Personal Sun

So, just some info about this story. I have always loved Jacob the most of any of the twilight characters, though not in the 'OMGZ JaCOB iz lyk totally my bf 3!!' way. I don't do that, so don't you guys worry about that kind of story. I just have always loved Jacobs spunk and personality, no offense guys but the whole 'Bella swoon/get hunted/get hurt and then Edward protect/love/be perfect' thing gets kinda old. They're kinda flat characters and HAVE NO FEAR- EdwardxBella will not be broken up in this story. (rabid Edward fangirls can stop clawing my eyes out now) Honestly I think Jacob deserves someone better, who wouldn't really toy with his emotions so much (yeah yeah hate me for that line : P) but I also understand how difficult if was for Bella to make that decision so I forgive her, and she choose correctly. Anyways this story is meant to be something enjoyable to read, not just one of those stories where 'Jacob comes to my school and falls in love with me! Yays!' which is enjoyable for the writer but not the readers, hopefully this will be an interesting mystery. I'm not sure just yet if there will be any romance, I'm guessing most likely there will be but the strength of this story will come from more then rabid hormonal girls desires to read long passages about Jacob's romance. So, I hope you enjoy it.

I actually DO own twilight. so there.

Personal Sun

Chapter 1: Run

It was over, I had lost her.

I mean for god's sake my competition didn't even have a pulse. How was I supposed to explain how I lost the love of my life to a dead man? A leech. A bloodsucker.

So I ran, ran from my home, from the misty world of myth and legend that had sustained me for as long as I could remember. Ran away from Jacob Black. Ran away from… I couldn't even think her name. And thinking was a problem as well, eventually the others would phase and would hear my thoughts, but all I could think of was running away from this half lit dark world and run, run into the light.

I headed south and continued until I tired which, though an exceptionally long time, came eventually. I found a hidden glen hoping the region around me would be fairly uninhabited and feel into a deep anesthetic slumber trying to drown the pain in darkness.

I awoke the next day at dusk with the faint voices of the pack in my head- their querying statements, some in kindness and some in judgment, were too much to bear. I phased human, and having had enough sense to bring at lease one full pair of clothes with me, put them on.

I wasn't sure exactly where I was I was but somewhere south of Portland sounded right. I had tried to stay in deep woods following the patches of wilderness that still remained in the area. I hadn't realized it last night but although in the woods I was in very close proximity to a residential neighborhood. I was lucky no one had found me; Sam would have chewed me out if some wandering yellow lab woke up a sneaking werewolf.

I sighed and headed out towards the sound of whizzing cars that my ears picked up. I slunk along the manicured residential lawns, looking like the quintessential image of a juvenile delinquent, a large, lanky teenager skulking around in ratty clothes and long hair. I headed in to what seemed to loosely define a suburban 'town center' a conglomerate of strip malls, their parking lots draining of Volvos, SUVs and minivans. I felt my stomach give an uncomfortable growl, and I reached into my pocket and realized that I had only about 60 on me. I cursed fiercely under my breath wondering how long I could survive in this suburban jungle on my money. Sure I could hunt, but all the prey in this area consisted of overfed dogs. Fixing my eyes on one potentially promising restaurant I entered a seedy looking Chinese food restaurant hidden between a Pizza Hut and a Starbucks, eyeing the 5.99 buffet with shining eyes.

The restaurant had a bar in front with a couple of sad looking middle aged office workers nursing drinks much too strong to be polite while chatting loudly. They stabbed at their greasy noodles and insulted their bosses swiveling in their tall wooden chairs. I paid up and piled my plate high with food, aiming to make the most of my buffet.

As I sat down at a table one of the office workers called to me, a middle-aged lady with hair and an outfit that should have been burned in the eighties. Her heavily shadowed eyes batted,

"Hey there stranger, care for a drink?"

Of course she didn't know how young I was or she would have panicked, I could easily pass for 24 or 25 but still it caught me off guard. I accepted her offer, not because I wanted to pick up an old cougar but because I was hoping that maybe I could forget. The bartender asked what I wanted, and not knowing any drinks, I blurted out the only one I could name off the top of my head.

"Uh…Whiskey, one the rocks," I said trying to feel more assertive then I felt. I took a swig and nearly coughed up a lung; the drink burned my throat and left an aftertaste in my mouth that made me feel like I had just taken a swig of rubbing alcohol. I swore heavily jumped off my chair and ran for the door, not looking back at the desperate women trying to clutch my arm.

I made for the freeway walking on the side of the busy suburban roads, it was beginning to get darks and the looks thrown my way by the drivers became increasingly suspicious. As I walked by some cars stopped at a red light one man reached over to check that his doors were locked. I gave him a cold sneer trying to show as much tooth as possible. I finally reached the entrance ramp for route five and stuck my thumb out hoping for a ride south.

In general hitchhiking is not the greatest idea; you could, for example, get picked up by some crazy axe murderer who would chop you up into lots of little pieces and then hide them where no one would ever find them again. But when you're a six-foot-seven werewolf you don't really worry about these things.

After waiting for hours, a camper truck finally picked me up, taking pity on a poor lost cause. The driver was an older man, his beard a thick bushy white in contrast to his thin body and introduced him self as Abbott. I didn't bother to ask if that was his first or last name and he didn't offer.

He began to talk and talk as I myself had never heard it before, a rambling speech were he began by mentioning a book he had read. It was called If on a Winter's Night a Traveler by Italio Calvino, a compilation of short stories all joined by an overarching theme of two lovers searching for a lost tale. Each of the short stories is cut off just before the conclusion creating an ever more complex labyrinth of stories. He went on to theories of realism and the evolution of literature in the 20th century, throwing out names like Kant, Dostoyevsky and Basho. I had never heard someone talk like this, not for my sake but for the purpose of talking of getting across some greater message.

Finally he reached for his coffee mug and asked where I was going.

"Nowhere," I replied, "anywhere sunny"

He laughed, "No job? No love? No family?"

I sighed "No job, lost love, over involved family"

"I see," his eyes where shining "I'm a professor at Stanford University, I teach creative writing and modern literature and I believe I just burdened you with tomorrow's lecture on one of Italy's most brilliant modern writers. But really," he said, "you have no plan at all, that's a bit unusual for a werewolf".

I stared at him and froze play it cool, play it cool I thought in my head "pshh, werewolf? What are you talking about old man? I think you've read too many scary stories."

He smiled "Nice try, I was once one too if you're wondering how I know. Once you grow as old as me you gain an innate sense of these things. I could feel your presence from miles away, why else would a nice old man like me pick up a wild hooligan like you? No-," He said reading the shocked expression in my eyes, "I wasn't from your pack, I'm not even going to ask which that is, not mine to know, but I was from another pack from Nunavut in Canada- though that's a story for another day. Look," he continued, "when you get to be an old geezer like me you can sense emotions too and I can tell that you're pretty screwed up right now and I don't want you running round the west coast terrorizing the populace. Come with me back to the University, I'll fix you up with a job and a place to stay- it won't be great, probably custodial work, but I'll try to weasel you into some classes and get you a room."

I was taken aback by the kindness. "Wha—Why?" I asked, still confused.

"I've been there before," he replied, "You're not exactly in your happy place right now and you need some help. We werewolves need to stick together."

My head was spinning, I had always thought that it was just our tribe, that we alone had this mixed curse, mixed blessing. But now, thinking logically, it made sense that there would be others. I smiled, for the first time in days, "I could really use some sun."

We drove south towards morning, towards a new life.