Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize – which is basically the entire story. My muse only borrowed all places and characters from Stephenie Meyer to play with them, not to make any money or infringe any copyrights.

Author's Notes: This one-shot has been sitting on my computer for several months now. So I thought 'why not just post it?' And here we go.

Thanks to Terri for betaing as well as her continuing support and the amazing discussions we have over characterization.

I didn't remember when he came in my life. Quil just had been there like . . . forever.

When I was little, he used to play with me. I didn't remember much of that time. I had only been a toddler back then after all. But even later, when I grew older and started school, he was there. He came over for my birthdays. He visited around Christmas and other holidays. My family went to visit his on Thanksgiving . . . The list of times we were together was endless, and grew even longer still with every year that passed.

Quil just was a constant in my life, a constant like my sister and parents. I didn't know how life would be like without him. I loved him like I loved my family. Quil looked out for me like a big brother who adored his baby sister.

The first time I noticed Quil was different to normal big brothers was when I met my best friend Jacey's brother. John was the oldest kid, and Jacey the baby of the family. She had several more sisters, three to be exact, but John was her only brother. He and Jacey were ten years apart in age. And he treated her completely different than how Quil treated me - that is, when John was home long enough to notice Jacey. And even then my friend was like air to her brother, or like a stranger. Not the baby sister he adored.

So why did Quil treat me like I was the most precious baby sister he would ever have?

The second time I noticed his difference was when I was ten years old. Quil had told me he was twenty when I started school. Jacey said he rather looked like eighteen. Oh, he was all grown up, very sensible about safety and what was good for a primary school student. But somehow, sometimes when he played with me, he was like a child himself, a child that had grown up too fast and was forced to leave behind his childhood way too early. The oddity was that Quil still looked like eighteen when I started fourth grade.

That was when I locked myself into my room and leafed through the photo book Quil had given me last Christmas. It showed him and me through all the years I had known him. For instance, there was a picture of him and me when I turned three. We had been playing horseback riding, him being the horse and me the rider, of course. Another photo showed the two of us at Aunt Emily's birthday party. I remembered that Quil had given me a present, too, even though I had only been a guest myself. There were more photos out of my life: starting school, Thanksgivings with our families, Christmas at Aunt Emily's . . . Quil had always been there, too.

And he looked the same in each of the many photos.

Looked like he looked the last time I saw him, just the previous day.

That made me wonder: Did he even age? He seemed to be frozen at the age of eighteen.

I met Quil again the very next day. He fetched me and Jacey from school. My parents wanted to go out, and Quil would babysit me and my sister. I remembered that he had agreed with excitement to be together with me for an entire evening. I had never before heard of a young adolescent being thrilled to babysit a ten year old and a teenager of thirteen, but Quil was even beyond ecstatic for that opportunity.

The afternoon and evening passed pleasantly. I did homework with Quil's help, then we watched movies of my choosing. Helen, my sister, chose to read instead, hiding in her room. Quil made my favorite dinner at seven, and in-between the movies asked if I wanted something to drink, or eat, or anything else. Of course I declined. I was perfectly happy to just watch the movies with him. But the way he took care of me let me ponder. I knew that he would sing me lullabies if I asked him - I had done so in the past, whenever Quil agreed to babysit Helen and me - like he would do anything for me. Even throw himself in front of me to take a bullet?

I watched him closely when he didn't look in my direction, and I learned that he definitely would shield me with his body from any threat. And that, I found, was odd. No older brother was committed like that.

The next time I went to visit Aunt Emily, I decided to talk to her about Quil. Her husband wasn't in, and my cousin at our grandparents' place. So I could catch Aunt Emily on my own which suited me just fine.

"I want to ask you something," I began when she and I sat on the porch.

Aunt Emily smiled. "Shoot away, Claire. What troubles you?"

I took a deep breath, then said, "I was wondering about Quil. He seems . . . different." When she didn't speak for a while, I turned toward her.

She was watching me with a pondering expression. "What do you mean by 'different?'"

"Well, like he's always there for me, and he does whatever I ask him to do."

"Is that such a bad thing?" she queried softly.

