now i've freezing hands and bloodless veins / as numb as i've become
Neko Case, "I Wish I Was the Moon"
3. Message
A man was waiting in the clearing.
I took in the tall frame with the wide, broad shoulders that was standing a few feet away. His bare chest was heaving, and his hands were clenched into fists. While his physique would indicate he was closer to Sam as far as age was concerned, I reckoned he was maybe a couple of years older than Jacob. Like Jacob, there was no way he could be considered a boy. He was big, muscular, and intimidating. That was not where the similarities ended, though.
My eyes fell on the tattoo on his russet bicep.
This man was a werewolf.
"Stay inside," Jacob instructed as he slammed the car door shut.
I stared at the empty driver seat in disbelief for a moment, before I decided to ignore him, and clambered out of the truck.
I could tell from the get go that it was not a friendly meeting.
"What do you want here, Paul?" Jacob spat furiously.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Black?" the man, whose name was apparently Paul, snarled in response. Now that I remembered, Jacob had mentioned him to me — he had joined Sam's pack relatively early on, and he was trouble. Paul's eyes lit on me. "With this leech-lover."
I gulped audibly.
"Shut the fuck up —"
"Does she know what you are? I bet she does," Paul snorted. He raked me up and down with his dark eyes, not bothering to hide his contempt. "I bet that's why she's so fond of you. I bet she digs screwing monsters —"
"I swear, one more word and —"
"How does it feel to fuck the sloppy seconds of a bloodsucker?"
"That's it!" Jacob barked, striving to allay the quaver that had taken over his body. I knew what it meant, the outline of his body that seemed to blur around the edges. It prolonged an imminent transformation.
In an instant, he was sprinting, straight for Paul, who didn't even flinch.
"C'mon, Black. Bring it on. I dare you," he hissed, baring his teeth. A snarl ripped from between Jacob's lips.
A fraction of a second later, they were gone — it was almost as though their bodies had exploded, releasing a behemothic shape from their insides.
Sure enough, in their places, stood two wolves, two gigantic wolves; one russet-brown and one grey, viciously growling at each other, prepared to charge.
I remembered what had happened to Laurent. Well, I could only assume the specifics, but I knew for a fact that Jacob and the rest of Sam's pack had . . . ended him. Truth be told, being torn apart by wolves the size of horses, was well beyond the grasp of my imagination. It was too horrific to conceive.
Just then, they dashed forward, their gnarls and snarls ear-splitting. The gray one lunged for the other's neck—
—the russet-brown one leaped to the left, narrowly avoiding the keen fangs of his opponent. The other bared his teeth, a low growl escaping his throat.
Jacob — the copper wolf, as I assumed — scraped the dirt with his forefoot. Determination and something else I couldn't define flashed through his brown eyes. His hind legs thrust him forward, and he was pelting, fury radiating from him. Paul indolently dodged the attack. Momentum caught up with Jacob, and Paul slammed into him, darting him to the ground.
"Stop! Just . . . please," I besought. Jacob turned to face me and, without hesitation, disappeared behind the thick foliage of a clump. Paul, on the other hand, held his ground — with an inward breath, he phased back to human form. I realized with a gasp of shock that he was stark naked. Then again, he had torn his clothes apart when he had transformed into a monstrous wolf, so I doubted he had a choice. As far I as I was concerned, he appeared to be actually getting a kick out of my discomfort.
I turned my gaze to the scaly, light green needles of a nearby spruce.
"So, I guess the wolf is finally out of the bag, huh?" The sound of Paul's voice caused me to jerk in shock. It tickled inside my ear, as if someone had uttered the words mere inches from my face. Sure enough, he was towering over me, his dark eyes studying my face.
"I already knew. So, no," I replied dryly, retreating from his burning stare.
Paul smiled wryly. "I don't suppose you have an extra pair of pants."
I cast a reluctant glance at Jacob — well, the tree in front of Jacob. I headed back to the truck and found the backpack where Jacob kept the clothes we'd bought yesterday — I fished out a pair of denim cut-off shorts.
