DISCLAIMER: While I would never want to claim ownership of the Twilight series, I still have to put this pesky little disclaimer up to satisfy certain people. I do NOT own anything you may recognize. That includes, but is not limited to, Jacob Black and the rest of the La Push wolf pack, the Cullens or any other vampire assosciated with the Twilight franchise (i.e. the Denali Clan, the Volturi, ect.). The OCs that appear in this story ARE mine and, while I won't necessarily be able to legally do anything if you steal them, I'd be very much appreciative if you didn't. I'd really hate to bust out the Big Black Book of Curses. Annnnd that's the end of this disclaimer. Enjoy this Magically Awkward story. Also have a Happy 4th of July for those that celebrate it.
Rated T for language, sexual innuendos and humor, and extreme teenage awkwardness. You have been forewarned.
Beta'd by Molly Grace 16
When Mo Tanner woke up at five in the morning to let the small horse she referred to as a dog and her mother's demonic dustbunny out back to do their business, the last thing she expected was to see a naked person sprawled out on the ground near the treeline that formed a back fence for her backyard. She stood on the back porch, completely frozen, and gawked. She was pretty sure she'd need a crane to pick her jaw up off the ground and an ophthalmologist to return her eyes to their normal size.
The incessant and high-pitched yipping of her mother's teacup Pomeranian, Fezzik, finally snapped Mo out of her daze and her eyes, if possible, widened even more.
"No, don't pee on the strange naked person, you stupid satanic ball of fur!"
She leapt off the wraparound porch, her barefeet slipping slightly on the dew-slick grass as she ran towards the fluff ball. Unfortunately, Mo had the coordination of a dumb, blind baby duck. Her ankles somehow tangled together and she crashed to the ground with a yelp, sliding a few inches across the moist grass.
Unperturbed by his owner's graceless offspring, Fezzik lifted one furry hind leg and proceeded to pee on the human that had dared invade his territory. Mo groaned and hung her head, bumping it a few times against the ground. Her own dog, a Newfoundland that stood at the mindboggling height of forty inches at the shoulder and had the dubious name of Sprite, meandered towards the young woman and snuffed at her hair curiously.
Mo lifted her head and blew a strand of ditch-water blonde hair out of her eyes, giving the beast of a canine the stink eye. "And where were you when that midget monster was debasing the naked dude in the yard, huh?"
Sprite sat down heavily on his haunches and cocked his head, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth, and didn't answer. Mo huffed. Typical.
"Where is the micro-demon anyway?" The young woman muttered as she pushed herself to her feet and looked around for the black Pomeranian. She spotted the little beast a few feet away, happily impersonating a hose and spraying the nearby trees. Apparently he was no longer interested in the unconscious and clothesless interloper now that he'd established his supreme dominance over him via urination. Once that was finished, he pranced passed said interloper, Mo, and Sprite, heading back towards the porch and into the house through the open backdoor.
Shaking her head, Mo carefully shuffled across the last few feet of grass that laid between her and her yard's unexpected guest, Sprite lumbering after her. As soon as she was a foot away, she blanched then flushed bright red and spun around, clapping her hands over her eyes. The hope that her peculiar guest was at least wearing underwear was completely dashed, as were any disillusions she had about the anatomy of the male species.
"Alright, so he's naked as a jaybird. That's okay, you can deal with it." Mo muttered to herself and took a several deep breaths. She turned back towards the nude guy and immediately did an about-face a moment later. "Nope, nevermind, can't do it. Not. Bloody. Happening."
Beside her, Sprite whined and licked her hand encouragingly. Well, at least she had the dog's support. Mentally preparing herself as best she could, Mo did a complete one-eighty and cringed, a blush working its way up her chest to the tips of her ears.
The guy was still unconscious and Mo thanked the universe for small favors as she took a moment to scrutinize him. Seeing as how he was sprawled out on his back, it wasn't that hard to see everything, but she kept her eyes on his face for anyway. She didn't need to impersonate a ridiculous anime character and knock herself out with nasal hemorrhage.
