer he stares at her, the more she recognises that it’s not Jacob looking at her at all. It’s not soft.
“I can smell the Cold One,” he mutters lowly. “All over your room.”
The growl in his voice vibrates her floorboards, riding them to her seat in her desk chair. She glances anxiously at the closed door, almost expecting Charlie to burst through it.
When he doesn’t, she looks back at her unexpected visitor. “Jacob –”
“No. Not Jacob.”
Bella knew, but to hear it… It still makes her stomach tighten.
“He’s resting,” The Wolf continues. “I need the body. If he’d known the leech was here, he would’ve torn into him at the meeting with the Cold Ones. He’s still just a boy. So, I came.”
He sniffs deeply, then wrinkles his nose. His fingers curl into fists; his knuckles crack and tremble. Bella thinks he may actually shift right here in her tiny childhood bedroom. The heat coming off his body feels suffocating, like the walls are shrinking. She rises stiffly, fumbling for her hoodie to cover up.
“Why?” She questions shakily, trying to distract his gaze from her bare skin. “Why are you taking over him like that?”
The Wolf doesn’t answer. His eyes remain locked on her stomach. Her exposed, torn-up stomach with no bandages. He doesn't leer, but he studies the still-healing gashes, nostrils flaring. It makes her flush from the roots of her hair. She struggles to pull her jumper on fast enough.
“I’m sorry.” The Wolf’s tone is deeper and firmer than Jacob’s. Ancient. “For hurting you.”
He takes a confident step forward; tall and imposing, his shadow thrown against her wall by her lamplight. Bella shrinks back, yanking down the front of her hoodie, and he stops dead.
“Why?” She repeats, tone harder this time. “Why are you taking over Jacob?”
The Wolf cocks his head, his eyes burning amber. “You called for me.”
Frowning, her mouth grows dry. “I called for Jacob. I called Jacob’s house.”
“Not on the phone, Bella. In the dream.”
Bella stills in surprise.
The fire ringed with black obsidian stones. The butchered Cold One. The Wolf’s amber eyes glowing through the flames.
Mate.
The Wolf steps closer again. His bronze chest heaves. Every breath sounds like restraint – like the human form barely fits him anymore.
“You’re mine to protect.” His hands curl by his sides, his gaze intense. “My mate.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” she whispers, gripping the back of her desk chair.
“It does not matter. Fate agreed for us.”
He lifts a large hand (close enough now), and Bella flinches. The Wolf hovers it near her temple, but his fingers don’t touch her. They tremble midair as his breathing grows ragged.
And then –
He stumbles back. Hard. Like he’s been shoved from the inside. His knees buckle into her desk, scattering notes. She quickly glances at her door, hoping Charlie didn’t hear that. When she looks back, Jacob’s chest is convulsing and his shoulders seizing like invisible hands are dragging him backward.
“Jacob! Are you okay?!”
As if it’s the only thing keeping him upright, he grips the edge of Bella’s desk. It creaks warningly beneath his grip. His breath shudders out in a growl-turned-sob. She watches as the tension in his frame shifts bit by bit, and something visibly loosens.
Bella's strangled vocal chords butcher her voice. “Jake…?”
Jacob drags a hand down his face. Instead of amber-ringed-with-black, his eyes are black-ringed-with-amber, like they were in Emily’s kitchen.
“I didn’t want you to see him like that,” he mutters, his voice just as hoarse.
Bella swallows. “Do you… lose time? When he takes over like that?”
“Sometimes. Not always.” Jacob scrunches his face like he’s tasted something bitter. “And it’s hard to get control when he does. But… you were scared. Of me.”
“Of him,” she corrects quickly. “He’s… really intense, Jake.”
Jacob doesn’t look like that makes him feel any better. He glances at her window, edging that way, and desperation crawls up Bella’s throat.
“Jacob. Don’t – don’t go.” She fidgets where she’s standing, picking at the hem of her hoodie. “I – I miss you. I feel like I never really see you anymore.”
His face softens, for what feels like the first time in forever.
“Bells, you have no idea how much I miss you, too. But I don’t trust Him around you. I don’t… don’t really trust myself.”
Bella frowns, hugging herself as he backs further away from her. “You think he would hurt me?”
“No, I just – I just think that he’s not… good at boundaries.” Jacob scrubs at the back of his neck, glancing anywhere but her. “He doesn’t abide by human morality or law. He’s ancient, Bella. He’s a separate being. He wants… to take.”
She flushes when he finally pins her with his gaze again, eyes wide and beseeching.
“To take…” Bella hesitates, her heart hammering in her chest. “... me?”
A flush descends across Jacob’s face now, burning in his cheeks. “Yeah, Bells. He wants you more than he wants me.”
Bella screws up her face. “Like… without my consent?”
“No!” Jacob blurts, horrified. “He’d never hurt you, Bells. More like… without mine.”
She has no idea what to do with that. The weight of it hangs in the air, straining the atmosphere. Jacob doesn’t sit. He keeps to her window, shoulders drawn tight, and head slightly ducked, as if The Wolf is pacing somewhere just behind his eyes.
Bella wracks her brain for something to say that will keep him here just a little bit longer. “Um, so... how did the meeting go?”
Jacob huffs a bitter laugh. “Fuzzy. The Wolf was in control most of the time. I remember flashes. Carlisle talking, Edward glaring holes into the back of Sam’s head. But… I wasn’t the one steering.”
Bella pinches her sleeves tighter in her fingers. “But you know what happened?”
“Bits.” Jacob rubs a hand over his jaw, like scrubbing at the memory. “Edward’s been warned – officially. Sam made that clear. Carlisle…” He exhales slowly. “Carlisle said Edward saved me from those nomads and that alone means he deserves another chance.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “Do you believe that? I mean, Jake. He was here. Last night.”
“I know, Bells.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “And I hate it because it’s my fault. For leaving. But it doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not Alpha. Sam is, and he agreed to hold off. For now. And the big burly one –”
“Emmett,” Bella supplies.
“Yeah, him. He decided everyone was wasting time talking about Edward when the real problem is that leech Laurent. The one who got away.” He glances briefly out of the window, his eyes intent in the shadows. “Apparently, they lost him in the ocean.”
A cold shiver runs through Bella’s ribs. “So… he’s still out there.”
The amber of Jacob’s eyes pulses when he looks back at her, and for a split second, she swears it’s The Wolf staring again.
“Yeah. And the Cullen’s think he’ll come back. For revenge.”
Bella blows out a big breath. “Great.”
Jacob glances at her desk, and a soft smile graces his face. “Finals?”
She grimaces. “Yeah. Had Angela over to study. It helped.”
“Good.” Jacob nods, looking pleased. “It’s good you’ve got some normalcy.”
She huffs a laugh. “Yeah. I suppose. All this kinda makes it feel absurd though.”
Jacob nods again, showing that side of him that always takes the time to listen to her. She aches with missing him, her lower stomach yanking, begging for her to draw closer.
“Speaking of absurd…” He distracts. “Emily wanted me to tell you that you need your stitches out soon. She wants you to go over soon.”
“That’s next to impossible.” Bella twists the fabric of her sleeve in her fingers. “Charlie’s got me on lockdown. And I have finals at home all week.”
Jacob shifts on his feet. “Can’t you just tell him you need them out?”
“I haven’t let him see it, Jacob. If I tell him there’s stitches, his suspicions will only grow.”
Jacob’s eyes grow sombre, and his jaw tightens. Easy to forget that it was him who did this to her.
“Well,” he says slowly. “Emily’s invited you both to her cousin Claire’s party on Saturday, so let’s hope he folds.”
Bella raises her eyebrow. “He hasn’t mentioned it, probably because I’m grounded for the rest of my life according to him.”
Jacob laughs softly, and Bella chews her lip, not sure where to go next. She really wants to lie down – her ribs are throbbing from being in the desk chair all day.
“Do you…” She shuffles on her feet in mirror of him, trying to ease the ache. “... need to leave?”
He scratches above his brow, looking about as nervous as she’s ever seen him. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” She says it too quickly and feels like keeling over in mortification. “I mean, you can stay if – if you want.”
Jacob grins, something she hasn’t seen in too long. “Then I’ll stay.”
She fights her own returning grin, managing to smother it into a soft smile. “Okay.”
He glances around her room, and Bella’s not sure they’ve ever been this awkward together. It's a horrible, foreign feeling, and she despises it.
Indicating her pizza, he asks, “Hey, you eating that?”
Bella laughs and waves her hand over the box. “Have at it.”
It’s late, so Bella decides to abandon her studying. Jacob finally seems to relax, sitting on the end of her bed while he munches cold pizza. Bella tries not to openly watch him like a creep, but it feels like a wonder to have some version of him beside her again. She wishes it could keep being like this. Like it is in the garage, and on the beach.
Normal, peaceful, theirs.
“Jake?”
“Mm?”
“Why don’t we just… leave?” She glances through the window so she doesn’t have to look at him. “You know, get away from it all?”
The silence from his side drags her gaze to his wide, disbelieving eyes.
“You’d do that?”
“I’d do it for you.”
He smiles softly, wiping his greasy fingers on his shorts. “You’re still getting better, Bells, and you’re grounded for life, remember?”
Bella shrugs, picking at an invisible lint on her sleeve. “Yeah, but it’s nearly my birthday. Maybe Charlie will ease up. And I’d be more healed by then. We could go somewhere.”
Jacob turns towards her on the bed, lifting his knee onto the edge. “You mean just us?”
Smirking, she sasses, “Unless you want Quil and Embry there too?”
Jacob’s laugh is rich and warm like it used to be. “Pass. But I mean – they might as well be.”
She raises her eyebrow. “What’re you talking about?”
He grimaces, glancing down at his shorts. “Well, Sam told you about Pack-Mind, right?”
“Yeah, but wh –”
And then it clicks. With horror.
“Oh my God, Jacob!”
“Only when we’re phased!” He rushes to explain. “But if we think of something… and it’s pretty damn hard not to sometimes –”
Well, that’s not so bad, right? She and Jacob haven’t done anything shocking. They haven’t even kissed. She decides to calm down. But even still, she feels like her privacy has been invaded.
“Bells, believe me, it sucks.” He looks up at her now, gaze soft. “But it sucks more for the others. I’ve seen things in Sam’s mind I never want to see again.”
Bella wrinkles her nose. “Please, stop. I won’t be able to look at him or Emily the same.”
