This is a short one-shot about Jacob and his difficulties to accept his nature. After all he hasn't chosen to be a werewolf, has he?
It is the first time I write about Twilight. I am not really a fan but I find the universe quite nice.
I hope you will have a good read!
ElieNP
His True Nature
The forest is calling for him. He feels it within his whole body. His blood is boiling. The air is bringing him the perfume of liberty, a unique scent coming from the magnificent hundred-year-old trees. Precious witnesses of all the mysteries and changes the world has undergone throughout the ages. They know so much. Their essence, their bark, their smell, they are so intense in their entirety it is sometimes painful to stand among them. They are the true kings of the world, solely obeying to their creator, Nature, who has given birth to them to guarantee the balance of this planet.
They have been created to take part in a fight. They are guardians and, as such, they possess enemies, terribly powerful ones. Blood-thirsty monsters which should have disappeared a long time ago from earth.
He bares his teeth. Why, as monsters themselves, have werewolves signed treaties with those beasts? Couldn't they have killed them quickly and efficiently? Then they would be living peaceful today. They would be living a normal – human – life.
He craves to break the limits and knows he isn't the only one. They all want to erase the threat, certain they have the capacities to do so without having to suffer any casualties on their side.
He is shaking more and more uncontrollably with each passing second. It is amazingly hard to resist the urge to run to the woods.
But he won't.
He has to resist. He has to learn to restrain his instinct. He is not a beast. A man, he is a man above anything else. A human being who is able to keep his mind devoid of all primal need. He won't allow his humanity to fade away. He will hold onto it no matter the cost to pay.
He clenches his head so forcefully that his nails draw blood. He knows his control is running thin. Increasing at such a quick speed soon the pain will be too intense for him to hold back any longer.
His instinct will become impossible to curb.
A painful growl escapes his lips. Intense, agonizingly intense. His forehead hits the dust. His nails dig into the mud. His fingers are bleeding, he digs deeper. The pain doesn't matter as long as the urges don't take over his will.
"No, no, no," he seethes between tightly clenched teeth.
He fears for a second they would snap, but quickly stops bothering. If it could keep his attention away from the forest he'll give up on all of them, breaking them himself one by one. A toothless human rather than a creature endowed with sharp fangs.
A bird flies off. He bits his arm to muffle a growl. The bird carries the scent of the forest with it. That damned scent which engulfs him mercilessly. How appealing it is! The scent of freedom, such a temptation! His desire grows stronger. The call of the forest is louder than ever.
His brothers have already yielded to their instinct. They, too, are calling for him to join them.
Painful, agonizingly painful. He is suffering. His sole relief is to still be human, it is enough to keep him fighting.
He won't give up.
He is confident. He can make it through that.
He is a wreck, that doesn't matter. A human wreck is better than a proud animal. Animal, primal. He punches the ground. No, no, no! He is a human, a human being who walks on his two feet, who has hands and nails, not paws and claws.
He suddenly jerks his head up. The enemy! The enemy is there, on their territory! How can the leeches dare defy them!
His brothers are agitated. They know better than to straightly rush into the enemy's claws. They know better but their instinct is strong, dangerously stronger than their sense. It is calling for their enemy's death, for lack of blood.
The suffering becomes more vivid than ever. The enemy must be defeated. The pack will win, the woods are their territory, the trees their allies.
He craves to take part in the upcoming battle.
He slowly gets up from the dirt. He is human. A human doesn't fight that kind of creature. He is human. He looks at his arms, he still has fingers. He touches his mouth, he still has teeth. He is... losing it.
The enemy is moving, fast. The boiling of his blood has grown unbearable. His control is going to snap.
His control is snapping.
The enemy stands at the edge of the woods. So close.
It is over.
His control has snapped.
The wolf in him has woken up. He is already running to the blood-thirsty creatures. He will break their bones, every one of their bones up to the most insignificant one.
His brothers are delighted and he, for once, is glad not to be human, not entirely at least. He would have loathed not to join them.
They don't know from where the vampires come. They are strangers, four strangers, sufficiently numerous to be a threat for anyone but a whole pack of wolves on whose territory they have stepped in without permission. Too bad for them. They may have had a while longer to live if they have been known... or not.
The leeches break like porcelain dolls between their paws.
The beast in him feels satisfied. Actually it is the first time he, his wolf part as well as his human one, feels himself even in this hairy form.
He is finally acknowledging his true nature. He is a werewolf. Half-beast, half-human, this is who he is. He accepts to wholeheartedly give himself up to his instinct. There won't be any restraint from now on. He won't have any regret nor wish to be something else any longer.
The last leech squeals in pain before being shattered in hundred of pieces.
His brothers growl in utter satisfaction while circling him.
He studies them all. They are his kind, his family. His heartbeats are slow, peaceful.
Beast or human, his heart will always remain the same. If wolves could smile he would be offering the pack his warmest one right now.
He has to deal with consequences of things he hasn't known about until the last moment but, at last, he doesn't resent his ancestors to have transmitted him the mutation any more. His brothers feel it, hear it straightly from his thoughts.
The pack finally forms a whole.
Jacob looks up at the moon, grateful to Nature for having successfully led him to acknowledge who he truly is.