From what she could tell, he would be freakishly tall if he was upright and despite being covered in dirt and other unidentifiable things, he had beautiful russet skin. It seemed a little pallid to Mo but it could have been the early morning light. His features were handsome with high cheekbones, deep set eyes of an unknown color and thick crow-black hair, cut short and shaggy, his mouth slightly wide with full lips, and his chin had a vague roundness to it.
His body suggested that he was in his early to mid-twenties, thick, toned, and ridiculously muscular. His biceps alone were as thick as one of Mo's thighs. And as the girl who'd been known as 'Thunder Thighs Tanner' for most of high school, that was nothing to sneeze at. Mo shook those perturbing thoughts from her head and returned to her inspection. If it wasn't for the slight roundness of his chin and the fact that his shoulders, while ridiculously broad, lacked the definition of a man fully grown she'd say he was definitely anywhere from twenty-three to twenty-five.
Crouching on her heels beside the unconscious man, Mo glanced towards his feet, making sure to avoid staring at the undeniable evidence of his manliness. His feet were filthy, grass-stained and covered in mud, just like the rest of him. He looked like he'd spent the past week roughing it in the forest. She looked over at Sprite and said as much to the large canine. He licked her cheek in reply, leaving a wet streak of dog spit behind to show his adoration. Thanks, big guy, love you too.
Mo wiped the dog slobber from her face with the bottom of the oversized Missoula Maulers sweatshirt that had once belonged to her father. She took a moment to look at the unconscious guy then reached out and poked his cheek with a long finger. No reaction. Huh.
"Hey." She said loudly and she poked his face again. "Hey, Naked Guy, wake up."
Still no reaction. Not even a twitch. Well alrighty then, time to take drastic measures it seemed.
Mo turned towards Sprite and pointed towards the treeline a few feet away, "Stick."
The Newfoundland lumbered to his feet, shambled over to the trees, picked up a random stick off the ground with his mouth, shambled back over, and dropped the stick in front of Mo. He sat beside her again and she patted his massive head.
"Good boy."
Mo picked up the stick and looked it over critically. About as long as her forearm, as thick as her wrist and sprouting several leaves and thin twigs, it was more of a small branch really. One end looked as if it had been broken off whatever tree it had been attached to while the other was narrow and had a blunted tip. Perfect.
She looked back at Naked Guy, "Alright, I'm going to poke you with this stick, so don't kill me if you wake up."
She stared at him hopefully then sighed when he remained studiously unresponsive. Guess she got to poke him with a stick. Yay. She just hoped he didn't suddenly wake up and attack her like a grizzly.
"Don't say I didn't warn you." She told the guy then poked his cheek with the narrow end, flinching back and closing her eyes in preparation.
A second passed. Five. Ten. Twenty. Well, if he was gonna attack her, he'd have done it by now.
Mo opened her eyes slowly and peered at the man. Nothing. Not even a twitch. Damn. Wait, maybe he was dead?
She rocked back on her heels and eyed him worriedly, sighing in relief when she saw the minute rise and fall of his broad chest. Not dead, thank God. Now she just had to figure out what the hell to do with him.
"What does one do with a random, strange naked man in one's yard?" Mo wondered aloud with a thoughtful frown. She addressed Sprite. "Maybe I should get Mom? Wait, no, he's fit and naked, she might actually have an apoplexy if she saw this dude. Damn, what to do, what to do?"
The dog just looked at her with his pink tongue hanging out of his mouth and a dopey expression on his mug. Mo shook her head, "No, I am not going to use magic, I might accidently blow him up. You are completely useless, you know that? Oh hey, maybe I could get dad's old mechanics creeper? Nah, that wouldn't work. This guy's freaking huge. He probably outweighs your big furry butt."
Sprite barked, the noise deep and loud in the early morning silence. Apparently, he took offense to her comment about his backside. A dog with body issues. Oy.
"Shhh, seriously dude? Are you trying to wake up the guests? Sorry I insulted your butt, but you have to admit it puts Kim Kardashian's to shame."
"Who are you talking to?"
