Hey all, I wrote this is response to a prompt from borntobewild13's Shakespeare fic fest!
Please read and review... I'm still new at this! Thanks,
Cantatedomino.
Men in rage
strike those that wish them best.
Othello, Act 2, Sc, 3
Jacob could sense that his Father was nervous. He could smell Billy's anxiety, though the old man was acting painstakingly casual. Cracking jokes right and left, and chuckling at them nervously, Billy was getting on Jacob's last nerves. Didn't he have enough to deal with? Wasn't it enough already that the love of his life was leaving him to die, and he was stuck on the reservation in fake crutches and a sling so he wouldn't arouse suspicion? He had had enough of Billy's pretenses.
"What is it, Dad?" Billy didn't know how to break it to him, and hesitated for a fraction of a second before speaking.
"We got a letter today." Jacob knew that this letter was the cause of his father's distress, and it made him uneasy.
"A letter?" He asked carefully, bracing himself for bad news.
"A…wedding invitation."
Jacob's body responded before his mind could reason with him. Fighting to calm himself down, Jacob was quaking from head to foot. Billy's seasoned face twisted in pain for his only son.
Jacob calmed himself enough to read the invitation, which was void of Bella's character, void of her choices, and void of her scent. With a flowery border, and silvery entwining hearts in the center, its scent was of death, blood, rust and rotting flesh. Not bothering to actually read the invitation, he glanced at the other piece of stationary. A letter from Edward. He would have flawless handwriting. Jacob's ebony eyes skimmed over the note.
"Jake, we only have one table." Billy was looking everywhere but his son's face. Jacob was clutching the wooden table with one hand, leaving his fingerprints in the too-soft wood. In the other hand, he was gripping the letter too tightly and fiercely. Billy cringed, knowing what was coming, but powerless in his wheelchair to stop it.
Jacob's breath quickened, and his quaking body shook more and more violently. A growl rumbled up from his chest as the russet wolf burst from his very core, sending ripped scraps of clothing flying.
"Jake! I need you to calm yourself!" The authority and wisdom was gone from Billy's voice. Stripped of all his veneration and silent might, all that was left of the old Alpha was fear and pain as he pleaded with Jacob. He was simply an aged man, with no strength left in his legs, and no strength left to soothe his son.
Snarling, Jacob threw his father, wheelchair and all, out of the way. He no longer had control over himself. All he could feel was hatred and pain. Billy lay in the corner bleeding, six feet from his wheelchair, unable to move himself.
"Not too late," he managed to whisper as Jacob tore out of the house. Billy's eyes closed in a silent prayer for the safe return of his son.