JACOB BLACK

My muscles were beginning to scream in protest of my incessant galloping. Thud thud thud. Paw after paw after paw. The pads of my feet were beginning to ache with a continuous rhythm.

And the blood in my ears was creating a hollow, thrumming hum. Like a seashell pressed against my ear. Whoosh. The sound of an ocean, in the middle of a desolate, snowy tundra.

But I didn't dare slow down; slowing down meant thinking of something beyond push, push, push; pressing my muscles to do more than they wanted, forcing my wolf-body to carry me farther than I'd ever dared to test it.

The only way I knew that I was further from Forks than I could have ever dreamed was that Sam, Quil, and Embry hadn't popped up in my thoughts recently. The last time I'd had contact with anything from La Push was at least seventy miles back, just as I was rounding a tiny town with a small, wooden sign that read, "You Are Now Leaving William's Lake."

I counted the lack of the pack's presence among my blessings. With Embry constantly telling me how stupid I was for mourning over the loss of something I never had, and Quil practically begging me to just come home and let things go back to the way they used to be, La Push seemed even more formidable than it ever had. And Sam's constant pressure-without-pressuring tactics were beginning to take a worse toll on me than the idea of his teeth sinking into her flesh had.

I shivered inside my thick coat, then shook my head as I pushed on. Nothing was worse than that idea. Nothing.

But Canada seemed promising enough that I didn't want to go back; nothing to remind me of her smile, or the way she used to rock herself into complacency whenever the thought of him leaving her in that rainy, cold forest crept up on her without warning. Knowing that she chose to be in my company while he was gone made my great wolf snout smile for half a nanosecond, before I snarled and continued to power through the wilderness. A moment later I broke through the woods and my paws hit pavement; a short glance around as I slowed down told me I was on a highway, somewhere in British Columbia -- pinpointing exactly where would have been impossible.

But I could feel my body beginning to wear down on me; I hadn't eaten in at least two days, and the unrelenting conditions I was putting myself through were unlike anything I'd ever experienced, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could make my wolf form do what it was.

For the first time in three straight days, I slowed down and skidded to a halt, my paws sending a small puff of fresh snow into the air around me. I was panting; my feet begged for me to relax, but I kept standing, my body tensed and alert and I contemplated my next move.

I could go back to Washington. Go back to La Push and endure the questions the pack held, wait tentatively for her to show up on my doorstep while she continued to make plans for a wedding with her coven.

Or, I could keep running. I wondered how far I could make it in two day's time, and if I'd be able to survive that long. My stomach contorted in a painful, ravenous twist, as if to reiterate my lack of stamina.

I could tell I'd already defeated myself, that I would return to La Push. I was sure Billy was going to kill me when I did, that the pack would punish me relentlessly when I finally rejoined their ranks. And I was sure that every single ghost I'd tried to escape would be there to greet me with a smile, still refusing to leave me alone.

But that was the problem with ghosts; you can't escape them. Even if I ran ten thousand miles, my ghosts would follow me. Because no matter how hard I tried to focus on the pull of my muscles or the wind rushing through my fur, Bella Swan and Edward Cullen would always be at the tip of my tongue, waiting to torture me through my thoughts. It was almost as if Bella was beside me now, even as I thought about how very much I'd like to be rid of her incessant presence in my thoughts. I knew whom she belonged to, to whom she'd given her heart. Was I really so selfish to believe that some of her heart belonged to me, too? That I could and would win her back from him?

Was I really that stupid? How could I compete with Edward Cullen? That was my problem; I couldn't, and yet I told myself over and over that I could.

I cursed myself for allowing my thoughts to take over my willpower. Run, I urged myself. Forget about it all and run like hell. That's what you want to do. Run and never turn back.

But I couldn't. I wanted to be there and protect her, even if the love I felt for her would never be returned in the same magnitude and if the protection I promised meant I'd do so from afar. I felt Forks and La Push and the pack and Billy and Bella pulling on me harder than ever, and a sudden wave of homesickness washed over me. One paw pushed in front of the other, in the same direction from which I'd come. My thoughts screamed at my feet, but they didn't listen, and soon I had taken ten steps towards home.

Home. The word felt warm and comforting. Twelve more steps, quicker this time.

And home promised Bella in one form or another. Her scent on a tee-shirt that lingered after the citrus detergent Billy used had washed every other scent away. The memory of how her smile lit up the small makeshift garage on a particularly cloudy, chilly day. The way she'd cried on my chest in my bedroom, while every bone in my body ached and my heart felt completely whole.

A half-paced gallop, and I was back in the woods.

The memory of her voice, quiet and fear-ridden, as she asked me to kiss her. . . And the way our last kiss was better than anything I could have imagined, better than heaven or speeding through weightlessness or soaring through emptiness could ever hope to promise to be.

I was running, full-tilt, and I had no intention of stopping. My next destination was Forks, a small house with yellow cabinets in a small kitchen.

Then the pale, lean ghost of Edward Cullen popped within my mind as I ran, and I snarled at it. I could almost hear his condescending voice: She is mine. I snarled louder, and pushed harder, so that every tree flying past was a green and white blur, trying to push the image of his smug face out of my mind's eye, to no avail.

You can't escape a ghost.

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Disclaimer.
I own. . . a notepad. Please don't take it from me. It knows all my secrets.

Author's Note.
Revieeeeeeeewwwww. . . purdy please.