"Of course not!" I exclaimed. "It just makes me wonder, you know? My friend Jacey's brother isn't like Quil, at all. He ignores her. And other girls in my year with older brothers confirm that John's behavior to Jacey is normal. They aren't treated like Quil treats me, never have been and never will be. So why's Quil different? He's not even family!"

Aunt Emily smiled knowingly. "He's more family than you can imagine right now, Claire." She leaned forward and nudged the tip of my nose with a finger. "One day, you'll know what I mean."

I huffed and crossed my arms in front of my chest. "Why 'one day?' Why not tell me now?"

She stood. "You're still too young. But don't worry. Your time will come."

When I was fourteen, I noticed a third difference on Quil. He seemed to not scar. Or heal much faster than was normal. Than should be normal.

I was - once again - down for a visit at Aunt Emily's. A few of her husband's friends were over, too. While I helped Aunt Emily prepare some tea and muffins, Uncle Sam and his friends were outside, talking. It looked like they were conspiring. They sat in a tight circle, Uncle Sam drawing stuff in the sand with a stick. His friends, Quil included, leaned in, making the circle even smaller. Their heads sometimes touched, making it impossible to see what Uncle Sam was drawing.

"Keep your eyes on the task, Claire," Aunt Emily said then, pulling me out of my thoughts and observations. I sighed and turned back to the counter, but only for a few moments. Then the conspiring going on outside asked for my attention again.

The scene had changed. Uncle Sam was no longer drawing stuff in the sand, but rather trying to keep his friends at bay. Two - Jacob Black and Paul Jurado - were facing each other, their gestures and mimics speaking of an argument. Quil and Embry Call tried to hold Jacob back, whereas two others were pulling on Paul to keep him at bay. Uncle Sam stood in-between, his hands on Paul and Jacob's chests.

Suddenly, Paul wrangled himself free and pulled back a fist, readying to punch Jacob from the look of it. I tried to scream a warning, but Quil was faster. He pushed Jacob - and thus Uncle Sam - aside and took the punch himself. Paul's fist collided with Quil's left temple. His head was thrown back, and Quil even staggered a bit. But he didn't fall. However, a small ringlet of blood trickled down his skin.

Uncle Sam snarled at Paul. Due to the closed door, I couldn't hear what he was saying, but the expression on his face was enough for me to guess the meaning. It wasn't too friendly. Jacob and Embry forced Quil to sit down, trying to touch the hurt temple. But Quil was swatting their hands away. He looked . . . like it was nothing to him.

When Aunt Emily quickly walked past me, a first aid kit in her hands, I woke from my stupor and followed her. I caught the door before it closed again, but I didn't step out onto the porch. I rather stayed back to watch.

Aunt Emily commanded Jacob and Embry to step aside, then bent down to take care of Quil. However, Quil apparently didn't want to be treated. He brushed Aunt Emily's hand off just like he had done with his friends, then stood. "I don't need help," was all he said, then he walked away. Jacob and Embry shared a look with each other and then with Uncle Sam. The latter sighed, but nodded after Quil, signaling them to follow him, which they promptly did. Aunt Emily came back inside, huffing and mumbling something about "stupid boys."

And when I met Quil after school the next day, there was nothing left of the punch against his left temple. I even checked his right side, just to make sure that I didn't confuse left and right in the heat of action. But there simply was nothing there. No open wound. No scabbed wound. No scaring wound. No nothing!

"Hmpf," I made.

Quil shot me a questioning look. "What is it?" He then noticed me staring at his head. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," I quickly replied and walked faster, leaving Quil behind. I didn't want to talk about it. Of course, he was quicker than me and soon caught up again, but he seemingly had gotten the gist and didn't press further.

With the start of the new school year, we got a new class teacher who promptly decided to apply a new seating order: one boy and one girl were to share a desk. I came to sit next to Daniel Smith, the cutest boy in class. But he was not only gorgeous, he was smart and strong. He always bet the other boys in wrestling, got the best grades in PE lessons and was class representative. Every girl had a crush on him, me included, and I was the lucky one to sit next to him!