“And don’t get me started on Jared.” Jacob faux gags. “He’s been crushing on this girl at school forever, and the things he thinks about.”
“Okay, Jake. I get the picture.” Even still, she lets out a tiny laugh. “Man, that’s got to suck.”
“It does,” Jacob agrees. “Like cutting off my hair.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that.”
“Our hair length is the same in both man and wolf form. Having it shorter is easier.”
Bella hesitantly raises her hand and then powers through the nerves to lightly run her fingers through his hair. Jacob sighs deeply, leaning into her touch.
“It’s a shame,” she murmurs. “I really loved your long hair.”
Jacob hums and reaches over to pinch at the loose curls brushing her ribs. “Yours is getting longer.”
“One of us has gotta rock it.”
He rolls his eyes, and it’s so Jacob it makes her heart hurt. God, she’s missed him.
“You ever seen a wolf trip over its over fur?”
She scoffs. “Have you?”
“No, but I don’t imagine it’s pretty.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Jacob grins. “I’m your idiot.”
Bella flushes but nods softly. “Yeah, you are.”
Clearing his throat, he leans back on her bed, bracing himself on his elbows. Bella slightly shifts to look down at him, holding back her wince. He looks stunning all laid out like that. His skin golden and his chest bare. Bella tries to keep her eyes on his.
“So,” he starts, tone jovial, “where’re we gonna run away to?”
“What?”
“For your birthday. Where we goin’?”
Shrugging, she tries to delicately slide onto her side, propping her head on her hand.
“You tell me. Haven’t you got some cool place you’ve come across?”
Jacob glances to the ceiling, fusing his fingers over his stomach. “Actually, I do.”
Bella smiles, but then it slowly dies on her face. “What about… the Choosing Ceremony? When is it?”
“Autumn Equinox; September twenty-second.”
“I’m guessing that’s not a coincidence.”
Some of the joy dies from Jacob’s face, and Bella briefly hates herself for putting a wrinkle in his forehead again.
“It’s not. The Equinox is a balance of light and dark. A turning point of a cycle. The world itself is divided, just like the spirit.”
“Are you – I mean… are you scared?”
A muscle jumps in Jacob’s jaw. “Bells, can we not talk about it? Just for tonight. I really just –” He heaves a deep sigh. “I really just want to cuddle you to sleep.”
Delight curls in her chest, and she tries not to be too eager with her nodding. “Sure.”
With more grace than she usually has, she pulls herself from her bed. Jacob does too, and they find a quick, intimate pattern of getting under the sheets together. Bella lies stiffly for a moment, but Jacob very gently curls an arm around her waist and pulls her to his chest. She smothers herself there, trying not to be too obvious about her greedy inhales of his scent.
There’s a feather-light kiss against her hairline, and Bella falls asleep in his arms, quickly and peacefully.
Considering Jacob’s claws didn’t take her out, her week of finals nearly does.
It’s a storm of taking tests, watching Charlie be awkward with the examiners coming in and out of the house, and studying. On Tuesday, she nearly cries over a trig equation, and Charlie brings her a mug of coffee like a peace offering.
When it’s all said and done, she feels about ready to sleep for the rest of her life. Then Charlie surprises her on Friday evening, sat watching a game and eating burgers from the diner.
“Hey, Bells?”
“Yeah?” She asks as politely as she can with a mouth full.
Charlie turns his burger over as he talks, as if inspecting the bun. “I know I’ve been hard on you. You know, with the grounding and keeping Jacob away. But I’m real proud of you for getting through your finals. Real proud, kid.”
She smiles, glancing at her own burger. “Thanks, Dad.”
He clears his throat awkwardly. “So, er – Emily called last week.”
“Oh?” Bella asks innocently. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Charlie waves her off, nearly sending a splash of ketchup to stain the sofa for eternity. “Fine. Just – she’s having some kinda party for her cousin tomorrow. Invited us both.”
Bella attempts to look innocent, as if she hasn’t heard of this at all.
“Well, I thought…” Charlie continues, “If I go too, then you’re still kinda grounded, right? Chaperoned. Besides, Billy bribed me with fishing.”
“You want to go to a birthday party? Willingly?”
Charlie grimaces, bringing his food closer to his mouth. “Sounds kinda.. fun?”
Play it cool, Bella.
Bella finishes chewing before replying, “Are you asking me? I’m not a fan of birthday parties either.”
Charlie snorts. “We’ll endure it. And Billy says Jacob’s climbing the walls to see you.”
Bella thinks that’s epic acting on Billy’s part, since he knows Jacob’s been in her bed every night. Time to be an epic actor herself.
“I dunno, Dad. Can I let you know in the morning? I’m a little tired from this week.”
“Sure, kid. How’s your garden burger?”
“So good.” She smirks. “And a nice break from the eggs.”
“What’s wrong with my eggs?!” Charlie demands, looking affronted.
Bella grins. “My stomach needed a break.”
Charlie holds up a hand with a spasm of facial muscles. “Don’t need to hear anymore.”
Taking another big, delicious bite, Bella leans further back into the sofa and sighs contentedly. She did it. Finals are done, and Charlie’s easing up. Tomorrow, she gets out of the house. Then she remembers Jacob’s message: Emily wanted me to tell you that you need your stitches out soon.
She holds back a grimace. Great. That’s definitely going to ruin her day of freedom.
Chapter 13
Notes:
Thank you so much for all the love! I'm enjoying writing this so much, and I'm so glad you're enjoying it in response!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Bells, would you stop fidgeting?” Charlie grouses.
He takes the final turning onto Sam and Emily’s street, and Bella’s nerves ratchet higher. Sam and Emily’s yard hardly looks like the same place Bella snuck out to ten days ago. The patchy grass and chickweed are now trampled flat under the weight of sneakers and boots. There are swarms of people filling the front yard and spilling out of Emily’s open front door.
Charlie squints at the crowd with a tightening of his lips. She forgets sometimes that she inherits her anti-social tendencies from him. How he was ever hired as a police officer, she’s not certain.
“I thought you were looking forward to getting out?” He asks now, parking the cruiser.
“I am,” she defends quickly. “I just –”
Well, geeze, Charlie, I know you have no clue, but I’ve gotta have a bunch of stitches out, and I’m kinda nervous about it.
“I just need to get used to being in clothes again,” she supplies lamely.
Charlie glances over at her, pity etched into the lines of his face. Bella tries not to recoil from it and smiles at him weakly.
“I’m fine, Dad,” she rushes to reassure. “It’s just a pair of jeans.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Nodding, he unclips his belt, and Bella does the same. They climb out of the car together. The air smells like wood smoke and charred meat. Both of them are equally hesitant and, therefore slow-moving as they approach the chattering swell. Bella can blame it on her injury; Charlie can blame it on Bella – everybody wins.
Someone’s strung up a sagging line of paper streamers between the porch posts – bright red and yellow, screaming Happy Birthday! A folding table has been dragged onto the lawn and loaded with bowls of chips, soda bottles, and a sheet cake smothered in too much frosting.
The tiniest bit of sunshine streams across the yard. Bella hopes she doesn’t start to sweat in her zip-up and beanie. Sweat lately is becoming her mortal enemy. Of course, their slow meandering up to the throng of partiers can only be delayed so far.
Billy spots them lingering and crows, “The Swan’s!”
From the corner of her eye, Bella spies Jacob looking her way. Yep, here comes the sweat. Billy wheels himself over with a grin and a plate of food in his lap.
“You’ve got to get yourself one of Sam’s hot dogs, Chief.”
Charlie glances over at Sam manning the battered grill near the bushes, flipping burgers with his usual intensity. Smoke curls up into the spruce canopy, where it disappears into the dark green branches pressing down over the house. Despite the cool weather, sweat gleams at Sam’s temples. And he’s only dressed in shorts and sneakers.
“Does anyone wear clothes ‘round here?” Charlie mutters.
Kids dart around the yard and straight through Bella and Charlie. She nearly tumbles as they screech and chase each other through the tall salal bushes like it’s a labyrinth.
“Damn kids,” Charlie grumbles, righting Bella by the crook of her arm. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad.” She sweeps a hand down her jeans, face burning. “Don’t worry so much.”
“Yeah, old man.” Billy picks up his hot dog and waves it around, flinging mustard. “And don’t be jealous of our Sam. There used to be a time when we two were always flaunting ourselves in our youth. Running around; heckling.”
Bella smirks, glancing over at Charlie. Mostly to turn away from Jacob’s stare boring a hole into the side of her head.
“You? Chief Swan? Flaunting yourself?”
Turning pink, Charlie gruffly clears his throat. “He’s exaggerating. Well, joking really. Outright lying.”
Billy laughs, rolling forward to nudge Charlie’s shins with his chair. Then he looks at Bella, eyes and smile bright.
“How’d you think he managed to get your mom, Bells? She was a cheerleader, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Bella confirms. “Her glory days. I’ve seen all the pictures.”
“Well,” Billy rolls closer, looking smug. “Did you know your old man tried out for the basketball team just so that he could talk to her?”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Charlie interjects.
At the same time, Bella squawks, “What?!”
Cackling, Billy bites into his hot dog and chews with a grin, resulting in obscenely stuffed cheeks and exaggerated chewing. Charlie sighs heavily, hands on his hips.
“Was it as miserable as I’m picturing?” Bella asks, fighting a giggle.
“Yep,” Charlie mutters.
She lets out her laugh, and a tingle races down her spine. Jacob’s coming. She can feel the approaching force of him on her right. The hair on that side of her body raises, and goosebumps dribble down her flesh. She’s not sure where this sudden awareness of him has come from. He’s been in her room every night. Is it something to do with being in a crowd?
“Oh, there you are,” a voice interrupts.
Bella jolts, catching sight of Emily with a young girl she’s never seen before. The girl is dressed in a graphic t-shirt, bright red Converse and low-rise jeans. On her t-shirt, a big badge broadcasts she’s fifteen.
“Charlie, Bella. This is my cousin Claire,” Emily introduces.
Claire smiles at them, revealing a chipped front tooth. “Hey! Thanks for coming!”
“Thanks for having us,” Charlie answers politely. “And er – happy birthday.”
“Yeah,” Bella chimes in, handing over the polite card they brought. “Happy birthday.”
