Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.

Chapter three, edited as promised. You are all quite welcome.


Chapter Three

Boy, was the new schedule exhausting.

For over a week, my life consisted of waking up at six to get to school on time, stopping by Sam's place before immediately starting my patrol, coming home to do my homework, napping for a couple hours, going back on patrol until three in the morning, and then finally falling asleep on the couch, too tired after the long day to make it upstairs to my bed. Then I'd start it all over again.

I felt like a zombie, the way I went about my days. The others noticed. They helped me out in school, letting me copy their homework when I'd fallen asleep working on it the night before, and distracting the teachers so that I could get a few minutes of much-needed sleep in class. Normally, these actions would have been inexcusable for me—I really was a model student. But…desperate times called for desperate measures.

They were all getting really worried about me. I could tell. I was the smallest in the pack—the runt of the litter. Each and every one of them felt like it was their own personal responsibility to keep me safe. Their obvious worry over my health only made me run faster and longer when I went out for patrol.

"You've got to quit doing that, Freya," Sam ordered me when I dropped by Emily's after my afternoon rounds.

"What?" I asked, too innocent.

"You know what I'm talking about," he growled. "You're an hour late."

I shrugged. "So? Means someone gets an extra hour of sleep tonight."

"Freya…" he glared at me, his tone warning.

I laughed. "Sam, chill. It isn't a big deal, really."

He sighed. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this. You're scaring us, Clip—you work harder than anybody, and the boys tell me you walk around like the living dead at school. You'll kill yourself if you keep this up."

I shook my head. "I'm fine, Sam. I'm a part of this pack, and as a member of this pack, I've got responsibilities. Just because I'm a little smaller than the rest of you doesn't mean that I shouldn't be able to hold up my end of the work."

"You don't have to prove yourself to us," he said softly, his eyes pleading. "I don't want to make the order, Clip. I really don't. But if you keep pushing yourself this hard, I swear to God I will. If you're this late again…"

"Fine, Sam," I sighed. "I'll be on time tonight."

"Skip patrol tonight," he ordered.

"But…"

"Ah—don't argue. I'll have Quil cover for you. He more than owes you. Go home and get some rest."

"And get something to eat before you go," Emily called from the kitchen. Whatever she was cooking smelled wonderful.

After a delicious meal of soup and Emily's famous cornbread muffins, I made my way home and settled down for a badly needed nap.

That evening, I decided that I would take advantage of night off. It was Riff's birthday in a week, and I still hadn't gotten him a present. I grabbed my purse and the keys to my brother's pick-up, and drove up to Port Angeles.

I already knew where I wanted to go. There was a small bookstore, right across from the department store my mother used to take me to when I was little. I smiled at the memory of my mother, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight as she walked with me back out to the car, holding onto my hand as we crossed the street over to the parking lot, laughing as I rambled away at how pretty my new dress was and how I couldn't wait until Christmas so that I could wear it…

I shook myself out of the past, and back into the present. I opened the door to the small bookstore and stepped inside.

"Freya!" the owner of the store, a slight woman with dirty blonde hair that was almost always done up in an elaborate bun exclaimed. "I've missed you! Where'd you disappear to?"

I smiled. "Hey, Mrs. L," I greeted Cynthia Laurence. My mother had always been an avid reader—a trait she'd passed on to me. I used to love going to the book store. Mrs. L and I were practically family.

"School's been hectic," I explained with a smile and a roll of my eyes. "You don't have anything you think Riff would like, do you? It's his birthday next week, and I'm afraid I haven't gotten his present yet," I confessed.

"Well…I don't know if an old woman like me will know what a young man such as Riff would find a good read…"

"You aren't old, Mrs. L," I grinned.

"You're too kind, my dear," she smiled at me. "Just a moment…I think I have someone who might be able to help you."

She disappeared into the back room of the store, and I waited patiently, picking up a Michael Crichton novel and flipping through it.

"Science fiction, huh?"

I spun around on my heels, my eyes wide with surprise. "Owen?" I gaped.

"Hey, Freya," he grinned. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I…I've been busy," I stuttered, still far to surprised to speak coherently.