While our teacher introduced herself and then explained what she wanted to cover over the year, I compared myself to my classmates. Did I stand a chance to get noticed by Daniel? My grades weren't bad - I always finished within the top five - but I didn't have the awesome looks of Deborah or Jacey. Their hair shone silkily in the sunlight and hung straight down to the middle of their backs. Deborah had large beautiful eyes and smooth facial features. Jacey was really slim, although she ate much more sweets than me. I, however, had nothing of my friends' beauty. I wasn't fat, thank god, but not exactly slim either. But my hair wasn't all shiny, had lots of tangles I simply couldn't get rid of, and my brown eyes weren't very outstanding. My face was asymmetric, my skin not smooth.

I sighed inwardly; I'd never get a chance that Daniel would ask me out. It was really frustrating.

On the way home, Jacey told me how much she envied me. "I mean, he has to be the hottest guy ever. And you are so lucky to sit next to him." She sighed dramatically. "So, what did he say to you in math?"

I shrugged. "Whether he could borrow my pencil."

Jacey stared at me. "That's all? You're not keeping things from me?"

"No!" I shot back, more heatedly than I wanted. But I wasn't sorry either for snapping at her. All she could talk about all day had been Daniel. Was there nothing else?

Jacey continued like that the next days, and I decided that our friendship needed some . . . space. I met less often with her, even asked Quil to fetch me from school rather than going home with Jacey. Of course, Quil agreed instantly, but underneath his excitement I could sense his worry. He asked if Jacey and I had had an argument. At first, I didn't want to say anything; it felt like I would betray Jacey and my friendship. But then, when she still didn't stop making gooey eyes for Daniel all day long, I decided she wasn't worth my silence, so I told Quil everything. Told him how I idolized Daniel, how I hated Jacey for not shutting up about him and herself, how I was so insignificant in comparison to the other girls in my class . . . It was frustrating.

Quil stopped walking and grabbed me by my shoulders. I met his sincere eyes. "You're anything but insignificant, Claire," he told me, his voice serious, matching the look in his eyes. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met."

It was rather . . . nice to hear that out of Quil's mouth. But he was like a brother, so wasn't he entitled to react like that? "You're just saying that so that I don't feel bad about it," I replied.

Quil opened his mouth to say something, but instead of saying out loud what was on his mind, he gulped it down. He let go of me again. "Does it help?" he asked after a moment of awkward silence.

I shrugged, feeling sorry for myself.

The next time I was down at Aunt Emily's, she took me aside to talk to me. "You're now old enough to know, so I guess we should get over with it."

"What are you talking about, Auntie?" I queried, confused. She didn't answer, however, instead asking me to get into the car.

We drove over to Billy Black's place, Jacob's father. He sat outside on the porch in his wheelchair. Sue Clearwater and Uncle Sam were at his sides. All three looked toward us when we got out of the car, like they were expecting us already.

There were four empty chairs. Aunt Emily took the one next to Uncle Sam, I the one to her other side. Shortly after our arrival, Quil and his grandfather came, too. And then they explained.

The Quileutes had been a small tribe to begin with. There were enemies, but our warriors always defeated them. With magic. They were able to leave their bodies behind and to exist as spirits only, for the time it needed to defeat the intruders of our peace.

Then Utlapa the Traitor came. He cheated on the great chief Taha Aki and forced his will on the people. He applied changes to the tribe, and not all were for everyone's best. But Chief Taha Aki came back and unmasked the usurper. He chased Utlapa far away.

Taha Aki then abolished some of the changes, but one he kept: that no warrior was to ever leave his body behind again. But that was no longer necessary, for Taha Aki brought a new way of defense to our people. He had become a wolf man, and could change from man to wolf and back at will. Some of his sons inherited that magic, and gave that to their descendants.

Until today.

Those were the legends on the Quileutes' magic, and Mr. Black claimed them to be true. Apparently, there were currently seventeen wolves, Uncle Sam being their leader, the alpha of the pack. Jacob was a sort of alpha, too. They explained what happened some years back, when I had still been a toddler. But I did no longer listen. I had enough to process already. For instance that my own uncle was a wolf man.