"I'm talking to you, Sprite, who do you thin-" Wait a second, Sprite can't talk, no matter how often she tried to teach him. Realization hit Mo like a ton of bricks. There was only one other person in the yard with her. Guess the naked Sleeping Beauty impersonator had decided to stop acting and he heard her talking to her dog. Awesome, just freaking awesome. Closing her eyes tightly, she slowly turned her head towards the unconscious naked guy.
Mo opened her eyes and fell onto her butt gracelessly, her mind screeching to a completely halt while the world disappeared around her until it was just her and the man sprawled out in front of her. Tired and impossibly sad dark brown eyes stared back her from a criminal handsome face. Those dark eyes widened and he stared up at her with a thunderstruck expression. She gawked back at him, pretty sure her mouth was hanging open in a highly unattractive manner, but lacking the cognitive ability to do anything about it.
The guy lifted his arm and his long, thick fingers brushed against her cheek gently, as if she was made of porcelain. Mo just sat beside him, utterly frozen, and stared at him with wide eyes. A warm feeling blossomed in her chest and flowed through her veins until she felt it from the top of her head and all the way down to her toes.
"Beautiful..." He mumbled, stunning the young woman even further.
Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he went completely limp. Mo gaped at his unconscious form for several seconds then threw her hands in the air and tilted her head back, glaring accusingly up at the morning sky.
"Oh come on! Are you freaking serious?! Your humor still sucks!"
After cursing at the sky for a good ten minutes, Mo turned back towards the unconscious guy on her lawn and gave him the evil eye. She didn't care if he made her feel all warm and fuzzy for a few moments, he was seriously ruining her morning. She paced beside the comatose and naked idiot, running her hands through her blonde hair irritably.
"All I had to do was open the backdoor and let the dogs out, but noooo, I had to walk out onto the porch to enjoy the morning air." Ha! Last time she'd ever do that ever again.
Sprite whined and butted his head against her side. Mo stopped mumbling to herself and glanced down at him questioningly. Now that he had her attention, the massive Newfoundland trotted over to the unconscious guy and sat down beside him. He bit at the air a couple times then let his tongue hang out of his mouth, giving her a doggy smile.
"No, I already told you that I was not using magic to move him. Need I remind you of the Incident, Sprite?"
The Newfoundland dog looked towards the large Queen Anne-style Victorian house and whined. Mo gave him the stink eye, "I am not bringing my mother into this. Do you know what will happen if she sees..." She flapped her hand towards the naked guy, "That?"
Sprite laid down and rested his head on his massive front paws. He looked at her then at the house then back at her, staring at her with sad, pleading eyes. Great, the puppy eyes, now she felt like a ass for snapping at him.
Mo closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of nose, and counted to ten in her head. There had to be a way to get the nude idiot into the house without getting her mother involved. Sadly, Mo was unable to think of anything. She sighed and hung her head in defeat.
"Goddamn it."
"Honestly dear, I don't know why you didn't get me sooner."
Beautiful, sophisticated, elegance-personified, and of course magically-inclined Mary-Elizabeth Tanner was everything her daughter was not. Despite being in her forties, her face was flawless with only faint laugh lines around her stunning green eyes and pouty lips. To top it off, she was tall with a killer body, slender but with curves in all the right places, and rich auburn hair that cascaded down her back in a thick wave all the way to her narrow waist and complimented her honey-pale skin.
Standing in a sweatshirt several sizes too big and sweatpants, Mo would have felt frumpy standing next to her, but she did not envy her mother's good looks. No, she was perfectly content with her appearance. Sure, her features were a little mismatched, but she thought her pin-straight, ditch-water blonde hair complimented her angular face well enough with its almond-shaped, slightly elongated, murky hazel eyes and wide, full mouth that wasn't pouty by any stretch of the imagination. And even though she was fuller-figured than most girls wanted to be nowadays, she liked her body.
No, she didn't envy her mother's perfectly good looks, but she did envy her magical abilities. Mary-Elizabeth was the best witch in the Western States. Where as Mo was lucky if she was able to cast a simple scrying spell without blowing something up. Too much of her father's blood in her veins according to her hag of a grandmother.