She’s half distracted by that approaching energy on her right, until it halts. She tries to see from the corner of her eye, but wherever Jacob’s gone, he must have slightly tucked behind her.
“Thanks!” Claire chirps.
She takes the card with one hand and brushes a dark bang out of her eye with the other. Bella wishes she had been that pretty at fifteen. Claire’s hair falls in a sheet of black ribbon, and she has hazel-flecked brown eyes. She’s also tall – at least 5’8. Lean and slender too.
Emily smiles prettily at Charlie, eyes big and innocent. “Charlie, do you think I could steal Bella for some help in the kitchen? I’m swamped in there.”
“Oh, er –” Charlie grunts, sweeping his gaze between their small group. “Well, you up for that, Bells?”
“I’ll manage. Besides, Emily won’t overwork me.”
“Course not,” Emily reassures.
Charlie grunts. “Just – check in. Okay?”
“Yeah, Dad.”
Emily gently takes Bella’s arm and begins to walk them toward the house. Near the door, a couple of folding chairs sink crookedly into the uneven grass, occupied by an elderly couple who sip soda and talk over the noise. A boombox blares ‘let me see ya one two step!’ from its tinny speaker, half-swallowed by laughter and shouted conversations.
“Claire!” The lady of the couple calls. “Come here, Child! Let me look at you!”
Claire sighs and shares a smile with Emily and Bella. “Sorry. I’ll be right back."
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Emily smiles, and when Claire is out of earshot, bends in closer to Bella. “Kim’s in the kitchen, Bella. I’d really like you both to meet.”
“Whose Kim?” Bella asks as they pass through the crowds. “And why do you look so nervous? You’re freaking me out.”
Emily huffs a soft laugh. “None of this has freaked you out so far, but me looking nervous does?”
“Em,” Bella murmurs. “Quit stalling.”
Emily sighs. “Kim is Jared’s imprint.”
Bella nearly stumbles, and Emily has to squeeze her elbow to keep her upright. A recurring theme today.
“What? I thought –”
Bella’s words die off as Jacob’s energy seems to slam into her back. She sharply turns her head, and he’s right behind her.
“Hey, Bells.”
Some tension eases in her guts. His approach and gaze had felt intense, but he’s just Jacob. At least, he’s the new version of Jacob. Shorter hair, sharper chin and cheekbones. But his eyes are his own. No Wolf lurking in them.
She smiles, her muscles relaxing. “Hey, Jake.”
“Jacob,” Emily interjects, sounding more hassled than Bella’s ever heard her. “Have you met Kim?”
“Yeah,” Jacob answers, letting them pass through the kitchen threshold first. “We go to school together, Em. She’s alright. Kinda shy kid.”
“Oh, good. Well, be nice, okay?” Emily whispers under her breath before hollering, “Kim!”
A girl looks up at the call. Kim has the kind of face that’s easy to overlook in a crowd. Not because she’s plain, but because she hides behind thick curls. Through them, Bella can just about catch her almond-shaped eyes, the colour of wet cedar.
“Yeah?” Kim asks nervously, her eyes bouncing between the three of them.
“I want you to meet someone. This is Bella. She’s – new. Like you.”
Kim brightens slightly and approaches them from Emily’s stove. Her features are gentle – unblemished by makeup, scars, or acne.
“You’re… an imprint too?” Kim asks nervously.
Bella’s not sure why she’s embarrassed by this question. But it’s something to do with Jacob being right beside her.
“Yeah.” She smiles. “It’s all really new to me, though. You probably know more than me.”
Kim laughs softly and cups her elbows. “I doubt that.”
“Doubt what?”
Jared approaches from the hall; the sound of the toilet flushing close behind. When Kim looks over at him, her entire demeanour changes. She shakes the curls from her face, revealing a glow to her eyes and skin. Her wary smile becomes completely unguarded, and she beams.
Jared grins at her in return and wraps his arm around her shoulder. Bella notices his fingers immediately weave into her curls. Kim doesn’t seem to mind. But it’s an incredibly intimate gesture which makes Bella flush.
Emily gently touches her elbow. “Bella, we should get your stitches out now. While Charlie’s distracted.”
Swallowing nervously, she nods. “Um, yeah. Sure. Thanks, Em.” She glances at Kim again. “It was nice meeting you.”
There’s a kindness to both Kim’s eyes and smile. “You too, Bella.”
Emily keeps her hand on Bella’s elbow, steering her down the hall. Jacob follows.
Bella pauses, turning to look at him with an arched brow. “Jake, you’re not coming in.”
Jacob’s nose scrunches. “Why not?”
She gapes in response. “What do you mean, why not? I have to… strip down! And – I don’t want you to see it. It’ll be gruesome.”
“Bells, I saw you the other day.”
Bella’s cheeks heat, and she refuses to look at Emily with the insinuation lingering.
“That’s different. You caught me off guard; it wasn’t my choice. This is.”
“She’ll be fine with me, Jacob,” Emily soothes.
Jacob sighs. “Fine. But I’m right outside if you need me.”
“Thanks. You can keep a lookout for Charlie.”
He snorts, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Great.”
Smiling to herself, she follows after Emily again. She wants to mention how Jacob seems more like himself lately, but she’s pretty sure he’d be able to hear. Emily steers her towards the bedroom where Bella first awoke after Jacob phased. It can’t be anything other than Sam and Emily’s room.
The bed is neatly made, and the bedside table is already laid with scissors and forceps. Bella hesitates slightly at the sight, but Emily brushes a soft, soothing hand down her forearm. The sleeve of her dress tickles Bella’s wrist.
“It’ll be okay, Bella. I promise.”
She takes a deep breath and then starts to pull off her jacket and t-shirt. And her beanie too, since she feels ridiculous wearing it topless. She lies on the bed and tries to breathe evenly. She didn’t bandage up before coming, for efficiency's sake, and Emily can see everything in its full glory.
“It’s healing nicely,” Emily comments softly, kneeling beside her. “You’ve done a great job; you should be proud.”
Bella clears her throat and resists the urge to squirm. “Thanks. It’s been… hard. I’m kinda squeamish.”
“I couldn’t tell,” Emily responds dryly.
Laughing, Bella’s muscles ease slightly. Emily reaches over to gather the scissors and forceps. Bella keeps breathing as evenly as she can manage. She can’t bear to watch, but sometimes she catches glances of the black thread gently pulling from her healing skin. The sting is sharp, but bearable.
“So… Kim?” Bella prods.
Emily heaves a sigh, hands moving quickly but gently. “Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on. At the start of this year, I was the only imprint of this generation. And Sam’s pack was three strong, including him.”
Holding back a wince, Bella stares up at the ceiling. “Is it bad? All of it happening like this?”
“No, not – oh this one’s being a bitch… got it!”
She clenches her fingers in Emily’s bed sheets and tries not to laugh at the other’s distress. It’s not funny. Bella just feels wound up with nerves due to her current situation and the unknown.
“Not…?” Bella encourages after a moment.
Sighing, Emily works further up the stitches. “No, it’s not bad. It’s been known to happen in times of great crisis, but Sam thinks this is just timing. The next generation being born close together and things like that.”
“So…” Bella glances down, staring at the top of Emily’s head rather than her working hands. “Why are you so stressed?”
Emily’s hands falter before picking up their work again. It pinches in Bella’s abdomen, but she bites back any sounds.
“I guess I feel responsible for you girls. Like I have to look after you. There, we’re done.”
When the last stitch comes out, Bella’s stomach unclenches just a little. Bella flexes, testing the movement of her ribs. It still aches, but it isn’t nearly as restrictive.
“Feeling okay?” Emily checks.
Bella nods as she rises cautiously. “Thank you, Em. And hey…”
Emily glances up from scrubbing her hands with antiseptic gel.
Smiling, Bella says, “How about we all just look after each other? You’ve done so much for me, Emily. Seriously, I don’t know what I would do, or would have done without you.”
Emily grins, tilting her head slightly. Her dangling earrings shine in the sunlight as they tremble in her lobes.
“You won’t have to be without me, Bella. I never had guidance when I was pulled into this; I want to be yours.”
“You are,” Bella rushes to reassure. “Better than I could have ever hoped for. And I know you’ll be just as great with Kim.”
Emily reaches and lightly squeezes Bella’s shoulder. Which reminds her she’s still half dressed. She softly squeezes Emily’s hand back and then rushes to dress. It’s amazing the flexibility she has with the stitches out. She certainly won’t be doing cartwheels, but she feels (blessedly) more mobile.
When Emily opens the bedroom door, Jacob is standing right at the threshold. There’s a flicker of amber in his eyes, but black edges smear the colour. The Wolf is there, in the undercurrent, tugging at his control – but Jacob seems to be very much present. He watches Bella with something between protective caution and raw hunger.
“Okay?” Jacob asks.
“Okay,” she confirms back, with a light smile.
The kitchen is empty when they head through it. Emily shoos her and Jacob out, taking over a batch of icing and cupcakes left on the counter. Outside, Jacob trails her while she locates Charlie, fearing she’s abandoned him too long. She finds him talking with Harry and Leah Clearwater by the side of the house.
As she heads over to her dad, Billy calls for Jacob, and he splits off from her with a roll of his eyes.
“There you are,” Charlie grumbles upon seeing her. “Have fun in the kitchen?”
“Yeah, just icing cupcakes,” she replies with conviction. “Having fun out here?”
“Tons,” he mutters.
“I’ll take offence to your tone, Chief,” Harry interjects. “Bella. You’ve met my daughter Leah, haven’t you?”
“We haven’t had the pleasure,” Leah answers for her, a curl to her thick lips.
Bella blinks, slightly taken aback by the hostility. Leah stares her down openly, arms folded so tight her knuckles blanch.
“Er – yeah, no. We haven’t. We should totally, you know, catch up sometime.”
The mortification of her bumbling is short-lived when Leah surprises her.
“Absolutely.” A smile grows on her face, but it isn’t pleased. “How about right now?”
Bella’s not entirely sure why she feels as if she’s about to be eaten alive. But she swallows and nods her agreement all the same. Charlie sighs theatrically as Bella shuffles off behind Leah. The other woman (without looking back) begins a swift march to a secluded spot on the edge of the property, near the tree line.
They’re far enough away from the party that no one can overhear them, but close enough that Bella doesn’t think Leah will get away with murdering her. The only comfort Bella can cling to is the scent of the alder tree they stand near. Resinous like a Christmas tree but with more sharpness.