As was Quil.

"There's something else you need to know, Claire," Uncle Sam said, interrupting my ponderings, bringing me back to the explanations.

Mr. Black then told me, "Once in a while, when a wolf man sees a girl, he imprints on her. It's a much stronger feeling than a crush, and much more durable than love. The one imprinting on you will do everything for you, will take care of you like no one else ever would, even your parents. You still have a choice whether or not to take him, but he was designed for you, so to speak. He and you are perfect for each other."

I gulped, my thoughts running wild. "You . . . you say that like there is already someone who . . . imprinted on me." All eyes then went to look at Quil - and realization came crushing upon me.

Of course, how could I have been so stupid? Now Quil's devotion in the last years made sense! The way he took care of me, the way he always kept me safe. The way he sometimes looked at me, with a fondness that went far beyond adoration for the baby sister. Everything was so clear to me now, I wondered how I could have been so blind all those years.

Quil Ateara had imprinted on me, Claire Young.

What was I going to do now? Mr. Black said I had a choice whether or not I wanted to be with Quil. But why wouldn't I, according to him? Quil was designed for me, and I surely for him, even though no one had yet said that. We were the perfect match. There would be no other one better than Quil, ever.

I thought of Daniel, thought of how gorgeous he looked - or had looked, just until Aunt Emily had taken me here and Mr. Black told me about the Quileute legends of the wolf warriors. Now I started comparing Daniel to Quil. Quil was so much more . . . mature, had more experience. When I asked him how old he really was, he told me it was only another two years before he would turn thirty. But he didn't look it. Quil still looked like eighteen, like he had always looked ever since I could remember. He was now wearing a wide t-shirt, but I knew him without. His torso was much more muscular than Daniel's. He would most likely even be stronger than him. Quil was able to take care of me, protect me from any danger, I knew. He had proven it countless times when he had babysat me.

So what was holding me back to go over to him and declare my love for Quil?

I looked around the small circle, met Mr. Black's dark eyes. They spoke of knowledge, wisdom regarding things I hadn't yet experienced of my own. I remembered the legend he had told just a few minutes ago, and in front of my inner eyes, I saw Taha Aki, the wolf chief. How huge he was when in wolf form. And his sons, and their sons, and all their descendants had inherited that size. The wolves would be huge, tall like horses. And surely very frightening.

That was holding me back, my fear. Would Quil do something to me?

I turned to look at Aunt Emily, looked at her scared face. When I had asked for the first time years ago, she had told me it had been a bear. But looking into her face, and eyes, just then told me she had been lying. It hadn't been a bear; there were no bears in La Push. No, it had been a wolf. It had been Uncle Sam. That was the only logical explanation.

So what if Quil would do the same to me? I didn't want that. I didn't want any of it. I wanted to choose my own life, not take one that "was laid out before me." Who was to decide how I lived my life anyway?

Just then I made my decision. I wouldn't take what was offered. I would go and win everything for myself, with my own hands and work.

I stood and turned around, without another word. Quickly, I left the porch. I ran past Aunt Emily's car, and on in the wood bordering Mr. Black's house. I ran and ran, without direction, without knowing where to go. I couldn't go back to my old life now. Quil was too much of a part of it. And I wanted to choose my love myself. So I had to start over, had to find a place to go and begin anew. But where would that be? Definitely not La Push. Forks was an option. It lay close, but too close for my family to come looking for me. Besides, Chief Swan was very good friends with Mr. Black and many others of the Quileute people, so if they set him on finding and bringing me back, I wouldn't stand a chance. I was only fourteen after all.

So I had to go farther away. Had to leave Olympic Peninsula for good. Maybe I could go to Seattle and start my new life there.

But first I needed something to eat.

I stopped and bent over, breathing heavily from the run. My stomach was howling with hunger, and I grimaced. Why hadn't I thought about the time? I looked up at what I could see from the sky through the trees' tops, but there wasn't much to recognize. The sky was dark, as was the forest.