Shaking her head, Mo crossed her arms and gave her mother a droll look. "Sorry, Ma, I thought I'd spare you the heart attack you almost had when you saw Naked Guy."
Mary-Elizabeth clucked her tongue disapprovingly, "I did not almost have a heart attack."
"You and your delicate English rose sensibilities almost took a nosedive to kiss the grass."
"He just startled me is all." Mary-Elizabeth retorted indignantly, "When you said there was a unconscious, naked man in the backyard, I wasn't expecting him to be so-so..."
Drop dead sexy. Smoking hot. Deliciously tempting? Mo didn't voice any of those thoughts and simply deadpanned, "Naked?"
"Attractive." The older witch flicked her wrist towards the naked guy still sprawled out on the ground and Mo watched as wispy, pale gold light danced from her fingertips towards the guy and folded around him like a net of spun sunlight. A second later, the light darkened and condensed, until the guy was no longer visible, then there was a soft pop and he and the light disappeared. "There. Good thing we have several spare rooms or else we'd be in quite the pickle. He's in room fourteen."
Mo stared at the space where the guy used to be enviously. Now why couldn't she do that? Every time she attempted a translocation spell, the things she was translocating were shredded into little bits. It was a good thing she'd never done it on a living creature. The only thing that sucked worse than being a magical dud, was being a magical dud with unpredictable magic.
"Come along now, dear heart." Mary-Elizabeth called out as she glided back towards the house, her robe twirling around her legs. "We can find some clothes to fit our newest guest after we finish with breakfast. You know how Mr. Roark gets when he doesn't get breakfast on time. I'll send Fillia to clean him up."
Mo made a face and looked down at Sprite sitting beside her, "Heaven forbid the troll doesn't get fed."
Sprite barked, licked her hand, and proceeded to lick his own butt. He was a dog of simple pleasures. At least he wasn't demonstrating his ability to pee and vomit at the same time. Mo sighed and walked towards the house.
Mo carefully placed a plate full of very rare cervelle de veau and scrambled eggs on the large dining table, flashing an insincere smile at the large, surly-looking man sitting there. "Breakfast, Mr. Roark, scrambled eggs and cervelle de veau, extra rare. Just the way you like it. And here's your spiced marrow." She placed a glass of thick, muddy liquid on the table and stepped back.
The troll grunted and picked up his fork, his shovel-sized hand dwarfing the utensil. Mo made a face and walked through the swinging door into the kitchen. Her mother, dressed in a peasant skirt and blouse with a floral print half-apron tied around her slender waist, stood at the large range cooker. Fezzik, the demonic little black ball of fur curled up in his dog bed beside the stove, malicious amber eyes watching Mo intently. The older witch glanced over her shoulder at her daughter and gestured towards a wooden tray with a matte-glass covered plate, teapot, and teacup on it.
"Missus Amberlain will be taking her breakfast in her room this morning."
"Shocker." Mo mumbled, picked up the tray, and headed towards the servant's staircase at the back of the kitchen.
"Be kind, my dove." Mary-Elizabeth reprimanded lightly and she flipped a pancake. "And don't roll your eyes at me."
Mo winced, hunched her shoulders slightly, and hurried up the staircase with the breakfast tray. She swore that woman had eyes on the back of her head. Bypassing the second floor, Mo carefully balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door to the third floor hallway, nudging it closed with her foot.
She shuffled towards the last door of the hall and, balancing the tray in one hand again, knocked on the door marked with an ornate number six.
"Missus Amberlain? Breakfast."
The heavy door creaked open and Mo stepped into the dim room.
"Good morning, Missus Amberlain." Mo greeted as she padded across the room on quite feet and placed the wooden tray on the small table near the large window, uncovering the plate and setting the glass lid to the side. She stepped to the side and waited quietly.
Glowing yellow eyes sparked from where the bed was position and Mo suppressed as shudder as the elderly banshee woman slipped from the opulent bed and floated towards the table. Missus Amberlain flashed deepwater teeth at the young woman and sat down at the table.