"You can go back on all fours," I snapped at Paul. "Hey, Jake? I brought you pants." I tentatively set the shorts on the ground, beside the trunk of the tree, and backed away.
"You can beat it now, Paul," I informed him through gritted teeth, feeling a sudden, inexplicable surge of confidence that mingled with my anger. He snickered, and I glowered at him. "Do you find this amusing?"
"I have orders, Swan," he interjected. My throat convulsed with a rough swallow, and I recoiled with a shudder. "This is bigger than your little road trip."
"I'm not coming back, Paul," Jacob said, emerging from behind the trunk.
"Sam's orders —"
"I don't give a damn about Sam's orders," he shouted. "He could fuck off, for all I care."
"Look at you, defying your Alpha, renouncing your tribe, your brothers . . . all for a leech-lover. Pathetic." Jacob had already turned his back to him, when he added ominously, "The bloodsucker's coming." In an instant he exploded into an enormous grey wolf, and, soon enough, he was out of sight.
His words repeated themselves in my head.
"She's coming?" I croaked, terror leaving me numb and light-headed. "Victoria is coming?"
"We have to get the hell out of here," Jacob, who had frozen in his place, said and hastily climbed into the cab. "Get in!"
I complied mechanically.
He cast a worried glance at me.
"Don't worry, Bells. She doesn't know where we are, nor where we're planning to go." I shook my head.
"She's a vampire, Jacob," I said. "She may not be as good a tracker as James, but she's still a vampire. She's fast and she's strong, and . . ." I heard Jacob cuss in a low, indistinct voice. "I think we should return to Forks."
"Not yet," he interjected.
"So, where are we heading next?"
"Louisiana," he said with a smirk. "You said you wanted to go there. I just don't think we'll have time to properly appreciate it."
"Uh-huh."
My new cell phone vibrated against the nightstand with a rattling buzz. I picked it up — the faint glow of the numbers 0:32 was visible on the screen.
My fingers froze as I pressed the Ok button. The only people who know this number were Jacob and I.
I cast a wary glance at Jacob laying in his bed. Obviously, it hadn't been him.
The message read: Sorry, I had to. What was that supposed to mean?
Sender: Unknown.
I was wearily typing: I think you've got the wrong number, when it started vibrating again.
"Isabella Marie Swan, I've been worried out of my mind, dammit!" a very angry Charlie hollered at lightning speed in my ear.
"Dad?" I jabbered.
"And Billy won't talk to me . . . I'm telling you, something's going on in the reservation . . . What were you two thinking?"
"Dad . . ."
"And that Uley kid, he's pissed at you. I don't know why — did you do something to him?"
"Let me tell you —"
"Thank God for Alice Cullen . . . I didn't know you were still in contact with her after the Dr. Cullen and his family returned to Forks."
Alice. Of course.
"Dad? Hey, Dad. Don't worry. We're both fine and I . . ." I blinked. What did he say? ". . . 've got my pepper spray," I faltered.
"Your . . . Your pepper spray," Charlie mumbled weakly.
"Wait, did you say the Cullens are back? All of them?"
"I think so, at least. Dr. Cullen just started working again yesterday and I swear I saw that nancy brat, Edward Cullen. That son of a —"
My breath caught in my throat; I couldn't have heard right.
Was it possible that Charlie had been wrong?
Quil had told Jacob he hadn't seen "my Cullen", but could I trust him? Could I trust Jacob on this? He never hid his hatred for vampires — or the Cullens, for that matter. I doubted he would want me to be near a "bloodsucking leech". Concealing part of the truth from me and still telling me about the Cullens' return would, in his mind, quench any remains of hope I maintained for Edward and me.
"Edward is in Forks?" I managed to choke out.
"Why do you care about where he is?" Charlie demanded.
"I — I don't," I murmured in resignation. "How's Billy?"
"Oh, so now you care," was Charlie's snarky response.
"Dad —"
"He's holding up alright. Sue is taking good care of him. Harry and I help, too."
I heaved a sigh of relief. "Dad, it's late. We'll talk about it tomorrow. And . . . stay away from the shotgun," I implored.
"If you're not back by yesterday, I will — Wait, late? It's ten thirty. Where on earth are you?"