I took a few steps, unsure of how to go on. Night was falling quickly at this time of the year, and the woods were always a dark and uncomfortable place to be at night-time. I could go back. It would be a good option. If only I hadn't lost all sense of direction. Since I hadn't looked where I ran, I had no idea how to get back. I turned around myself, several times, but everything looked the same to me.

Just then, I heard a very well-known sound, and only a second later, rain started falling down. I cried out in surprise and hurried to hide under a tree. It wasn't of much help. I still got soaked before five minutes were over.

Admitting that I was lost without a way out of the wood, I sank to the ground, drawing my legs up. I hugged them to my chest. With the rain came a cold wind and I shivered in my wet clothes. I just hoped they would find me, quickly. But I didn't have much hope.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, for the next I noticed was something poking me. It was a gentle poke, like something soft - and warm! - was nudging my side. I blinked sleepily and looked up.

Directly into the face of a huge monster.

I screamed and scrambled away from it as fast as I could. My palms scratched over stones and branches, cutting into my skin here and there. I didn't care, neither did I worry about my hands soon starting to bleed. All that counted was to get away from the monster.

But the monster didn't follow me I noticed when I looked back at it to see how much distance I had managed to create. Instead, it had walked backwards, thus enlarging the distance between us even more. It then had crouched down, making itself as small as possible, resting its head on the front paws.

My scrambling came to an end when I hit a tree with my back. I stopped. My heart raced frantically, and I was shivering like madly. Fear bubbled heavily in my stomach, and I gulped down bitter bile every so often. I panted.

But when I looked back at the monster, I slowly took in more details. For instance, the monster resembled a wolf, albeit a very huge one. I tried to remember how it looked when it stood, but couldn't clearly find a sharp memory. But what hazy picture was in my mind told me that the wolf must have been the size of a horse, at least, if not taller. That let my thoughts stop in their track.

My eyes then wandered over the wolf's fur. It was chocolate brown, the head of a slightly lighter color than the back. The eyes were watching me carefully with an intelligence shining in them that was unusual for animals.

I gulped and thought about my discoveries. Could it be that this wolf was not a wolf, but a wolf warrior? Was it one of the Quileute pack? Were the legends of the magic in my people's blood really true? Mr. Black had claimed everything to be real, but I couldn't believe it. It was just too fantastic a story to be truth, to be historically based on facts. But that wolf over there was clearly no ordinary animal.

I gulped down another lump of bitter bile, then hesitantly asked, "Uncle Sam?"

The wolf grunted. It sounded . . . like denial. So it wasn't Aunt Emily's husband?

I tried again. "Quil?"

The wolf's muzzle fell open, the tongue falling out. It looked like it was grinning. So a smile, an affirmative.

"Quil?" I asked again. "Quil Ateara?"

The wolf nodded. It looked odd . . . and funny. I giggled. The wolf grinned again, making a rumbling sound that could be defined as laughter.

So that was Quil, my "protector," the one who had imprinted on me? That was my wolf, so to speak?

I gulped again, then stood very slowly. The wolf didn't move. Only its eyes followed my every move. With careful steps, I walked over to the wolf. It never stood or gave any indication that it would attack me. But that didn't have to mean anything. I had read in books that the most vicious attacks were those happening out of the blue. Dogs that hadn't looked like they were about to attack had made serious wounds in their owner's hands and arms, even legs sometimes. And as is known dogs were the descendants of wolves, so when the "children" could hurt humans, why not the "adults" too?

But the brown wolf didn't move, didn't even swish its tail. It lay dead-still, like it didn't want me to be afraid, like it wanted me to come to him. Maybe that was a trap of the wolf, trying to lure me in until I was close enough it could strike? I shivered and stopped, still out of range of the wolf's teeth. Of course, with a jump and quick bite it would be over, anyway, no matter how far away I stood.

I shook my head, trying to think optimistically. The wolf looked cute, not dangerous, the way it lay there, with its head bedded on the front paws. I was surely imagining things and should stop being such a pessimist.

I continued walking, this time being more certain of myself. If I couldn't trust that wolf, what else could I trust? Something told me that was illogical, but I didn't care. I was suddenly curious of how the fur would feel like when I stroked it.