Clean; familiar; grounding.
Leah looks at her with sharp, dark eyes and a scowl. “All I wanted to say was don’t get too comfortable around here.”
Bella blanches. “What? Why?”
“She does this,” Leah replies, low and bitter. At Bella’s apparent confusion, she adds, “Emily. She collects strays.”
Exhaling slowly, Bella tries to release the muscles in her shoulders. Leah’s words feel like splinters under her skin. She knows Leah doesn’t know the truth of anything, and she imagines it’s easy to be bitter without knowledge. But even still, the hostility rolls off her in waves.
“Me and Emily get along, ‘cause I’m always here with Jake, that’s all.”
Leah scoffs. “Please. I see they got you in on their weird little group, too.” She rolls her eyes. “If they weren’t so boring, I’d call it a cult.”
Releasing a nervous laugh, Bella tries not to fidget. “Is this because of… everything... with Sam and Emily?”
The other woman narrows her eyes. “What do you know about it?”
“Not much,” Bella blurts. “Just… a bit.”
Leah scoffs. “So she’s telling everyone my business, too? She’s truly shameless.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Defensiveness rises in her chest. “Emily’s not like that.”
“Don’t tell me what Emily’s like,” Leah snaps. “I just wanted to warn you ‘cause no one warned me.”
Before Bella can reply, Leah turns and storms back into the party. Bella’s eyes track her, and connect to Jacob’s. Her stomach swoops as they make eye contact. More so when he begins to stride toward her, cutting through the crowd.
She stays put, trying to understand the conversation she just had.
“Bells,” Jacob says when he’s close enough, his voice rough. “You alright?”
“Did you hear?”
“A bit,” he confirms. “It’s noisy here.”
He reaches and takes her hand, stroking his thumb over the back of it. “You wanna get outta here?”
Bella laughs, stroking his thumb in return. “You trying to get on Charlie’s bad side?”
Jacob grins. “Maybe. If it gets me time alone with you.”
Warmth unfurls in her chest and slips down into her lower belly. Bella ducks her head slightly. The intensity of their eye contact is getting stronger lately, but right here and now is not the time or place to explore it.
“You’ll be alone with me later tonight,” she mumbles back, looking up through her lashes.
Jacob’s pupils dilate, and Bella’s breathing dips in surprise. Amber and black battle each other, and Bella feels both present at the party and lost in a pocket of reality that’s completely Jacob.
“Yes, I will.” His voice edges into that primal cadence she’s only heard with The Wolf.
The butterflies in her stomach collide with each other, torn between excitement and anxiety.
“Jacob!”
Bella startles and glances over Jacob’s shoulder; at the same time, Jacob whips his head around. Quil stumbles back, as if physically shoved. He hesitates, face pale and clammy. He half looks as if he wants to run away and half like he wants to puke immediately.
“Go away, Quil.”
At the dismissal, some strength appears to return to Quil, and he takes an adamant step forward. Jacob had begun to return his attention to Bella, but he jerks when Quil clasps his shoulder and yanks him.
“What the fuck?” Jacob demands.
The curse makes Bella flinch, mostly because she so rarely hears it from him, and in small part because it doesn’t exactly sound like him.
“Listen to me!” Quil’s brow furrows. “I’ve – I’ve imprinted.”
Blurting it together, Bella and Jacob squawk, “What?!”
Jacob’s voice is sharp and disbelieving. “With who?”
Quil swallows hard, his expression stricken. “… Emily’s cousin. Claire Young.”
Notes:
Yeahhh, we're not going to be having ANY baby imprinting in this fic. This is a fix it and I will fix that mess.
Chapter 14
Notes:
I had sooo much fun writing this chapter. I hope you love it, and it makes up for the wait.
Thank you as always for your amazing comments and support. They really do inspire and motivate me.
My own studies have picked up again (last year, thank GOD), but it means that I will be slowing down in posting again. Please bear with me, and thank you for your patience. It's really appreciated.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bella’s attempting to decipher what to wear to bed, which – given how the party ended – feels ridiculous.
She and Charlie have been home for hours now, during which he’s taken himself to bed. Meanwhile, she’s been replaying Jacob’s parting promise: after the pack meeting to discuss Quil’s imprint, he’ll be here. In her room. In her bed. Despite his spoken word, her previous you’ll be alone with me later tonight, felt as if it was lingering in their eye contact.
Presently, she’s torn between the implications of that and the chaos she’s left behind at Emily’s. She keeps picturing how Emily must be feeling. Claire too. Jacob said that Emily and Sam would explain everything to her – just like they did with Bella – but this time Quil would be there, in a way Jacob hadn’t been for hers.
Again, she finds herself circling the same thoughts as Emily: why now? Why are the imprints cropping up one after another? If it’s fate, and the close ages of this generation of imprints (as Sam previously suggested), then what does that mean? Are these connections meant to form so that the next generation can be born sooner?
The thought makes her stomach turn. The idea of being guided by a hand of fate, without choice. She braces herself against her dresser, heart thudding too fast, and bolts for the bathroom before she can spiral further. She attempts to be quiet, with Charlie sleeping down the hall.
Charlie’s house has one measly bathroom, and it’s barely big enough for her and her thoughts. The tiled floor is at least cold and therefore soothing against her bare feet. She splashes water over her face, letting it sting her eyes. Then she brushes her teeth just for something to do.
The peppermint burn in her mouth and the soft hum of the extractor fan fill the small space, grounding her in reality. She showers again, despite doing so earlier. She also repeatedly sniffs at her armpits when drying herself to ensure she doesn’t smell. Back in her room, in a towel she clutches to her body, she glances at her window.
Still shut. Still no Jacob. But he could be here any minute, and catching her in a towel seems like a more pressing issue than finding what to wear. Ultimately, she rashly decides on a tank top and shorts combination. She can’t look as if she’s trying too hard. They’re only getting into bed, after all.
And a lot of her bruises over her body have cleared up, so she doesn’t feel like a rotten, mottled piece of fruit when she looks in the mirror.
Then her bedroom door creaks open.
She glances over her shoulder, realising she must have woken Charlie with her movements. She jerks when it’s Jacob who enters.
“Hey, Bells.”
Lowly, she asks, “How are you getting up the stairs like that?”
Jacob smirks. “Can’t give away all my secrets.”
Scoffing a laugh, she sits on the edge of her bed, so she’s not standing in the middle of her room like a moron. Jacob joins her, still dressed in the t-shirt and jeans he wore to the party.
“How was the meeting?”
Not answering immediately, he pauses to stare at her face openly and then avoids the question. “You looked good today. More alive. Like you’re getting better.”
“I feel I should be insulted by that,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.
Jacob’s eyes slip there, and a hot flush burns through her cheekbones. His gaze comes back up; eyes slightly crinkled at the edges as if fighting a smile.
“I just mean you’re getting colour back. And…” he trails off, glancing down at Bella’s bare knees.
She attempts not to fidget. When he lays his hand on said knee, she fights the mortification that he can most likely hear her heart coming clear through her chest.
“Now that you’re getting better,” he whispers, “today especially… it felt like... feels like there’s something in you that’s… It’s hard to explain. Like... It’s humming? The Wolf can feel it most, but I can sense a quieter version of it.”
Bella swallows her dry throat. “You mean like… spiritually?”
She doesn’t have the confidence to add: or sexually?
Raising his eyes, Jacob fixes them on her. “Yeah, I – I don’t think I’m explaining it right. It’s almost like the earth recognises you, and that links to The Wolf, and then to me, and we all tangle up in this… this humming.”
She almost laughs, if only for the fact that she’s slightly lost, but his sincerity stops her. The moonlight spills through her window, fighting the warm yellow of her lamp. Yet both colours beam against Jacob’s face, highlighting every emotion for her to see.
“That’s poetic for a Capricorn,” she eventually teases.
He grins, small and wry. “And what are you again?”
“A Virgo.”
“Figures.” His thumb traces idle circles against her knee, which nearly sends her into cardiac arrest. “Always trying to make sense of the stars.”
“And you just try to shoulder the sky.”
The smile fades slowly from his lips, replaced by something heavier. The air shifts, charged enough to raise the hairs on her arms.
“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “it feels like the stars have already decided what they want from us.”
“I’m hoping,” she whispers in return, “that we get to decide too.”
Jacob’s eyes shift – that war she’s coming to recognise with The Wolf. For a heartbeat, the world hums around them again: the walls, the floor, the smallness of her human space folding around the enormity of whatever this is.
Then he moves closer, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to.
She doesn’t.
She leans in.
Their lips meet for the first time. Jacob’s are dry and hot, rasping against her own. Her heart flutters, vibrating beneath her skin. Her hands rise, fingers entwining into the hair at the nape of his neck. Jacob’s own fall to her hips, pulling her tight so that their knees end up crammed together.
Their kiss barely stops in the slow and soft stage, charging right into neediness. Bella has to resist whimpering into his mouth, the taste of him so overwhelming and addictive. Most especially when his hand cradles the back of her head. His fingertips sink into her hair, massaging her scalp but also guiding it, opening and claiming her mouth as he desires.
Her stomach flips several times, and her ribs twinge with a distant ache of her healing wounds. Jacob’s hand in her hair and on her hip grows tighter by the second, and then his fingers release, before doing it all again. Like he can’t control the urge to grip her. A dark, molten heat low in her stomach kindles immediately.
The fingers in his hair twine and twist, gripping him as desperately as he does her. Their noses crush together, their panting breaths heavy between them. The urgency with which they lean together begins to fold their bodies, and Jacob seems to naturally collapse onto his back, with Bella hovering over him.
He rectifies this simply and with an ease that shouldn’t be arousing, but is. He catches her waist and pulls her over him, so she’s straddling him. They groan in unison, and Jacob’s grasp on her flesh is reinfected with a desperate, hot fever. Bella has to break away to breathe, but Jacob just as quickly takes the opportunity to strain his neck and kiss her own.
There, he kisses and suckles and nibbles, sending shockwaves of goosebumps across her body. Bella has to bite down on her lip to keep her noises locked up. She’s never had any experiences like this. She’s never been kissed or held or grabbed, or locked into such a needy, passionate embrace.
Her head spins. The air hums so loud she’s dizzy on it. Heat swamps her from head to toe. The world splits when they return to their kiss, and Jacob’s tongue slips into her mouth. She moans deeply when their tongues caress, scraping against teeth and gums in an animalistic dance.