"Owen, dear, do you mind watching the store for me? I've got to meet my daughter over at the dress shop in an hour. Apparently I am in need of a makeover," she chuckled.

"You look beautiful," I argued. "Tell that daughter of yours that she doesn't know what she's talking about."

She chuckled. "Again, you're too kind. I hope Owen can help you find something for your brother." She waved at us as she walked out the door, a manipulative grin on her face.

"That little…" I muttered under my breath.

Owen just sort of laughed. "I'm sorry about that," he apologized. "Mrs. Laurence can be a little…well…" he struggled to find the words.

"It's fine," I sighed, shaking my head. "I've known her for years."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," I replied. "My mom was really big on reading, and this was her favorite store."

"Your mom sounds cool," he grinned.

I smiled, the memories of the beautiful golden haired woman coming back to me for the second time that day. "She was," I agreed. Suddenly, I remembered Jake's words. Ignore him, Clip. "I…I've got to go," I said in a rush.

"What about your brother?" he asked.

"Riff's never been that into books, anyway," I sighed. "Bye."

"Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't know about your mom…"

"Goodbye, Owen," I said once more before swinging the door shut behind me violently, making the small bell above the door ring angrily. I got into my brother's car, and drove a couple blocks away. I parked behind a deserted warehouse, laying my head on the steering wheel. Somehow, I couldn't get the look on Owen's face when I'd ditched him out of my mind.

Suddenly, my head popped back up when I heard an angry knocking on the car's window. There was a man, probably a college student, holding a beer bottle in his hand and swaying slightly.

"What do you want?" I snapped angrily at the man.

"Come on out, sweetheart," he pleaded, grinning at me. His teeth were an unhealthy shade of yellow.

"Back off, or I swear I'll run this truck right over you," I growled at him.

"Ooo," another college student replied, coming out from the shadow of the building. He was followed by three others. "Scary."

"I'm not joking," I warned him, trying to keep my voice cool.

"Come on," a third man begged. "Please? We just want to talk…"

I don't know why I did it, exactly. Part of it may have been the exhaustion—I hadn't had a proper night's sleep in over a week, and I was definitely feeling it. Before I could contemplate the wisdom of it, I'd opened the car door, planning on fighting them off. However, my plan didn't work out so well when the man grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me closer to him. He was stronger than I'd expected, and I couldn't exactly phase with them all watching me.

"Get off!" I huffed, trying unsuccessfully to push him away from me.

"Come on, we aren't that bad," the man grinned.

"Let go of me," I ordered.

"No." He pulled himself closer to me, pressing me against the truck with my hands above my head. His lips crushed mine.

I tried to scream, tried to push him away, but he wouldn't budge. He just continued to kiss me. I wanted to vomit—he tasted like stale liquor and smoke. It was disgusting, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. This realization hit me hard, and tears slipped down my cheeks. I kicked him.

He roared with anger. He brought his fist back, and it collided with my face. I heard something crack: my nose. I hit him back, splitting his lip. He growled, and pulled out a blade. Two of his other friends came up and held me up against the car, their hands on my neck. The man cracked an evil grin as he pressed the blade to my neck.

Out of nowhere, a fist collided with the man's face. He let go of me, stumbling backward while his friends laughed. I slid to the ground, shaking, still unable to stop the tears. I had never been more afraid in my life.

"Stay away from her," Owen growled.

"You want a fight, do you, boy?" the man slurred, rolling up his sleeves. "Alright. We'll give you a fight."

Owen rolled up his own sleeves, forming his hands into fists. Idiot—he was going to fight them, five on one.

"Owen," I murmured, still quite shaken up by the ordeal.

The first man jumped him, silver blade gleaming. I heard Owen shout out in pain, and then I saw him fall, his head hitting the ground hard. I hurried behind the car, stripped off my clothes and phased.

The men screamed at the sight of the golden wolf that advanced slowly toward them. The man with the blade stabbed my front leg, making a deep cut that had me stumbling forward. I growled at them, and they ran for it. I limped back behind my car, whining with each painful step, and phased again. I pulled the knife out of my right forearm and tossed it to the ground.