"Begone." The banshee intoned, her voice like the deep tolling of a funeral bell.
Mo beat a hasty retreat out of the room, closing the door behind her softly. Banshees, ugh.
"Miss?"
The young witch looked towards the soft, tinkling voice and smiled. Fillia, the resident brownie, peered up at her with disproportionately large brown eyes. "What's up, Fillia?"
Stand at only three to four feet tall, brownies were extremely gentle folk, often find in older houses and the occasional inn, bed and breakfast, or old hotel. They enjoyed aiding house owners or innkeepers, such as Mo and her mother, with menial tasks around the house for small gifts of food, such as porridge and honey. Of course, despite their demure nature, brownies packed a magical wallop equivalent to a getting hit by a semi-truck when they were upset or their homes were being threatened.
And Fillia was no exception. At three and a half feet tall, the she-brownie had petite, child-like build, skin the color of walnut, huge round eyes the same shade as milk chocolate, and floppy ears. Now that Mo thought about, she sort of looked like a house elf from the Harry Potter movies, only more fey-like. At least when her glamour was dropped. When it was up, she looked like a pleasant plump older woman in her late fifties to early sixties, like every child's favorite grandmother. Or like Nanny from Disney's 101 Dalmations.
"Mistress asked me to give you these." The brownie stated demurely, holding up the stack of clothes that looked suspiciously like her father's.
Great, now she had to deal with Mystery Naked Guy. Fan-freaking-tastic. She rubbed her forehead irritably and took the clothes. "I'm grateful for your assistance, Fillia. I'll take these to his room."
Lesson one on the fae, never thank them directly. The wrong kind will take your thanks as an admission of obligation to them. Then you'll get stuck doing whatever they ask of you. Lesson two, being indebted to a fae is a very, very bad thing that should be avoided at all costs.
Fillia curtsied quickly then scampered off, leaving Mo alone in the hallway. Grumbling under her breath, the young witch stomped towards the main staircase at the other end of the hall and climbed up to the third floor, where Mystic Inn's newest guest resided.
Mo glared at the ornate gold number fourteen emblazoned on the wooden at the very end of the third floor hallway. Heavy thumps from behind her signalled the approach of Sprite, the oversized Newfoundland lumbered down from the fourth floor, hers and her mother's private quarters.
The shaggy white monster butted his large head against her side when he reached her, his fluffy tail wagging happily.
"I don't want to go in." She told him. He grunted and dragged his tongue up the leg of her jeans, leaving a damp stain behind. Mo grimaced. Greaaaat.
Sprite shuffled behind her and nudged her backside with his head, pushing her closer towards the door. "Alright, alright. I get it." Mo huffed and rolled her eyes. Even her familiar was working against her. Oy.
Taking a deep breath, Mo carefully turned brass knob, slowly opened the door, and stepped inside. Sprite lumbered after her and she closed the door behind his furry butt. She kept her back to the rest of the room, clutching the stack of her father's old clothes to her chest, and tried to breathe evenly.
"Okay, breath, you can do this. He just another guest. Doesn't matter if he's drop dead gorgeous and that you've seen him in his birthday suit. Wait, no, damn it, don't think about that. Urgh, whoever said it helped to picture people naked when you were had anxiety was a total moron." It didn't matter to her that that little piece of advice was usually given to people with stage fright or public speaking anxiety. The advice was still a steaming pile of horse poo.
"Oooh, he is delicious!"
Sprite growled and Mo sighed. Of course. What's a better way to make an already bad day worse? Add Casper the overly friendly homosexual ghost to the mix, that's what.
Mo tilted her head back and glared up at the ceiling accusingly, "Really, old man? Because my day just couldn't get any worse, you had to toss Raphael into the mix?" Her father was laughing at her, she just knew it.
"Aw, that's hurts, babycakes." Raphael, Mystic Inn's resident poltergeist, drawled offendedly, raising one slender, long-fingered hand to his chest.