Jacob’s hands shift from her hip to her ass, and he pulls her against the hardness straining between them. She squeaks into his mouth, and he gnaws at her lip, dragging her over his cock. Bella’s stomach flips again, the heat swooping low and igniting between her legs.
It's not long before she has to pull away to breathe again.
The gold of his skin is a smudge in her blurry gaze. The world is glossy and surreal, hot and immediate. His mouth returns to the flesh of her throat, destroying it once more. Her nipples tighten beneath her tank top, begging for attention. His mouth moves down her collarbones, his breath catching every time her hips move over his.
She’s not sure where the confidence has come from, only that it’s rooted in need. That she needs him inside her. That she needs to claim him so carnally and so ultimately that he could never think to leave her. His neck can only strain so far with their height difference, and through their panting, he releases a half-groan, half-growl where he’s trapped at her collarbones.
It's a strangled sound, and it vibrates right into the density of her bones. His grip tightens on her ass, stinging now. The pressure makes her gasp.
“Jacob?”
"I can fucking smell you," he groans. "God, I want it." He drags her harder over his cock, clipping her clit and forcing a whimper from her lips. "I want you so bad, Bella."
He returns to kissing her skin, but it’s changed. He’s not just kissing. He’s mouthing at it; devouring it, licking and biting sharply. There’s a hunger in it that feels too big to handle. His hands drag up her back and press down between her shoulder blades, possessive and trembling. The air thickens – hot, charged – humming.
He jerks back from her skin suddenly, just after she moans thickly. His eyes flash amber for a split second, pupils blown wide. His chest heaves, his breath tearing out of him in ragged bursts that sound half like panting, half like snarling.
“Bella.” His hands snatch at her hips, stilling them. “Don’t move,” he grates.
His voice breaks, becoming layered and multi-faceted – like two people speaking through one mouth.
Freezing, the hair on her arms raises, and she tries to blink free from her own delirious haze. He’s still there, still Jacob, but something else is standing very close to the surface – watching, waiting.
The Wolf.
Jacob’s shaking hands come away from her hips, and he presses the heel of one into his eye.
“I didn’t – I didn’t mean to –”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Her words tremble, unsure if it actually is.
Another growl slips out again, softer this time – not anger, but frustration. Pain, almost. Embarrassment chokes Bella, and she shifts off his body, bringing her own buzzing body to his side. Jacob’s jaw locks, his breath shaking through his teeth.
“I can’t – not when he’s that close,” he chokes out. “He doesn’t understand –”
Bella’s heart continues to thud. The air smells electric and wild, sizzling on her tongue. Her skin tingles where he touched her, but there’s now a tendril of fear – not of him, but of losing him to that thing inside him.
Softly, she says, “Jacob, you’re here. You’re still you.”
He laughs without humour – bitter and raw, amber flickering around the edges of his eyes. “Yeah, but for how much longer? He’s so exhausting to fight all the time, Bells.”
Gnawing at her lip, at a loss, she places her hand gently on his raised arm and squeezes lightly.
“I’m right here, Jake. You don’t have to do it alone.”
He tilts his head up at her, eyes softening.
"I'm not going anywhere," she reassures.
Very softly, he whispers, “Kwop kitlawtley.”
She doesn’t know the translation, but the reverence in his voice fills her chest and face with warmth.
“What does that mean?”
He smiles faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Can’t give away all my secrets.”
On Wednesday, a few days later, Bella is dozing on the sofa with her legs over Jacob's lap. He's been officially allowed back into the house, according to Charlie, so he sits, bold as brass, in the sunlight on the sofa with her.
It’s mid-afternoon, and they’re in the middle of discussing eating something, when Charlie enters. He’s been lurking in the kitchen, she thinks, because of hers and Jacob's physical proximity. Now, he stands with a bunch of envelopes in his hand.
He fans a single one through the air. “Bells, got something here from the school – looks official.”
“What?” Bella lifts her head too quickly, and it cracks audibly. “Is it my grades?”
She shoots Jacob a dirty look when he chuckles, while rubbing at the sore spot in her neck.
Tapping the envelope against his palm, Charlie answers, “Could be.”
A worm of anxiety slithers through her stomach when she reaches her hand out. Charlie passes it over and then stands back, gawking openly. Jacob does too, and she avoids their gaze as she rips into the seal.
Please don’t be awful, she chants to herself.
Quickly, her eyes scan over the paper. “Well... I guess it’s not so bad...”
“Don’t leave us hangin’,” Charlie grumbles petulantly.
“Yeah,” Jacob agrees, accompanied by a poke to her side.
She dodges it and breathes, “English: A minus, History: A, Bio: B minus. Trig: B and Spanish… C plus. Which sucks.”
Charlie whistles low. “Hey, I heard two A’s an' B’s! College-worthy stuff, Bells. I'm damn proud.”
"Thanks, Dad," she responds meekly.
The word ‘college’ echoes in her head and tightens her chest for a reason she can’t quite name – too far away, too fragile.
“Well, wherever she goes,” Jacob pipes up, plucking the page from her fingers, “Spanish isn’t her destiny.”
“Well, we can’t all be bilingual geniuses,” Bella remarks dryly.
“No, we can’t,” Jacob agrees, with a faux air of stiffness. “You wouldn’t function with my intellect, Isabella.”
Charlie raises his eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m gonna… leave whatever the hell this is. Bells, diner tonight to celebrate.”
“Dad, we don’t –”
“Yeah, we do,” Charlie interrupts. “Jake, why don’t you grab your old man, and we’ll make a night of it?”
Jacob glances up, face morphing from joyful to contemplative. “Don’t think he’ll be able to make it, Chief. He’s obsessed with cleaning the house right now.”
Charlie frowns before it smooths out. “Ah, shit. Little Rachel’s home this Saturday. I’m gonna call him. Get him outta the house before he does himself damage.”
Immediately, he leaves to do this, and Bella glances at Jacob with a raised eyebrow.
“You didn’t mention your sister was coming home.”
Jacob rolls his eyes, though she doesn’t feel it’s necessarily at her. “’Cause Rachel always says she’s coming back, and then no-shows. She won’t admit it, but she hates being here.”
Bella leans her temple against her knuckles. “Maybe she’s just been swamped. She’s a student, right?”
“Yeah,” Jacob concedes. “At Pullman. But term ended in May. It’s nearly July.”
She purses her lip and slightly tilts her head, conceding to his insinuation.
“Said she delayed ‘cause she had a summer project with one of her professors,” Jacob continues, without much conviction in what he’s saying. “Some kind of research project. She’s studying environmental science. Thinks she’s gonna save the world one water sample at a time.”
“That’s pretty cool though,” Bella defends.
Jacob snorts. “Yeah, but don’t tell her that. It’s my duty as baby brother to find her grossly uncool.”
Rolling her eyes, she lightly jabs him with her toe. “You should tell her more… actually, why don’t we delay this whole dinner thing until she comes back? It’d be nice to see her again. Or meet her properly, or whatever.”
Shifting in his seat, Jacob eyes the ceiling. “I dunno. She’s not much for socialising. She barely likes to be here. I think she’s just run out of reasons to stay away.”
“Oh.” Bella plays with her sleeve and shrugs. “Well, the offer’s there. I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind.”
Meeting her eyes, Jacob smiles. “Nah, he wouldn’t. He loves the twins.”
A slight twinge echoes in Bella’s heart. She’s not quite sure why. Guilt perhaps? Did Charlie project his love onto the twin girls because his own daughter wouldn’t come and see or stay with him?
She thinks about all the times he came to visit her instead. How much effort (awkward Charlie effort) he would put into talking and playing with her, despite his clear dislike of the hot climate and her mom’s ever revolving door of boyfriends.
In some ways, Bella was Rachel. Avoiding coming back. Avoiding it until she ran out of reasons to. Until she wanted to live with her mom even less than she wanted to live in Forks. She suddenly feels unbearably sorry towards her dad, in a kind of epiphany that only seems to start creeping up as she gets older.
“Bells, you with me?” Jacob prods, knee brushing hers.
Electricity zings through her bloodstream, and she represses her muscles jerking in response. The flash of memory comes back, interrupting her introspective thoughts. Hers and Jacob’s panting breath. His hot body beneath her. His tight grip on her hips. Her stomach squeezes, and Jacob swallows roughly.
Charlie’s voice rises then from the kitchen, chatting away to Billy and cutting through the sudden tension. Forcing it to dissipate and hide back in the places it has been since those early Sunday morning hours.
Bella clears her throat, praying (or deluding herself) that Jacob can’t smell her arousal when it flares so suddenly like that. That delusion is dashed when her leg brushes against his tenting shorts. He jerks, hissing beneath his breath and then shifts away quickly.
Rachel coming home may be Billy and Jacob’s biggest problem, but the growing need Jacob wakes in her is most certainly Bella’s.
Notes:
Can't believe it took 14 chapters for them to kiss... probably the slowest burn I've ever managed in a fic, honestly.
Chapter 15
Notes:
I really loved writing this one. I've had so much fun with this fic, but these future chapters are exciting me so much. I can't wait for you to see what's coming.
Thank you, always, for your love and support. You keep me going, truly.
Chapter Text
In the end, a welcome home dinner is scrapped.
During the course of Billy and Charlie’s phone call, a plan is concocted for a surprise party. Charlie reassures her they’ll still celebrate Bella’s grade achievements, but she waves him off – she’s hoping to use this to her advantage later on. That ‘getting away’ plan she spoke about with Jacob for her birthday, in fact.
Meanwhile, Jacob gawks in disbelief at the news. Bella assumes it’s because he doesn’t have faith that Rachel truly will return, and doesn’t want to see Billy disappointed. And perhaps his earlier remark about his sister’s lack of sociability.
The timeline isn’t great either. Only two days to plan and prepare, and then a half-day to execute, with Rachel due on Saturday evening.
It’s suddenly all hands on deck, and somehow, although pleased at the inclusion, Bella is roped into the planning committee. Emily gets straight on the phone with her by Wednesday night (news travels fast, apparently), asking for assistance with food.
“So I was thinking we could do salmon in cedar-wrapped parcels. It’s a recipe from my grandma’s notebook. And it smells amazing when you cook it over hot coals.”
