AN: First fanfic, I really don't know if this is any good at all. Please, if anyone reads this review and let me know if I should continue. Really just thought I would try this out, this story has been knocking around in my head for a while. I have a rough idea where it will go if I decide to continue, but I am very open to suggestions. Also, if anyone wants to be a Beta for a first timer, let me know!
Disclaimer: I do not own Jacob, or the world in which he lives, they are all Stephenie Meyer's, I'm just playing
As I ran through the forest, I tried desperately to blot out my thoughts. Don't think…don't think…thinking hurts. If you think, you'll just think of….don't think, don't think, don't think. The pounding of my paws on the ground were the only sound my over-sensitive hearing could pick up. The rhythm was comforting, the consistent pattern of the earth molding beneath me, my will exerted on something, it was more than I could ask for at the moment. Well, that and to not think.
See, the issue with thinking is that I have a problem with a one track mind. It wasn't really like this before, sure, I fell in love and it consumed my time and thoughts, but not like this. No, this was something…when the very essence of you is killed, it marks you. It more than marks you; it carves you out, digs into places you didn't even know you had. It is worse when that part of you, the person that is that part of you willing chooses death, its even worse. Trust me, I know. I held out hope, maybe she would change her mind, maybe he would change his mind…again. When I got the invitation, it was…
I barely notice the ground rushing up to meet me, you would think I would be used to this by now, but, this is the price I pay for thinking. I pull myself up and shake off the dry and brittle leaves. It's been a long time since I was in the sodden forest of the Olympic Peninsula, how long, I don't know. I just pick myself up and concentrate on the loping sound of my running again. Don't think…don't think…don't think. I was on my two hundred and forty second "don't think" when my head whipped around so quickly my body had no choice but to follow. That smell, I haven't experienced that since, well, since as long as I have been running. My head spun in confusion, no it can't be, not here, can I not be left alone!? My stomach revolted, the sensitivity to this smell regained from so long away. Most importantly, above all other reactions, a growl rumbled out of my chest, the hair stood up on a ridge along my back and my teeth were exposed in all their fatal brutality as my body prepared to fight, prepared to fulfill its one true purpose. My body lowered as I crept along the forest floor, through the open spaces between the large oaks so different from my home, toward the scent that both repulsed and called me.
My ears pricked as my body stilled, it appears I am too late. Sounds of a battle reach me, but already they are dying out. The end has been decided, has someone beat me to this? Who would know about this, who would know about killing vampires other than another wolf, and it certainly was not one of my kind. Even if from another pack (and I have not heard of another pack in North America) I would recognize the sounds, pick up the scent, and there was not yet smoke. No wolf would do his duty and not complete the task. Unless...possibly they were hurt, lying unable to finish, watching in horror as the leech reassembled itself and returned the killing favor. Whoa there Jacob, all this no thinking has resulted in an overactive imagination. Of course, I would still have picked up the familiar smell of a wolf, and the sounds of the fighting were just different.
The not knowing sped my steps. All sounds of struggle were dead and I advanced more quickly, rounding to the flank, still attempting to preserve some surprise if need be. It was then that I heard a faint rustling, like someone dragging something over the ground, accompanied by soft quiet moans that anything with ears less sensitive than mine would not have been able to pick up. The wind shifted and my body reacted for the second time in ten minutes to the sickly sweet stench of a vampire. Great, I've stepped into a trap, walked right into the middle of a leech fight. I should turn tail and get out of here as quickly as possible and let them destroy one another. That was the longest coherent thought I've had since my heart picked suicide. I was only mildly irritated that a vampire had pulled me out of my self induced idiocy.
In the time it took to think and then think about actually thinking without pain, my body had calmed some, although it was still prepped for battle. I breathed in again and noticed something different in the air, something I had not been able to catch in the throes of my initial reaction. The smell was not sickly as in every other vampire I've come into contact with. It was almost...pleasant. No, there is no way that's a vampire, my stomach isn't heaving and I don't wish for a nice can of garbage to freshen the air...but my body had responded, there is only one thing on the earth that can bring out that involuntary reaction in a wolf, and that, of course, is a vampire. As I crept through the trees I could peer through the brush that formed the outer wall of a small clearing. What I saw shocked me to the very core of my being.
A girl, very pale, almost glowing was on the point of death. I could tell her arm was broken. No, shattered is a better term, as it was a completely amorphous rope hanging from the left side of her body. She had a vicious gash in her side that stretched from under her arm to her hip, and she was losing a lot of blood, more that I had ever seen in my life. Her face was battered, and the hamstring of her right leg was slashed through. Yet still, on her hands and knees, using what limbs she could command work for her, she was dragging chunks of white glittering stone into a pile. I of course knew instantly what she was doing, but the smell still held me back and it looked as if she were almost done, with both her task and her life. Maybe it would be better if she perished as well, this one I could not figure out.
Once she finally managed to get all the pieces of the parasite into a pile, she groped for something in her left pocket. She had to struggle mightily as she only had one good arm and was reaching across her body into the opposite pocket, but at last she pulled out something that reflected the sunlight brightly and smiled a little, a zippo. Her injuries were getting to her, honestly I was surprised she lasted this long. I stayed only to finish the business she started if she was unable, and perhaps add her to the pile, who knew? She had fallen to the ground and was fumbling with the lighter, which was still hard to light because she was using one hand, striking it awkwardly against her dirty and torn jeans. At last she had a flame going, but I could see on her face she was not going to make it another second. I stepped forward into the clearing, telling myself it was to be sure the demon was destroyed. I did not want acknowledge any pride I felt watching her fight so determinedly against the lighter. Did not think about how touched I was by her duality of brokenness and strength, I did not want to consider that she was my soul reflected physically.
As I appeared in through the brush she looked up at me as she fell forward, hands in the pile, lighter still in hand. I thought she was done, her last act to shove the flame into the stinking pile that was already starting to smolder. Her eyes opened for what I thought was the last time and the deepest green eyes I have ever seen look up at me. They pierced right into my eyes and it almost seemed as though she saw me. I saw recognition, fear and, was that relief, sweep over her face in rapid succession before her stunning eyes closed again. She sighed out her last breath and with a small smile that has hardly more than a twitch of muscle said so softly that again I was grateful for my wolf hearing, "at least you'll let it burn."
An undeniable panic gripped me as I saw her still and the flames began to lick up her arms. The next thing I knew she was in my arms and I was running again repeating "don't think" only this time it had a different meaning, I did not want to stop to actually consider what had I done. It also had a different cadence don't...think, don't...think my mind automatically adjusting its rhythm to that of my two feet slapping the forest floor. I ran, feeling the wind on my skin for the first time in more than half a year and yet still I was telling myself not to think.