Mo sighed and turned to face him. In life, Raphael had been a slender man with skin the color of coffee with lots of cream and longish black hair. His features were refined and effeminate. He was all sharp cheekbones, aquiline nose, small mouth, and intense blue eyes. When you looked at him, you instantly thought of sex. And he knew it too.
Back in the seventies when he'd been alive, he moonlighted as a male prostitute, using the money he'd earned to feed his drug habit. But he wasn't an addict. No, he was what he called a 'recreational drug user'. Personally, Mo didn't see the difference, but she'd given up arguing with him over semantics awhile ago.
"Don't you have anything better to do than haunt me?" Mo demanded drily, stepping through the poltergeist towards the dresser at the back of the room, near the bed where the mystery guy was snoozing peacefully. Thankfully, Fillia had covered him with the blankets so his nakedness wasn't blatantly on display. Sprite growled once more time at Raphael, just in case the poltergeist didn't get the message, then he lumbered towards the bathroom and flopped down on the cool tile.
Raphael gave the dog a dirty look, turned towards Mo's back, scoffed loudly, cocked his hip, and propped his fist on it. On a lesser person, the expression on his face would have been classified as sneer, but he was much too pretty for such a countenance.
"I'm not haunting you, darling." His lips curled up into a lecherous smile and he leered at the naked guy in the bed, "I'm haunting that fine piece of man-meat right there. Mmm, if only I wasn't dead. The things I could do to that body."
Okay, ew. Now she needed to bleach the lovely mental images those words invoked from her brain. Mo arranged the clothes on top of the dresser, her hands lingering on the folded red flannel shirt on top of the stack for second before she crossed her arms over her chest. Shaking her head, she turned back towards Raphael and frowned when she saw that he was not standing by the door anymore.
She glanced over at the unconscious guy to check if he was still asleep and her eyes widened. The stupid poltergeist was hovering over the unconscious dude, lifting the edge of the blanket to get a peek underneath.
"Pervert, get away from him!" Mo barked. She stormed over to the bed and raised her hand threateningly at the ghost, "I will exorcise your ass back to the attic if you don't drop that blanket."
Raphael scoffed, dropped the blanket, and floated over to her. He scoffed as she glared into his intense blue eyes, "Puh-lease, darling, you're the magical equivalent of the village idiot. You couldn't exorcise me if you wanted to."
Rub it in why don't you? Asshole. Mo scowled at him and moved her hand closer to his face, satisfaction surging through her when his eyes widened slightly.
"I may not be to actually exorcise you, but do you really want me to try? 'Cause it'll hurt like a bitch for you."
"Killjoy." Raphael sniffed and floated away from her, his arms crossed over his lean chest and a pout affixed to his feminine face. "It's not like I was trying to peek at you naked."
"You are a sick, perverted little ghost."
"Ahem, I prefer the term sexual deviant." The poltergeist snipped back sassily.
Ha! Sexual deviant, right, because that sounded so much better than pervert. Mo turned her back on the poltergeist, threw her hands in the air, and looked up at the ceiling again in exasperation. "Why me?"
"Talking to your dog again?"
Mo squeaked and jerked her head around so fast, she was pretty sure she gave herself whiplash. Startled murky hazel eyes met tired dark brown and held. That was when she felt an icy grip on her ankle just before her leg was jerked out from under her and she fell back onto her butt with a loud thump. The faint sound of Raphael's distinctive hyena cackle filled her head and her face burned. One day, she swore to herself, she was going to exorcise that bastard straight to Hell. See how much he liked being the Devil's butt-buddy.
The guy had pushed himself into a sitting position and was leaning over the side of the bed, a concerned look on his face.
"Are you alright?"
She opened and closed her mouth in a remarkable impression of a fish out of water that was slowly suffocating. She blinked dumbly at him and pointed at the ceiling. "My dad."
Mo almost slapped herself at how stupid she sounded and she blushed brightly. He slowly turned his gaze away from her to look up at the ceiling. He looked back at her and raised his brows, his expression a strangely adorable mix of exhaustion, humor, and bemusement. "Oh-kay?"