“Er, I’ll do my best,” Bella mumbles as she scribbles notes as fast as Emily talks. “What else?”
“Definitely fry bread. Oh! And clam and corn chowder. Old Quil loves that stuff.”
“What’s Rachel’s favourite?”
“The fry bread,” Emily laughs. “I’ve watched her burn her fingertips too many times not to know that.”
Bella laughs in return, scribbling more notes. “Well, I don’t know how great I’ll be with those dishes. They’re wildly out of my comfort zone,” Bella admits. “But I could… I dunno, do some pies? Blueberries, blackberries, whatever you want.”
“Oh, I love that, Bella. Yes, please. The boys will no doubt get jerky and marshmallows because they’re uncultured swine. But we should have some real dessert dishes.”
Laughing again, she quickly scrawls down a rapid-fire shopping list. “What about drinks?”
“Oh, that’s sorted,” Emily assures. “Sue’s doing her famous hot spiced cider. It smells like cinnamon and woodsmoke. I can’t for the life of me get her to admit her secrets.”
Can’t give away all my secrets.
Bella jolts from the memory of Jacob’s voice, which, of course, (as it has done since) incites the images of their dry humping. Her cheeks burn viciously, and she quickly clears her throat.
“Hey, I haven’t had a chance to ask about Claire.” She brings up, for distraction. “How’d it go?”
“Oh… well…” Emily sighs. “She was really excited about it.”
“You… don’t sound like you like that response?”
“I don’t,” Emily confirms, more serious than Bella’s ever heard her. “She’s too immature to deal with all this. She thinks it’s some big romantic twist of fate and that she’s saved from dating by already having been given her soulmate. Her attitude toward it is just all wrong. Even when I told her the true story of my scar, she didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of it all. Honestly, it’s… It’s frightening.”
“I understand,” Bella responds, doodling on her page now. “It just makes me question this whole fate idea Sam’s working under.” She lowers her voice, glancing through the arch to Charlie in the other room. “If she doesn’t have the right mentality, then why has the… universe, I guess, decided now’s the time to reveal their imprint?”
“I don’t have answers, either,” Emily replies, in such a tone that Bella feels guilty for bringing any of this up. “I just don’t want her to get carried away in it all. Or getting hurt like we did.”
Grimacing to herself, Bella agrees, “I know. But we can help her. It’s not just you on your own now, Em. We’re building quite the pack these days.”
Emily laughs sharply. “We should have our own pack meetings at this rate.”
“Hey,” Bella intones, “that’s not a bad idea. We could just… You know, get together now and then. Gripe about the men in our lives and their second personalities.”
Full out laughing now, Emily says, “I love the sound of that. As soon as this party is out of the way, we can arrange it.”
“Right. The party,” Bella concedes. “Have we completely covered the food?”
Thursday is dedicated to shopping and baking.
Jacob insists on accompanying her, and (by nothing but the grace of Rachel’s return), Charlie lifts her grounding completely, and allows her to roam free with Jacob to the land of supermarkets.
In the kitchen later, Bella sends Jacob outside to locate the rhubarb at the back of the house. Mostly because it’s claustrophobic attempting to prep with Jacob’s large body taking up so much room.
Bella is only prepping and filling today, to then refrigerate and bake on Saturday. But she needs to be free to help organise the beachfront tomorrow. Charlie, Jacob, and even Emily have insisted she shouldn’t be so involved (on account of her recovering body), but she’s intent on it.
She wants to wrap herself more into the people and the land she loves to be on, and in the presence of.
Besides, with her stitches out now (despite the occasional itching and stiffness), she’s feeling a lot more mobile. The scabbing is mostly gone, leaving the scar tissue pink and tight. When she looked this morning, it had a shiny, taut quality to it. She’s not in pain anymore, per se, just aware of the limitations of her body.
When Jacob brings back the rhubarb with a triumphant grin, the kitchen smells rich with fruit.
“How the hell does Charlie have rhubarb growing back here?” Jacob asks, observing the plant in his hand.
Bella shrugs. “Leftover from one of Mom’s projects, I think.”
“She got it in her head to make rhubarb pie one summer,” Charlie mutters, entering the kitchen on quiet feet. “She got as far as planting it, but not far enough to learn what to do with it.”
“Figures,” Bella murmurs under her breath.
Charlie retrieves a beer from the fridge and, upon exiting, warns them, “Don’t burn down my damn kitchen being idiots,” and then promptly retreats to the sofa.
Bella narrows her eyes after him. His grand contribution to the party is beer, and therefore leaves him free as a bird.
The man really needs to go back to work.
Jacob and Bella smirk at each other and then get to work.
After an hour, the counter is dusted in flour like the aftermath of a small, domestic explosion. She takes a break after pressing the edges of yet another pie to lean against the counter and press a hand to her dully aching side. The smell of berries and butter turns her stomach for a second, that faint metallic edge of blood memory twisting it.
She exhales through it, grabs a dish towel, and wipes the counter to prep for the next pie. Thank God she’s coming to an end. Just preparing the rhubarb took forever.
“You okay, Bells?” Jacob asks from beside her, washing his hands in the sink. “Need a break?”
She shakes her head, glancing over at him. “I’m good. You’re helping a lot.”
“I’m mostly watching.” He laughs. “You control freak.”
Whipping him with the tea towel, she gasps with faux indignation. “Take that back!”
“Or what?” He teases, approaching her.
Bella swallows, a low swooping in her stomach. His long legs eat up the space between them, and he’s so very present. Heat radiates from him. His dark, amber-ringed eyes are full of mischievous hunger. His smile is miles wide on his beautiful face. His silky hair falls into his eyes.
Frankly, he looks more edible than her pies.
She cuts a nervous glance through the arch to the back of Charlie’s head. “Jake…” She warns lowly.
He steps back, scrubbing at the back of his neck. The movement, though anxious, flexes his bicep and strains his t-shirt. Bella nearly salivates on the spot. What the hell has gotten into her lately?
“Yeah.” Jacob clears his throat. “So er – what’s next, boss?”
Friday is a day for arranging the beach, but there’s only so much that can be done beforehand. Therefore, there’s a lot left to do on Saturday, and Emily, as commanding officer of the whole ordeal, has Bella and half of La Push out on the sand bright and early.
Currently, Emily is commandeering Sam into digging a pit in the sand and lining it with hot stones, coals, and wet cedar leaves.
“Sammy, I love you, but if you lay those stones wrong one more time, I will never marry you.”
Sam sighs heavily but looks at Emily with raw hunger, and quips, “Emmy, I love you, but if you tell me off one more time, I’m throwing you in the ocean.”
At Emily’s responding grin and sparkle in her eye, Bella has to watch said ocean and attempt not to throw herself into it of her own accord.
Usually, these kinds of behaviours between couples would have her squirming with discomfort. Since her kiss with Jacob, it has her seething with jealousy. She wishes she and Jacob could banter with healthy tension, instead of flirting with the control of his domineering second spirit.
When Sam has finally pleased Emily’s standards, she turns her attention to Bella.
“Charlie ever teach you to cook outside?” She enquires, squatting down in the sand and beckoning to Bella.
Bella crouches beside her and gives Emily a dry look. “You’ve met Charlie. The man might fish, but he’ll soon cook it in a functioning kitchen.”
Emily hums in agreement. “Then tonight, you learn the way we do it. We’re just going to prep everything right now. We’ll cook it later; otherwise, it’ll be leather.”
Patiently, Bella nods along and allows herself to be guided through rubbing the fillets of salmon with sea salt.
“Here, sprinkle that evenly or it’ll cook patchy,” Emily instructs. “Don’t wrinkle your nose, Bella. It’s meant to smell like that.”
Then, it’s onto the crushed herbs and wild honey, and finally, wrapping them and tying them with twine.
The tide rolls in slow and silver, and Emily – sleeves rolled up, dark hair tied back, skin golden – hums with approval. Bella doesn’t feel like she’s doing much, merely holding the cloth steady while Emily shovels sand over the cedar parcels.
“Right, they’ll be ready to cook when we get back,” Emily confirms, with a decisive nod.
As the afternoon approaches, Emily hauls Bella off to her house to both cook the pies and get ready in the interim. In Emily’s kitchen, every surface gleams with the chaos of last-minute preparations – bowls stacked, knives drying on the rack, and a row of foil-covered trays cooling on the counter.
“The boys will start taking these to the beach,” Emily informs, as Bella begins the baking procession.
“All of them? Whose picking up Rachel?”
“Er…” Emily thinks as she moves, frowning to herself. “Paul, I think.”
“Bet he was thrilled,” Bella mutters.
Emily smirks. “Yeah, he’s a rough personality, but you just gotta get to know him. He’d never say no to Billy, and that’s who asked him. Heart of gold, really.”
Bella would have to see it to believe it. Her only impression of Paul so far is of him being snarky and irritated.
Outside, Seth is laughing, and Sam is commanding him to pull it together and carry the firewood to the truck, “before Emily has my balls.”
Emily clearly hears this because she rolls her eyes and shouts out the open door, “Never mind the firewood, start loading up this food, Samuel!”
“I still can’t believe you made three different types of pie,” Emily mutters to Bella after surveying all the food. “You’re going to end up outshining me.”
“They’re just pies,” Bella mutters, cheeks warming. “Besides, no one can outshine you when it comes to cooking.”
“They’re beautiful pies,” Emily corrects, with that tone that leaves no room for argument. “And Rachel’s going to love it. She’s got a sweet tooth the size of the cliffs.”
Bella hums, and Emily straightens, clapping her hands together. “Right. Let’s go get changed.”
“Huh?”
“Clothes, Bella. The ones I told you to bring to change into for the party...”
Sweeping a glance down herself – black jeans, beat up sneakers, and faded hoodie, Bella grimaces. “Well, I just kinda thought… everyone’s gonna smell like fish and smoke by the end of the night anyway… so…”
“Bella Swan.” Emily narrows her eyes. “Are you telling me you didn’t bring a change of clothes?”
“Erm –”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Taking Bella’s wrist, she hauls her down to her bedroom. A place Bella feels like she’s seen too much of, truthfully. From a dresser, Emily pulls something free and then turns and holds it up for inspection.
“You’re wearing this.”
In her hands is a soft grey jumper, worn thin in that perfect, loved way. It’s wide at the neckline and looks incredibly cosy.
“Em, I really –”
“Don’t argue,” Emily interrupts. “It’s chilly, and this’ll keep you warm.”