"Um . . . Baton Rouge?" I stammered out.
"Ba — Baton Rouge? In Louisiana?" Charlie thundered.
". . ."
"Isabella Marie Swan." Full name: check. Stern intonation: check.
"Yeah."
"I'm waiting," he said impatiently, his voice dead serious. "I want to know what on earth you are doing in Baton Rouge."
"I like the swamps," I replied in what was supposed to sound like a quip. Instead, my voice left my mouth lifeless and bleak.
"Humor your old man, Bells."
There was something about the tone of his voice — it no longer sounded demanding, or disgruntled, or disapproving. It sounded resigned. Not in a way that would suggest he didn't care, but, rather, completely lacking any surprise.
"If it's school you're worried about, I'll be back before graduation," I said, biting my lip in a reflex move. Of course, I didn't mention the fact that it wouldn't matter anyway, since I had spent much of my senior year apathetically mourning over Edward's leaving me, and being caught up in a world of vampires thirsting for my blood and werewolves hellbent on killing aforementioned vampires.
"Honestly, Bells, I don't give a crap for school. I promise, if I did anything wrong, I'll try to . . ."
I bit my lip. "I promise, I'll be back," I said eventually.
"Yeah, yeah. But . . . you explain your mother why your grades are falling apart, and why you're going on road trips with boys," he grunted, uttering the last word with relish. He would probably enjoy my feeble attempts at explaining Renée the precise reason for I suddenly decided to send my tertiary education down the drain — and what a certain teenage boy had to do with it.
"Great. You told Mom."
"Heck yeah, I did."
"Crap."
I heard a low sigh from the other line. "Just come home, 'kay?"
"Look, Dad . . . I'll call you back, okay?" I muttered, failing to ignore the twinge of guilt that had settled inside me.
"Okay. Just . . . don't do anything stupid or reckless."
"I'm still Bella, Dad. Would I do anything stupid or reckless?" I asked, a hint of incredulity lacing the tone of my voice. Still, I almost cracked a smile at my obvious lie. Unless, of course, engaging in destructive, possibly self-injurious behavior had ceased to be both stupid and reckless.
"Anyhow, tell Jacob I'll have my shotgun when I see him again."
"I love you, Dad."
"Love you too, Bells — but I'm serious."
I let out a sigh. "Dad? Goodnight."
I heard his muffled protests before I pressed the End button and set the phone aside.
I knew I had been wrong to hung up like that, but one thought kept swirling inside my brain. One name, to be precise, repeated like a mantra, over and over and over.
Edward, Edward, Edward.
I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before I realized that I wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. My mind was racing.
The Cullens were back in Forks. Edward was back in Forks. The small, unwarranted part of my mind wondered whether he had come back for me. I shushed it bitterly. There were bigger things to worry about. Like my impending death.
Because Victoria knew I had left Forks, and she was coming for me.
The hole in my chest thrived on my despair.
In my dream, the forest buzzed alive with sounds.
A light breeze rustled the trees, and the chirping of birds filled the space.
An orange light rose behind my back.
The smile froze on my lips, when black nothingness took its place.
Now, the only light came from the pair of rubies before me.
I slumped my head against the pillow, giving up on the feeble hope that I would get some sleep.
Leaving Forks had always seemed like such an easy thing to do — in theory.
Apparently, leaving your family behind didn't require much contemplation when it came to . . . selflessness? Morality? I didn't know. What I did know was that every time I tried to protect someone I cared about, I ended up hurting Charlie.
The first time, it was him; I went to Phoenix to ensure his safety.
Now, it was Jacob; my paralytic fear for Jacob's sanity drove me in Louisiana and God knows where else.
Would I be betraying Jacob, if I went back? Hadn't I betrayed my father enough?
I was thinking, maybe he had been right after all, Jake. When I had suggested that we left, had I meant it a long-term kind of way or had it been just a naive and impulsive decision — an act of desperation?
I hadn't really thought of how that decision would affect Charlie. I had only thought of myself, of how I would ensure Jacob would be away from whatever had morphed him into the boy that had confronted me in the rain an eternity ago. So that I wouldn't lose him.