Fifteen minutes later, my eyes were completely focused on the road in front of me. Owen blinked, looking at me. "God…" he rubbed his head. "What happened?"

"You just about got yourself killed, that's what," I snapped.

"Freya? What happened to your arm?" he asked.

I knew my arm would be back to normal in a few minutes. I may not have been able to heal as quickly as the larger wolves, but it would eventually heal on its own. "Nothing," I replied.

"Where are we going?"

"You've got a lot of questions, you know?" My voice was cold, and snippy. "Idiot," I muttered.

"God, you're bleeding," he whispered, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, so are you, Captain Obvious," I retorted. "We're almost to the hospital. I don't know if you've got a concussion or what, so…try not to fall asleep."

I turned the radio up loud in an attempt not only to keep Owen from passing out again, but also to keep him from asking any more questions. My one day off of making rounds, and I spent it babysitting this nosy little human. He wasn't even from the reservation—he shouldn't have been my responsibility. Yet, here I was, pulling into the hospital parking lot.

"Come on," I ordered, parking the car. I helped him walk into the hospital. "I need to speak to Dr. Cullen," I told the receptionist. "Tell him it's Jake's friend."

She nodded, and paged the good doctor. Moments later, we were in his examination room. Owen was sitting on the table in the center of the room, while I occupied a chair in the corner.

"What happened?" Carlisle asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Owen here decided he was going to fight five drunken college guys. On his own."

"Oh, so this is my fault?" he raged. "If you hadn't stormed out of the store in the first place, you wouldn't have been in that mess!" Oh, great. His temper seemed almost as bad as Paul's…and his ego was twice as big. Even Paul wouldn't have taken on five fully grown men all on his own.

"I was doing just fine before you showed up!" I argued.

"Oh, yeah, you were doing great," he replied. "He was about to slice your throat."

"I had it covered!"

"Sit down, Freya," Carlisle sighed. I hadn't even realized that I'd stood up. I sat down, my hands trembling and breathing hard. "If you can't control yourself, go wait outside," the doctor warned me.

"I'm fine," I huffed, folding my arms over my chest. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. "I'm sorry," I apologized gruffly, not looking at Owen. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"I accept your apology."

Neither of us looked at each other while Carlisle stitched up Owen's arm, which had received a pretty deep cut from the man with the knife. When he was done, he grabbed my elbow, and examined the stab wound on my arm.

"You didn't tell me you'd been cut, too," he scolded me. He pulled me back into the room and had me sit in the spot Owen had so recently vacated.

"I thought you'd know," I shrugged. I figured the bloodsucker had been able to smell the blood. Guess he hadn't noticed.

"I should clean this out, at least," he sighed. "Stay still."

He reached for a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and dabbed it on a cotton swab. He then proceeded to clean out the wound. It stung like hell, but I tried my best not to let it show on my face. Carlisle wrapped some gauze around my arm tightly. "That should be good enough," I said.

He nodded. "Call me if you need anything."

"No problem. And…thank you, Carlisle."

"Just because your friends don't necessarily like me doesn't mean that we don't like you," he smiled.

I blushed, and waved goodbye.

"Where to?" I asked Owen.

"Oh, no," he frowned. "I'm driving."

"You just got a concussion," I reminded him. "There is no way I'm letting you drive my brother's truck. Get in, and put your seatbelt on."

He must have seen the logic there, because he got in the passenger side of the car and fastened his seatbelt. "Where to?" I asked him with a sigh, adjusting my mirrors. This wasn't how I'd planned to spend my night off—chauffeuring Owen around.

"I left my car in Port Angeles."

"Right." I started the ignition, and pulled out onto the highway that would lead me to the small bookstore Owen worked at.

"Look…Freya," Owen began.

I shook my head. "I don't really want to hear it," I stopped him.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I honestly don't care," I sighed. I was beginning to get a killer headache. "I've had a really crappy night, and I'm honestly not in the mood for talk. Ok? I just want to go home and sleep."