The jumper lands in Bella’s hands before she can protest. A pair of thick, black leggings is added on top.
“My sneakers won’t even go with this outfit,” she attempts to protest, one final, meek time.
“We have the same size feet; Swan and I have the perfect boots. Now go, you know where the bathroom is.”
Out of arguments, Bella does as she’s told. Off comes her hoodie, careful not to graze the tight, tender skin along her ribs. The scars are still a soft pink, raised like fine seams. They’ve stopped hurting, mostly, but when she stretches to tug the jumper on, the pull reminds her they’re still part of her.
The fabric is light and smooth against her skin – softer than anything she’s worn since her injury. She adjusts the hem, which brushes the tops of her thighs, and then replaces her jeans with the leggings. The girl in the mirror has damp, sea salt stiff hair, with a curl to it that looks cute with the jumper.
When she steps out, Emily grins. “See? You look like someone who belongs here.”
Bella snorts. “I look like I borrowed your jumper.”
Emily rolls her eyes. “It suits you. And keep your hair down. The wind will give it that beachy look.”
“Beachy look,” Bella echoes, mock-serious. “Scientific term, I assume?”
“Completely,” Emily answers. “You look good, Bella! Some mascara and lip gloss, and Jacob’s going to forget how to breathe.”
Despite her awkwardness, Bella perks up at this prospect. Maybe the outfit with earn her some more kisses. But she rolls her eyes at Emily, trying to ignore the warm tingle that travels up her neck.
When Emily is dressed and all the food is ready, they help pack the remainder of it into the truck. Heaps of fry bread, clam chowder, and Bella’s pies, nestled like treasures under cling film.
By the time they return to the beach, a soft mist curls off the waves. Smoke rises in long ribbons into the sky. Lots more people are there. Someone’s brought a guitar, the strumming carried on the wind, along with laughter. The air smells of salt, woodsmoke, and baking salmon.
Jacob, Billy, and Charlie are chatting by the cooking salmon pit. So either Jake or Billy got it going, because Charlie wouldn’t have a clue.
Kids run barefoot through the damp sand, shrieking with delight as the tide creeps closer. Bella lingers for a second beside the truck, breathing it all in. The sound of it – the scent, the flicker of the light – feels alive.
The evening officially rolls in beneath the Pacific sky as they lay out all the food – the kind of half-light that never really commits to being summer. It’s past seven, but the horizon’s still alive: streaks of bruised violet and burnished gold over the surf. The cliffs behind the beach rise like shadowed sentinels.
Fir trees lean close to the shore, their needles whispering every time the wind changes. Somewhere out on the water, gulls scream – sharp, distant notes that echo off the rock face. The sand is cool, fine-grained, and a soft cream colour beneath the torch lamps dotted everywhere.
There’s picnic tables, logs rolled into makeshift benches, and fairy lights strung between driftwood poles that flicker in the ocean breeze. A huge bonfire is roaring in the centre, flames licking high enough to fight the wind – orange against indigo. A dozen smaller ones surround it.
Amongst all these places, she spies the people she knows. Kim huddled under Jared’s arm at the water’s edge. Quil’s talking loudly near the main fire, clearly trying to impress a grinning Claire. Sam is wrestling playfully with Seth, while Leah watches, a bitter-sweet tilt to her mouth.
Bella doesn’t manage to catch up with anyone; too busy helping Emily make sure everything is perfect. The only interaction she completes is a wave to Charlie and a stunned look from Jacob upon seeing her. Emily was right, the outfit does seem to have made him breathless.
Before she knows it, the crowd of them is huddling together, warned that Rachel is close. Sure enough, Paul’s truck tires crunch over the gravel at the edge of the beach road in the hush.
For a long, suspended moment, no one moves.
Then there’s the slam of truck doors.
And a high, irritated voice: “Paul, I’ve told you I don’t want to see the goddamn sunset, I’ve grown up on this beach!”
Jacob snickers where he’s in front of Bella, and outright laughs when Rachel stumbles onto the beachfront and her surprise party.
Everyone else cries, “Surprise!”
Rachel visibly startles, tumbling back into Paul, who rights her with a straight face. He looks even more irritated than usual. Of course, Rachel hugs her dad first – tight and wordless – with the buzz of welcoming voices around her, and then allows Jacob to pick her up and spin her, despite shrieking all the while.
While this happens, Bella fades back a little, analysing the stranger she used to know. She can see traces of Jacob in her – the same mouth, the same stubborn brow. Her hair’s a waterfall of ink down her back.
Her skin is sun-warmed, glowing with a natural bronze undertone, the kind that makes her look carved from the same sand and cedar as La Push itself. Her gaze, when she glances at each approaching person, is the kind of dark that absorbs light instead of reflecting it.
Very soon, it’s Jacob who has Bella’s attention again. His grin is the softest she’s ever seen around his big sister, and his laugh is the easiest, most care-free sound in her presence.
She stays on the edge of the light, watching them all – the easy laughter, the flicker of orange against wet sand. The night smells of salt, cedar, and sugar; of pies cooling too fast in the mist. She wants to belong in it, not just to watch. For once, to stop standing on the shoreline of her own life.
When Jacob turns toward her, grin soft in the firelight, and beckons her over, she grins.
Because she almost believes she does.
Chapter 16
Notes:
This is nearly 60,000 words already, which is crazy. I have at least four more chapters planned, and who knows beyond that. I'm so thankful for your support, and I hope you continue to love the direction I steer us in.
Chapter Text
The night air is dark, heavy with smoke, and lit with orange bonfire light. Bella and Jacob take the opportunity to sneak away. On a driftwood log a little further out than the party, he has her half in his lap. They’re attempting not to be indecent about it, with so much family in their presence.
Truly, all she’s wanted to do all night is curl up against him. So she finds, for once in her life, she doesn’t much care about a potential audience.
It’s been a lovely, calm evening. Rachel was polite and friendly with Bella, but was soon dragged away to other people. Charlie gravitated to Billy, Sue, and Old Quil. So Bella has predominantly found herself affixed to Jacob’s side, pantomiming his shadow.
It’s been… fun.
Though it’s not quite the right word.
It’s been… enlivening… electric.
Jacob’s taken to holding her hand the last few hours, and Bella’s unclear if it’s the result of the constant connection of their skin, but it’s anchored her. Kept her grounded, safe, and warm against the chill. And yet, also wired with spark. Like she wants to engage with people, and pass between groups; fires; games, and stories.
Instead of her habit of retreating inward in large crowds. She’s been so very present tonight, and alive.
Jacob makes her feel alive.
Now the warm glow she’s been suffused in is disturbed by Jacob’s muttered, “We keep catching half-scents. We don’t know if it’s Laurent.”
The strong night breeze seems to rip into her bones, and she looks at him sharply. “What? How can you not know if it’s him?”
“Our scent tracking is great, don’t doubt us. But we can’t combat the wind. Bloodsuckers position themselves just right along the shoreline, and we’re screwed. We know it’s there, but we’re not sure who left it.”
“You’re sure it’s not… Edward?” She proffers hesitantly. “He’s just disappeared since the meeting. It seems… I dunno, off?”
Jacob’s lip curls slightly. “Because he knows to stay away. I catch him there again, and I’ll rip him apart, treaty be damned. But it can’t be Cullen, I know what he smells like. Laurent is the only one that’s got away from us, that’s why we think it’s him.”
A shiver wracks her frame, and Jacob squeezes her tighter. Her ribs twinge a little, but it’s such a dull ache these days she ignores it.
Laurent. Possibly here again. What for? What does he want? Revenge? On who? The pack? Jacob? Bella swallows tightly, twisting her fingers into Jacob’s t-shirt.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Jacob soothes, prying her fingers from the material. “I won’t let you get hurt, Bella. I’ll die first.”
Her voice shakes as she answers, “That’s exactly what I’m worried about. Losing you. I – I can’t lose you, Jacob. I can’t.”
It shocks her, the ferocity with which the words spill out and even more so, the conviction with which she means them. The fear that suffocates her chest. Her breathing picks up, and Jacob’s heated palm strokes down her trembling spine.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “No leech is gonna get me. Promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she gasps out, battling the desire to full-out hyperventilate. “I just want you to be safe.”
“Bella.” He gently cradles her face, forcing her wide eyes up to his. “I swear, I will always come back to you.”
She doesn’t even glance around to see who's watching. When he leans in, she does too. He releases a soft noise against her mouth, his hands gentle where they grip her face. Bella twines her arms around his neck, that heat curdling in her stomach once more, and pulls him closer. His hands move to her ribcage, cradling her eagerly.
“Sam’s coming,” Jacob mutters against her lips.
Bella groans as he pulls away, and can’t fight her grin when he quickly pecks her lips again. Her vision is a little fuzzy when she glances up at Sam’s approaching figure through the firelight.
“Bella.” He nods at her, but it’s Jacob he pins his gaze too. “We need to talk.”
Jacob’s body tightens under her hands, and his fingers curl a little meaner into the flesh of her hip.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sam responds curtly. “It’s about Rachel.”
The tension releases from Jacob’s muscles only slightly, and he sighs. “Is she fighting with the old man already?”
Sam shakes his head minutely. “No. Paul.”
“And?”
“Paul…”
Sam doesn’t even finish before Jacob stiffens again. Anyone would think they had mind-reading abilities in their human bodies, too. Bella can barely keep up, her eyes swinging between the two men.
“No.”
“Calm down,” Sam barks, and Jacob folds where he was rising from his seat.
“On my sister?”
“You know it’s not a choice, Jacob. Give him some slack.”
“Slack?!”
“Uh –” Bella cuts in, craning her neck up at Sam. “Has Paul…?”
“He’s imprinted on Rachel, yes,” Sam confirms mildly. “But that’s not our biggest problem.”
“It’s not?” Jacob squawks incredulously, now on his feet. “That’s my big sister!”
Sam’s jaw tenses. “Yes, and I imprinted on my girlfriend’s cousin. Shit happens, Jacob.”
That shuts Jacob up and leaves both him and Bella blinking stupidly at Sam.
“Something’s stirring,” Sam continues, now he has their full attention. “The way the imprints are coming in isn’t right.”
Swallowing roughly, Jacob grates out, “Have you spoken to the Elders?”