I pinched a strand of hair between my index and middle finger and realized it had a damp feeling to it. I assumed it was because I hadn't had a shower since our first morning on the road, and the humid subtropical climate of Louisiana was quite hard to adjust to after spending a year in rainy Forks. One would think that growing up in Phoenix postulates a certain tolerance to heat, but Louisiana can't really be described as dry.
Long story short: I needed to take a shower.
I rolled out of the bed and gazed absently across the empty room.
Where on earth was Jacob?
I decided he had gone out to phase — perhaps he would even return with more information on the Cullens' homecoming and that was certainly not something I would grumble about.
As I lifted my damp with sweat shirt over my head, I noted something odd — the stench of my perspiration mingled with another odor, one so familiar, yet so distant in my memory; the intoxicating scent of a vampire.
I shook my head. No, this wasn't the scent of a vampire.
This was the incarnation of my wishful thinking.
The unmistakable smell of smoke greeted me when I emerged from the bathroom.
I wrinkled my nose. This wasn't any kind of smoke — as in, the smoke of seared paper or a small fire. It was the foul smell of a lit match mingled with the one of a burning cigarette.
I hated that smell.
After I pulled on a plain t-shirt, a jacket, and jeans, I hurriedly walked up to the door, following it. Upon taking a peek outside, I saw Jacob, his back facing me. One hand fell casually at his side — the other was bent in front of his face, like he was holding something on the level of his mouth. His shoulders squared as he inhaled deeply, then relaxed, when he exhaled a cloud of smoke that faded into the sky.
A moment passed, and the motion finally made sense.
"Jacob Black, what do you think you're doing?" I asked, a bit louder than I had intended to.
Jacob threw a quick look over his shoulder. "Easing the stress," he allowed, flashing the ghost of one of his old sunny smiles.
I scurried toward him, tugged the box of matches from his hand, and slipped it into my jeans' pocket. "Well, you'd better find a better way to ease the stress, because you won't be seeing your cancer-in-a-stick anytime soon," I spat out angrily.
Jacob nodded in waiver and set the pack of Marlboros on the railing. I snatched it and stubbled toward a nearby trashcan; I looked daggers at him as I tossed it inside.
"Great. Anything else I need to know about Sam Uley?" I inquired, as I stomped back into the room. Jacob followed me.
"Do you actually believe that Sam made me start smoking?" he asked incredulously.
"I don't know about smoking, but he sure as hell is causing you all this stress you want to ease!" I retorted. Hot, salty drops pooled in my eyelids, and I wiped them off with the edge of my jacket. I was positive my cheeks had taken on the darkest shade of scarlet. Not so much out of embarrassment as out of tension.
Jacob sighed. "I don't expect you to understand," he finally offered.
"Then help me out, Jacob, because I can't seem to make any sense of . . . of . . . ," I faltered.
"Okay, okay," Jacob conceded. "I'm putting it out, see?"
He flicked the stick and crushed it under his boot.
"I'm sorry," I said, rubbing my forehead, as he raised a big arm to ruffle my hair. "I'm just a wreck with everything that's going on . . . Victoria and . . . Dad . . . ," I continued. Jacob tilted his head in confusion. "He called last night," I explained.
"He's pissed, isn't he?"
"Yep. Good thing you can take a bullet, then."
Jacob rolled his eyes. "Have you packed?" he asked.
New Orleans, with its sounds and smells, enraptured us.
We tried the local beignets, and the crawfish étouffée, and the cajun shrimps, and, even though it was only for a few hours, our worries merely hovered, instead of tormenting and afflicting us.
"I'm thinking . . . Florida," I said, after the second portion of cajun shrimp — of which I had yet to have my fill. Well, that might have had something to do with Jacob's bizarre fascination with my plate and its contents.
"Like, Miami?" Jacob asked, raising his head from the seafood, the center of his attention for the last half hour or so.
"Yeah, I mean . . . there's more to Florida than Miami, but if it means so much —"
"Cool," he cut me off, nodding in contentment.