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

"It isn't your fault," I reminded him. "I was the one that opened the car door. That was pretty stupid." I sighed. The sleep deprivation must have finally driven me mad.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Really stupid, Freya."

"How's your arm?" I asked him. "It doesn't hurt too badly?"

"I'm fine," he replied, shrugging off my concern. "What about you? Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes," I lied.

Truthfully, I was a mess. I'd never been that scared in my whole life, and I couldn't seem to shake off the feeling of rough hands around my neck. I'd very nearly gotten myself killed, all because of some sleep deprivation and a penchant for violence. Well, I'd certainly gotten the fight I'd been looking for, hadn't I?

Owen and I sat in the car in silence for a while. It was an awkward silence. I don't know what he was thinking about, but I was thinking about how close I had come to getting this boy—my possible imprint—killed. I shuddered at the thought of Owen dead…because of my own stubbornness and stupidity. I would be more careful from now on.

"Freya," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?" I snapped.

"Oh…I was just thinking…"

"Wow. Congratulations."

He glared at me, and continued. "I was thinking about your name. It's…different. Freya."

I blushed. "Are you calling my parents strange?" I demanded, the bitter tone of my voice covering up my embarrassment. I hated my name.

"No." He shook his head. "I was thinking…about how creative they must be. Riff and Freya."

"Riff's real name is Tony. His middle name's Riff. My dad's a West Side Story fan," I explained, grinning to myself. "My mom was way into mythology. She had this crazy theory that whatever you named your kid would determine what they would be like when they got older," I chuckled. "So she named me after a goddess of love, beauty…and war."

He laughed with me. I continued. "My middle name, Selene? Greek goddess of marriage. My last name's Lust…that just screams 'teen mom', doesn't it?"

"That's funny," he admitted. "Really, really funny."

"Yeah. Well. The story behind the name's great, I'll admit, but I hate Freya," I groaned.

"You could always be like Riff, go by your middle name," he suggested.

"Nah…most of my friends call me Clip," I grinned.

"Clip?" he scoffed with a raised eyebrow.

"Yup," I nodded, smiling as I looked out at the road. It was beginning to get dark. I pressed down a little on the gasp pedal.

"Why Clip?"

I grinned at him mischievously. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you, Owen."

"Is that some kind of an inside joke?" he asked. "Clip?"

I nodded. "Yeah. You wouldn't get it…just call me Freya," I grimaced. "I swear, one of these days I am going to have my name legally changed…"

"Don't," he frowned. "I like your name. It's…special." He smiled at me. He did have a really nice smile…

My heart started racing, and my chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I tore my gaze away from his irritatingly handsome face and put my focus back onto the road as I blushed, cursing myself for letting Owen affect me like this.

"You never did get anything for your brother," Owen reminded me.

"I'll take care of it some other time," I shrugged.

"I think I have just the thing he might like," he tempted me. "Mrs. Laurence probably closed down the store already, but I've got a key on me."

I found myself agreeing, and when we arrived at the store, Owen led me to the back, pulling out the Jurassic Park series.

"I loved these books, myself," he said. "Michael Crichton was a literary genius."

"This is perfect," I grinned. "Thanks, Owen!" I took out my wallet, but he stopped me.

"Don't worry about it," he handed the books over with a lopsided grin.

"Owen…I can't," I frowned. I didn't like gifts. It felt too much like debt, and I didn't want to owe anyone anything.

"Don't worry about it," he repeated.

I took the books.

"Well…thanks for the books, Owen," I smiled. "And as stupid as it was to try and fight those guys…it was kind of sweet of you. You know…in a weird, sick kind of way."

He frowned. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Almost," I confirmed as I started to walk out the door.

"See you around?" he called after me.

I thought about it. Probably not—I rarely left the reservation. When I did leave, I never went down to Forks, unless I needed to visit my dad at the school. In all likelihood, I would never see Owen again…but then again, I really did love this store…

"Maybe," I replied at last. A huge grin lit up his face, and I couldn't help but smile myself as I started up the truck and drove home.


Reviews are welcome. More edits to come.