Nodding, Sam folds his arms over his chest. “They say that when there’s an unbalance, nature remedies it. Death to life. The same way we phase when there’s Cold Ones near.”
Both Sam and Jacob turn their heads in unison, and Bella follows their gaze. It’s sometimes a little creepy how well they can hear. Jared is coming over to join them, but is nowhere near close enough to be heard by her puny human senses yet.
Clearly, having heard their conversation, he inserts himself right into it upon arrival. “So what do you think it means?”
Sam hesitates in response.
Jared goes on in his silence. “If it’s imprints, it’s connections, right? And pups. What?! We’re all thinking it! Which says to me, there’s something threatening our pack lines. Our futures, too.”
“What could be big enough to threaten them that much, though?” Jacob questions.
“The Elders…” Sam pauses, looking out to the ocean. “The Elders think it means the death of one of us. Or the loss of our second spirit.”
Horror makes Bella speak up, “Isn’t that the same thing?”
Sam turns his head to look at her, analysing the hold that Jacob has on her, to such an extent that she flushes in retaliation.
Finally, he replies, “No. There’s the death of the body. But there’s also the death of the soul. If a Wolf loses his imprint, for instance.”
He leaves it there, but Bella feels Jacob (and watches Jared) shudder.
She stiffens. “Is that the same… the other way around?”
“We don’t know,” Sam answers. “Imprints tend to pass before their wolves. Our bodies stop ageing when we stop phasing. But in our history, many ancestors have struggled to stop, and long outlived their imprints.”
“And died, shortly after,” Jared tacks on grimly.
Bella swallows tightly. Every day, she seems to be learning more things that spin her world on its axis. Jacob won’t age while he phases? Who the hell was going to tell her that? She leans away from him slightly, feeling a sting of betrayal. Is she supposed to pester him with various inane questions to get any kind of straight answers?
“I think I should check in with Charlie,” she excuses herself, standing from the log.
Jacob’s hand grips her for a half-second, and then he reluctantly lets her go. She feels his eyes on her back as she walks away.
Bella drives Charlie home, being the sober one, but she doesn’t much remember it. Once in the house, she doesn’t much remember brushing her teeth either. Or taking off the jumper Emily forced her into.
She ends up on the edge of her bed, hair still smelling like smoke, staring at her window, trying to process her emotions.
It’s surprising to realise she’s angry.
The anger isn’t loud; it’s a quiet form – the worst kind. Angry that she keeps learning pieces of Jacob’s world like she’s collecting shards of a broken mirror. Angry that tonight was nearly perfect, and yet sorrow curled its way in anyway. Angry ultimately, that Jacob doesn’t feel it necessary to share these things, that she has to keep finding them out elsewhere.
Her bedroom door creaks open what feels like minutes later, and she doesn’t flinch. She feels his energy before he’s even here. Bella glances up, and Jacob halts for a second before quietly shutting the door behind him.
“You’re mad at me,” he states.
Strange that she can’t be sure if he knows that because he’s her best friend, or because he’s her imprint.
“Why didn’t you tell me you won’t age while you’re phasing?”
Jacob raises his eyebrow. “That’s what this is about? Me being a little younger than you?”
“A little younger? Jacob, you’re going to be… frozen in time!” She throws her arm out with the exasperation of her words. “While I’m next to you, withering away into old age.”
His brow smooths out, and his eyes widen, as if this thought honestly never occurred to him. “Bells. That’s not – I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Well, it matters to me,” she responds hotly.
Actually, it matters more than she thought it would.
How are they meant to have a life like that? With her ageing and him not? How could they even consider kids? How would they explain it to Charlie? To her friends?
“You’re forgetting it’s a choice,” Jacob says now, approaching the bed.
He crosses the room slowly, like she’s a skittish animal he doesn’t want to spook. He sits beside her, the dip of the mattress familiar and grounding. She doesn’t move toward him, but she doesn’t pull away either.
“If I choose to stop phasing, I’ll get older. It’s as simple as that.”
Bella looks into his earnest, amber-ringed eyes. “Is it? Do you think… that you could do it? Stop for good?”
“For you, I would,” he answers, voice raw. “For… a family… I would. Don’t look so freaked! I’m just saying.”
“Too late,” she mutters, cheeks hot. “I’m freaked.”
Jacob releases a breath that might be a laugh. Then he leans in slightly, forearm brushing hers, warm enough to melt her stiff shoulders.
“Hey, Bells?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t want to keep things from you,” he says, once he has her eye contact again.
His face is open in that painfully sincere Jacob-way that makes it unbearably hard to stay mad at him.
“I’m just scared of saying anything and everything wrong.”
The wavering flame of anger gutters out.
“I just need honesty,” Bella whispers. “I’m sick of finding everything out through the pack, and not you.”
“I can do that.”
She doesn’t answer with words. She leans into him, just enough that her temple brushes his shoulder. Jacob exhales shakily and wraps an arm around her, pulling her into the circle of his warmth. They sit like that for a long moment – breathing the same air, listening to the soft tap of branches on her window.
“Lie down with me?” Bella asks finally, her voice small but steady.
Jacob nods. They shift back onto the bed, her front to his chest, his arm around her waist. She feels his thumb stroke absent circles into her hip bone. She lets her eyes close. His breathing slows. Hers follows. Their pulses fall into that strange, familiar hum. The one that makes the air feel thicker, the room feel smaller, her own awareness feel sharpened.
Warmth folds around her consciousness, pulling her under like the tide.
And Bella dreams.
At first, it feels like she’s drifting underwater. Dark and suspended, quiet. As if she’s dived from La Push cliffs and hit the bottom of the ocean. The pressure is crushing – the same weight that slammed into her the day The Wolf tore her open.
Then the darkness brightens. Not with light, exactly. With movement. Something pale drifts through the shadows, slow and soundless like a jellyfish.
Not something – someone.
A tall silhouette, all sharp angles and impossible stillness. Bella can’t see his face, but she knows him in the same instinctive way she knows the smell of rain.
Edward.
He walks through the dark as if it belongs to him, like he revels in being in it. She attempts running, speaking, and moving. But it seems that dream-Bella, under that crushing pressure, is still as stone. Her limbs feel pinned in place. Her ribs ache – a ghost of claws, slitting open her flesh.
Another presence shifts into view, gliding like liquid made form. A darker shape with piercing red eyes, watching Edward, not Bella.
Laurent.
Edward extends a hand toward him, palm up. Laurent steps closer. Close enough that their shadows fuse into something long and jagged.
They talk between themselves; mouths moving, but Bella can’t discern what they’re saying over the thundering of her heartbeat. Sweat beads on her palms and forehead. A low murmur hums in the background, like words underwater.
Then Edward’s head snaps toward her.
Bella’s soul jolts inside her skin. Panic strangles her.
This is when he lunges. This is when the teeth come.
Edward doesn’t come to her. His mouth continues to move soundlessly. Laurent’s eyes turn on her, bright and hungry. Their blended shadow stretches across the ground toward her – long and reaching.
Something stirs behind her. A heat; a presence. Warm breath ghosts her neck and pebbles the flesh there. She smells forest and heat and rain.
A voice – Not Edward’s, not Laurent’s – growls behind her ear. Her heart thuds. Her body wars between safety and terror. A weight slides across her shoulder, and fur brushes against her jaw. Her nervous system wails, her guts remembering their acidic pain. In the corner of her eye, the looming width of a black, wet snout appears.
“Run, little shield.”
Bella wakes with a gasp, ribs aching as if reopened. Jacob bolts upright beside her, eyes molten gold.
“Mate?” He grabs her shoulders. “What has happened?”
So disturbed is she by her dream that she jerks out of his presence. She crams her hand against her mouth to fight her scream. It’s no longer Jacob sharing her bed. The Wolf is here now.
“Edward and Laurent,” she manages to gasp out between shaking fingers. “I think they’re working together. “
On Monday morning, Bella is still stewing over Jacob’s abrupt exit from her bed yesterday. She hasn’t heard a word from him since. Which is making her incredibly anxious. Coffee isn’t helping, only giving her the tremors, and of course, today is Charlie’s return to work.
Selfishly, she doesn’t want to be left alone in the house, but if her dream was right, she doesn’t want Charlie in it either.
“Okay, I’m leaving,” he announces at the kitchen archway, causing her to jump. “You’ve got all the emergency numbers on the fridge if you can’t get hold of me.”
“Dad, you’re going back to work, not on vacation.”
Charlie waves her off. “It’s just in case. Call me if you need me.”
“I will. I promise.” She puts her coffee down and retrieves his packed lunch, handing it over. “Here. For your first day back.”
A flush works into his face, and he clears his throat gruffly. “Gonna be strange not being home with you, kid.”
Which is Charlie’s awkward way of saying both thank you and I’ll miss you. Bella smiles at him and pats his shoulder.
“Keep ‘em safe, Chief.”
He grunts, “always do,” and then turns to leave, before hesitating at the front door. “Bells… are you and Jacob… a thing? Dating?”
She blushes to the roots of her hair, her face throbbing with such sudden, intense heat. “Erm –”
Good question, Dad. Let me get back to you when I know myself.
“Kind of?”
“Kind of?” Charlie scrunches his brow. “What’s kind of? Do I need to talk to the kid?”
“What? No! God, no. It’s just Jacob, Dad. You’ve known him his whole life.”
Charlie sniffs. “I know that, Bella. But I need to talk to him as a boy dating my daughter. Not my friend’s son.”
She groans. “Please don’t do that. There’s no need.”
“Well, it sure sounds like it. Do I need to ban him from the house when I’m not here? Does ‘kind of’ mean… well…” He turns the same shade of red as her. “I mean – you are being… safe, right? You’re being safe?”
“Oh my God, Dad.” Bella cups her face in mortification. “It’s not like that. So not like that.”
Charlie looks horribly confused, which, yeah, welcome to the club, Bella thinks.
“Well, are you guys dating or not?”
“Wow, okay.” She throws her hands up. “Dad. I’m a virgin!”
“Ah!” Charlie clamps his hands over his ears (nearly knocking himself out with his packed lunch), and shrinks into himself, face screwed up. “Okay! Have a good day!”
“You too!” She shouts after him, being as he’s fled out the front door faster than she’s ever witnessed him move.
As the door slams shut, she hears, “Don’t let that boy in this house while I’m gone!”
Bella stands staring at the front door and sighs. “If he ever shows up again.”
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