"Why are you so excited?" I inquired, perplexed. Who knew the idea of going to Miami would be so enthralling? After all, we had a vampire on our tail — and that vampire would love to make me her dinner. Sightseeing — or any sort of activity that involved calmness and any lack of concern for that matter — shouldn't be particularly high on our list of priorities.
"CSI, duh," Jacob said obviously, and, suddenly, the boy that had so quickly become a man turned into the teenager from the garage; the one with the shining eyes and the sunny smiles and the roundness on his cheeks. My Jacob.
I, the grown-up, murmured indifferently, "Which one? The one where a smart-ass with sunglasses solves cases and talks funny?"
Jacob instantly got an offended expression. "Horatio Caine isn't a smart-ass; he's a fuckin' genius."
"Well, it doesn't show with all the atrocious acting," I retorted playfully.
Jacob scowled.
We drove for fourteen hours straight.
Jacob was in a suspiciously good mood; he didn't grunt when the Dodge didn't start until his fifth attempt and didn't wince when I told him that, should I catch him with a death-stick again, I would tell Charlie he was a bad influence, and, thus, shatter his hopes of ever being within a five mile radius from me.
"Okay," he drawled out. "Consider me warned."
"It's not funny," I snapped, my voice shrill and childish. "He'll never let me hang out with you again."
Jacob cast me an incredulous glance but didn't comment.
A Volvo drove past us. The rear door window was rolled down; a dog peeked out and stared at us gleefully, sticking its tongue out, its ears perked up.
"Does it . . . ?"
"Smell me?"
"Um . . ."
We sped past at least eight or nine diners and a McDonald's; Jacob whined about how I was making him starve to death. Of course, he conveniently forgot to mention that he had eaten enough food for an entire army in New Orleans — plus at least half of my own portion of cajun shrimps.
We passed by Jacksonville as fast as the beat-up Dodge allowed us. Guilt consumed me as I thought I should give Renée call and let her know that I was, you know, alive.
Eventually, we found a comparatively less greasy than usual motel on the outskirts of Orlando.
I bit my lip as Jacob asked for a room at the front desk.
"Singles or double?"
"Sin —"
"Double," I blurted out, cutting him off, and immediately felt my cheeks burn. A bright, sunny smile that I couldn't determine spread across Jacob's face.
"D'you want to go to the beach or something?" he suggested, eying me warily, after we settled into our room.
I lowered myself onto the bed — the mattress was too comfortable, the pillows too soft.
I replied with a yawn.
Only now did I realize my fatigue — the stress of the trip, my worry for Charlie, the rising surge of panic Victoria's grudge entails, and, of course, Edward's ubiquitous presence in my mind, all had overwhelmed me, both physically and mentally.
I groggily walked up to the blinds and shut them, eliminating the little light that was emerging into the room through them.
"You tired, huh?" Jacob asked. I nodded tonelessly. "Well, Captain Obvious," he murmured to himself, smacking his forehead. "Anyway, since you're not in the mood — I saw a McDonald's around a mile from here — I'm going to get something for us to eat, 'kay?"
My voice was weak but steady when I rasped, "Stay."
Jacob's eyes widened. "Okay." The bed shifted as it adjusted to his weight. I felt hot fingers knotting through mine. "Better now?"
"Very."
"Wanna talk?"
"I want to listen to you."
A warm hand moved to my hair, pulling matted strands from my eyes. "Want me to sing a song?"
". . ."
"Okay, I'm kidding. What do you want to listen?"
"I want to know more about the Pack."
"Seriously?"
"Uh-huh."
"But . . . why?"
"I want to know more about whatever it is that is so desperately trying to fend you off from me."
"Fair enough. Shoot."
"How did Sam become Alpha?"
"He's —" Jacob paused, as though the answer was on the tip of his tongue, just beyond the grasp of his memory. " — the oldest, I guess."
"He's, what, nineteen?"
"Twenty. Yeah, he was the first to phase, and he knows all there is to know about the tribe, the gene, the bloodsuckers . . ."
"Doesn't lineage play a part in that sort of thing, though?" I asked.
"I guess so . . . Dunno, I never wanted this in the first place. Any of it. If I had to deal with Paul and Leah, too, I'd kill myself."