So I stepped up until I came to stand next to the wolf. It still didn't move. The eyes were the only part of the body that showed signs of life. Currently, I couldn't see the left eye, but the right one was pointed at me, looking up at a weird angle. I looked down at it. The intelligence I saw in there was unbelievable. It was so like . . . Quil, the way he had always looked at me whenever we were together. Caring. Fond.

My hand vanished in the brown fur and stroked its soft texture. It - he - was very soft, and warm. The wolf - I still couldn't bring myself to call it Quil - started purring, the sound creating a warm bubble inside my stomach. The bitter bile dissolved and I smiled down at the wolf.

Just then, Uncle Sam appeared.

"Oh my God, Claire, are you all right?" He rushed over to me and hugged me tightly to himself. It was a brief hug, but it was enough to press all air out of my lungs. Before I could complain, though, he let go of me, only to grab my shoulders and shake me slightly. "Say something, Claire. Are you hurt?" He then noticed the blood on my palms. "What happened? Did someone attack you?" I shook my head, but I was too overwhelmed by everything to speak.

"She scratched her hands when she scrambled away from me," Quil then said. I looked around. The brown wolf was gone. Instead, Quil came up from behind a tree, his fingers fumbling with a button on his jeans. "I guess I scared her when I woke her."

Uncle Sam breathed a huge sigh of relief. Then he crushed me to his heart again. "Thank God you're alive, Claire. Anything could have happened. Your family is all worried about you." He let go of me. Quil's arm came to rest around my shoulders, however. "We should go home." Uncle Sam turned around and bent his knees, looking back at me over his shoulder. "Get on, I'll carry you."

I pressed myself into Quil's warm torso. I was still cold, and my clothes still wet. "I can walk myself," I mumbled.

"I got her," Quil said, then he himself took me up on his back.

I didn't see Quil for a few days. Thanks to my wet clothes and spending a night in the forest, I caught a fever and had to stay in bed. Mom was of course angry at me for having run away, but she took also care of me until I felt better. However, she kept bugging me about the reason why I had run. But something inside my head told me to not tell her, at least not until I spoke with Aunt Emily. She knew about the wolf thing, but did Mom? Did Dad, or even Helen? If they didn't know yet, could I tell them? Was I allowed to share that . . . kind of information with them?

Aunt Emily came over to visit me two days after my night out in the forest. Mom took the opportunity of her being there to go shopping, so we had the house to ourselves. She told me that everyone had been worried and scared when I had run away like that. She then asked whether I didn't want to be around Quil. "He's so relieved that you're back and all right, unhurt too - for the most part," she amended with a look at my bandaged hands. I smiled ruefully at her.

"I . . . I don't know what I shall do yet, Auntie," I told her quietly. "I like Quil. He's very . . . nice. But . . . but he's also a . . . a monster. How can I be together with him? That's not . . . proper."

Aunt Emily laughed and moved to sit next to me. "Let me tell you something, Claire. When I first met your uncle, I didn't know about the wolf warriors being true, either. Then Sam started idolizing me. It felt weird, but somehow also nice. He worshipped me, worshipped everything I did, literally worshipped the ground I walked on. He was ready to lay the world to my feet, so at the end of day one, I couldn't but be flattered by his behavior. Naturally, with Sam having imprinted on me, the elders were bound to tell me of the true nature of our legends, but I still couldn't believe that Sam - the gentle man who was ready to fulfill my every wish instantly - was a monster.

"But then - and I don't remember anymore why - we had a fight. He lost control because he was still quite young to this new life and transformed next to me, became the monster out of my childhood nightmares. He was all black, and huge! I was scared. And I was hurt. I had been standing too close to him when he transformed, and his claws had scratched the one side of my face.

"Of course, Sam was incredibly sorry for what happened. He transformed back as quickly as was possible, and took me to the hospital where they took care of me. The entire time, Sam hovered around my bed, praying that I didn't lose the eye - or worse, died. In-between his prayers, he told me over and over again how sorry he was, and if I could forgive him for what happened."

"Could you? I mean, forgive him."

She nodded. "Yes."