"I mean, I was, you know, talking to him. Not my dog." She chuckled nervously as her blush got darker, "Not that I talk to my dog, because that would be, you know, totally crazy. And I'm not...Crazy that is."
The guy's eyebrows had steadily climbed his forehead as she continued to ramble, his dark brown eyes staring at her in amusement.
Mo trailed off and coughed into her fist, her face burning. Crap, this was awkward. Like really, really awkward. More awkward than the time the cute pizza guy saw her dancing in front of the sun room in a t-shirt, her underwear, and a pair of socks. Hell, it was more awkward than when he complimented her on her Batman panties.
Her blush deepened and traveled down her neck and spread across her chest. Oh God, why did she have to remember that? The guy was still staring at her, though his amused expression had melted into one of intense scrutiny that made her blush ten times worse.
Mo looked off to the side to avoid the guy's gaze and chewed on her bottom lip, trying desperately not to fidget and make herself seem like an even bigger moron. Silence stretched on for an uncomfortably long time as he continued to study, as if she was rare and intriguing plant that he'd just discovered. Mo found his gaze very disconcerting, it literally felt like his eyes were burning holes in the side of her head.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she felt more than saw the guy look away from her to study the room he was in. Mo glanced around with him, feeling stupid for doing so, but doing it anyway.
The room was a little bigger than the average sized bedroom and was equipped with a decently sized ensuite bathroom. The carpet was plush, soft, and a lovely shade of chocolate brown that matched the cream colored walls perfectly. The bed took up most of the room, a queen-sized, four poster canopy bed made of solid oak with chocolate and cream bed coverings. A nightstand, dresser, round table with two chairs, and a short wardrobe, all made of polished oak, completed the room. The whole room had a Victorian, but homey feel to it.
"Where am I?"
Mo glanced at the guy when he spoke in his deep voice and and started when she saw he was staring intently at her again. Her mind blanked and unconsciously her eyes roved over his face, scrutinizing every detail. It really should be illegal to be that handsome.
He shifted slightly, sitting up a little straighter, and his chest puffed out slightly almost as if he was posturing for her.
Oh. My. God. She knew she was gawking, but she really couldn't help it. The blankets had pooled around his waist when he'd sat up and now what had to be the world's best chest was on full display, short circuiting the brains of all things female that happened to look at it.
Yes, she knew she'd already seen his bare chest earlier when he was sprawled out in the backyard with, quite literally, everything on display, but during that time, she was desperately trying not to stare at him. Now, though she couldn't seem to pull her eyes away. He apparently wasn't offended by her staring though, since his chest puffed out a little more the longer she looked. He also didn't seem to know or give two hoots that he was buck-ass nude underneath the blankets.
Sprite suddenly barked and leapt onto the bed, breaking the rising tension like a knife through soft butter. Praise the universe for tension breaking dogs the size of a small horse, a second longer and Mo wasn't sure what would have happened. And she squashed the small part of her that wanted to find out.
The guy grunted in surprise as a one hundred seventy-five pounds of white fluff landed on his legs. Mo ripped her eyes away and cleared her throat, ignoring the way her face had begun to burn again. Ah, so that's where her blush went, she thought she'd misplaced it.
Quickly getting to her feet, Mo pointed at the ground near her feet and addressed the Newfoundland dog sternly, "Down, Sprite."
Sprite whined and slunk his large body off the bed, shambling towards her and sitting at her feet. Mo placed one hand on his large head and looked towards the guy, careful to keep her gaze focused on a point above his shoulder.
"Sorry about that." She cleared her throat, desperately grasping at the last shreds of her professionalism and wrapping it around herself like a security blanket. "Um, right, where are you? You are-you are currently residing in guest room fourteen of the Mystic Inn, located ten miles outside the town of White Oak, in Montana." She ducked her head, scratched the back of her neck and shuffled her feet nervously, "I found you earlier this morning in the backyard. You were unconscious and, erm, naked..."
Spinning on her heel, Mo hurried over to the dresser, grabbed the clothes off the top, went back over to the bed and thrust the clothes at the guy, all without meeting his gaze.