"Leah?" I asked, tilting my head in confusion.
"Yeah. She's Sam's ex. They dated before he got together with Sam. I mean, it wasn't just a fling or anything — they were serious. Then Sam imprinted on Emily; and as if that wasn't enough, Emily's also Leah's cousin —"
"Am I supposed to know what imprinting is?" I interrupted. All that werewolf jargon was starting to baffle me.
"It's complicated," Jacob began. "It — It tells you who your soulmate is."
His reply was so matter-of-fact that he might as well have remarked on the weather.
"Like Google?" I mumbled lamely. Instinctively, I pictured a search engine where you could type your personal information, and ta-da! Here's your soulmate!
He chuckled. "Not really. It's more like . . . your world, it literally stops spinning. It's not about you anymore; it's about her — the imprint."
"Sounds like you know the feeling," I whispered.
Suddenly, a picture expanded behind my lids: Jacob and a girl from the reservation, running, frolicking at First Beach. He intertwined his fingers through her own, and he looked at her, and he had never looked at me that way. I realized I detested the phantom girl, and I detested him.
"Pack mind," he reminded me, dissolving the mental image I had conjured like a wave dissolves a drawing on the sand.
"Does the . . . imprint even give you a choice?" I asked, a feeling of disgust slowly creeping up inside me. The Quileute boys had been deprived of their right to simply be — now they were deprived of their free will, as well.
"Imprinting is just another way of getting your choices taken away from you," Jacob said, his voice barely audible.
I woke up to the uncomfortable feeling of wetness between my legs.
I rubbed my eyes as the room returned to my field of vision. A paper bag — from McDonald's, as the sign indicated — had been placed on my nightstand, next to my charging cell phone. Jacob was laying next to me, mere inches away, his snores ear-splitting, as per usual. An unfamiliar, inexplicable desire, lapped at my insides. Unconsciously, I placed my palm on his cheek. I allowed my hand to linger for a moment, to get accustomed to the newly-developed angles of his face.
He was more than sort of beautiful.
It was twelve thirty now; I had been sleeping for fifteen hours straight, and I was starving. I was eager to gorge myself — the tasteless cheeseburger would most definitely do very little to satisfy my hunger, but it would more than suffice. First, though, there were a few things I needed to take care of.
One of the parameters I hadn't taken into consideration was . . . well, that time of the month. I had been so caught up over my selfishness and my unwillingness to let Jacob go, our "evasive nuisance" and the return of the Cullens, that mundane, trivial problems of everyday life — problems that, with the events of the past year still fresh in my memory, had lost their meaning and what little importance they held — that dealing with my menstrual cycle seemed like a Herculean task.
I was thinking I would have to make do with the totally hygienic toilet roll, when it dawned on me that I had stored a pack of tampons in my backpack. I fumbled through it and fished out a little blue box. Unfortunately, a tampon couldn't provide any relief for the crippling ache in my abdomen. Thankfully, I remembered the box of painkillers in the glove compartment of the Dodge.
Strenuously, I slipped my legs out of the bed and rose from the mattress. Light spring breeze grazed my face when I stepped out to the small porch — there was no sound, save for the soft whoosh of the wind.
The parking lot was predictably devoid of both other vehicles and people at this time of the night. I was thinking I should go to the drug store first thing tomorrow morning, when the hiss registered. My head snapped toward the general direction of the sound.
"Jacob?" I called and took a few tentative steps forward.
Nothing.
I stalked toward the Dodge — my hand was on the car door knob, when the hiss recurred. There had been a shift — something was different, but I couldn't put my finger on it. My hand fumbled for the box of analgesics. It tightened around the pepper spray, instead. I drew a shaky breath —
— as something stone-hard hit the back of my head.
Before the world around me blurred and dissolved into darkness, I caught a glimpse of vibrant red hair.
Next: Memento Mori
A/N: I feel like an idiot for not having mentioned it before, but throughout the fic there are direct lifts from the books, particularly New Moon. Sorry about that. Also, just to be clear: Horatio Caine is still a BAMF — Bella Swan simply has terrible taste in men. Fact checked and established.