"But why? He . . . hurt you. You could have died!"

"I know." Aunt Emily smiled fondly. "But the devotion Sam showed while I was in hospital and later back at home was too intense and too sincere not to forgive him. And while he was there, taking care of me, I fell in love with him."

"With a monster?"

"He's as much a monster as you and I," she admonished gently. I opened my mouth to reply, but she held up a hand, continuing on her own, "He's a normal man. He's just able to apply a little bit magic and transform into a wolf."

"But -"

"Sam told me you've seen Quil in wolf form." It wasn't a question. I nodded. "Then you know how he looks. You've seen your wolf. And be honest now, Claire. Did he scare you?"

I remembered the night and the moment I lay eyes on him for the first time. "Yes."

"But you also went over to him and stroked his fur, didn't you?" I nodded again. "Were you afraid in that moment?"

"No."

"Are you afraid of when Quil is around you, fetching you from school, playing with you, babysitting you?"

"No."

"Do you like Quil?"

"Yes."

"So do me a favor now, okay? While you're confined to bed by your mom, think about it all, and think about it clearly. Don't forget to take your feelings into the equation. This is about you, and only you. Think of how Quil's presence makes you feel. Of how you feel when he's around. Think about the times you've been with only him and no one else.

"And when you're fully recovered, go over to his place and talk to him. Tell him everything you've thought about and make a decision. No one's going to rip off your head should you decide to not want Quil around anymore, now that you know. But keep an open mind. Quil's just an ordinary boy like that Daniel in your class. Only that Quil is a warrior and fights for the protection of our people."

She then stood and made to leave, but I had one more question. "Are Mom, Dad and Helen allowed to know?"

Aunt Emily smiled sadly when she looked back at me. "No. And no one else must learn about this either, Claire. Promise to keep that secret to yourself."

A couple of days later, I walked to Quil's place, directly from school. I felt nervous about it, but I had done like Aunt Emily had requested and thought about everything. And I had sorted everything out. I knew my way now. The difficulty was to tell it Quil.

He sat outside, in front of the porch. It was a nice and sunny day for a change, and the house's door and windows were opened wide to let the nice day in. Quil looked up when I rounded the corner and walked up the path to his house. He stood and came to greet me, but it wasn't as enthusiastic as the other times, before I knew about his secret.

While I settled into the chair he had occupied moments ago, Quil was the usual gentleman and went to fetch me a cool drink. He came back with a plate of cake, too. While I devoured the delicious piece, he set down on the steps to the porch. Once I was done eating, I fidgeted around, unsure of how to begin. Quil seemed to notice my nervousness, but he was cool about it and let me figure out how to overcome it at my own pace.

And then I blurted everything out to him. That I was scared to hell about it all. That I had always been afraid of that part of my tribe's legends: that men were able to transform to wolves. Spirit warriors indeed. And that I was terrified of getting hurt when he lost control like Uncle Sam years ago when he scarred Aunt Emily. But that it had also been an oddly . . . good feeling, touching his fur back in the wood. It had been so soft, so warm. Like his skin was always much warmer than mine, than any other persons' skins I knew. I admitted that I liked the brown color of his fur. "It reminds me of chocolate. The way you lay there, I could easily imagine you having fallen in a chocolate tub. I would taste of you, and you would be sweet, like chocolate." I knew I babbled nonsense, but I couldn't help it. I then also told him that I had never felt more protected than when he was around me. Playing with him when I was still a kid had been fun and great. Being with him now was a nice feeling. I liked Quil. Loved him even. Only I wasn't sure whether the love was more like for a brother or a boyfriend.

Quil sat silently and listened carefully, without interrupting me once. So it was easy - once my blurting out of every thought finished - to tell him of my decision to try because I trusted him to have control over himself. I wouldn't promise him that it would work out in the end. But I was willing to take a shot at him.

"After all," I finished, "everyone in on the secret seems to think that we're made for each other, a perfect match." My eyes then looked up and sought out his. He was smiling, not fondly or patronizing or anything really. Just an all around natural and more over happy smile.

"I'm glad," was all he said.

And I was finally able to return his smile.