"Here, these were my dad's. They should fit alright. Maybe. I mean, he was a big guy like you so, yeah..." Mo trailed off awkwardly.
"Thanks." The guy said and he took the clothes from her hands, his fingers brushing her and lingering.
Hot. Mo thought dazedly as his hands touched hers and she shivered slightly. Looking anywhere but at him, she yanked her hands away and shoved them into the back pockets of her jeans to keep from doing something stupid. Like touch him.
He chuckled lowly and Mo felt her breath catch at the sound. He laughed like a wolf, low, deep, and raspy. Mo flicked her gaze towards him and flushed for the millionth time in the past half hour when she saw the half smile he was sending her way.
Wow. He could charm a nun right out of her habit with that smile. As it stood, Mo felt her heart stutter and her knees weaken. It had to be hormones. That was the only explanation for the way she was reacting to this guy. She glanced at him again and nearly swooned. Oh yeah, definitely hormones. She needed to get the hell out of this room. Especially because it was painfully obvious that he was completely aware of the effect he had on her.
"Um, right, so, uh, welcome to Mystic Inn. Bathroom's through that door there. Obviously..." Mo gestured towards lamely towards the open door that clearly led to the bathroom with a hand which she immediately tucked back into her pocket. She rocked back on her heels and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. "So, yeah, lunch is served at twelve in the dining room on the first floor if you're hungry... Right, okay," She pointed towards the bedroom door, "I'm just gonna, you know, go...Yeah."
Keeping her head bowed, Mo shuffled hurriedly towards the door, hoping to beat a hasty retreat before she suffocated in her own awkwardness. She was just about to twist the brass doorknob when the guy called out for her to wait. Closing her eyes tightly, she exhaled through her nose then turned to face him.
"Yes?"
With that half smile still tugging at his full mouth, he asked, "What's your name?"
Mo twitched and squashed the sudden urge to smack that smile off his face. Instead, she took a page out of Raphael's book and cocked a hip, putting some sass into her voice, "Why do you want to know?"
She nearly had a heart attack when his mouth stretched into a full blown smile, his white teeth a stark contrast against his russet-colored skin. Forget the nun, if he flashed that smile, he could have gotten the Virgin Mary on her back. It was boyish and charming and waaaay too tempting to anything with a pair of ovaries.
Mo was so distracted, she nearly missed what he said in reply.
"I think I deserve to know the name of my rescuer, don't you?"
Mo crossed her arms and shifted her weight from foot to foot as she reluctantly replied, "Mo Tanner."
"I'm Jacob. Jacob Black. It's nice to meet you, Mo."
Author's Note: Yes, it's another Twilight story, I'm sorry, but the idea just sorta came to me and I had to write it out. This one is actually gonna be very different from my other Twilight stories, since the OFC is clearly part of the supernatural, which is gonna play a way larger role in this story than it did in Always Sunny, Ironic, or even the Twilight books themselves. I know there are quite a few other OC stories where the OFC is a witch or some other magical creature, but I think this one is unique in its approach. Jacob is also gonna be a little more accepting of the imprint than he was in Always Sunny, so I hope that isn't too OOC for you guys. This is also my first real attempt at writing in this particular style, so thoughts and opinions on it would be awesome.
Anyhooties, for those of you waiting on the next chapter of Open Your Mind, it's gonna take me a while to get that one up. I've got a little less than half of it written, but it started being difficult and is resisting all attempts at being completed right now.
PS - If you want to see a picture of Mo, her mother, the dogs, and her father, just check out my profile. I haven't found a picture for Raphael yet, but I'm working on it.
PSS - I hope no one is offended by my portrayal of Raphael, he's just the way he is. A total diva.
PSSS - White Oak is a fictional town of my creation located on the outskirts of Missoula County in Montana, it does not actually exist.
Terms to Know:
Cervelle de veau - Calf brains, a traditional delicacy in Europe and Morocco. Usually served with tongue, but Mr. Roark prefers it with, well anything really. That's trolls for you.