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Chapter 7 - Damage

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The late afternoon sun dappled the road as it filtered through the overarching canopy of trees. Bella walked leisurely over the leaf-covered, crunching gravel, swinging the canvas bag packed by Emily in a gentle arc. She hadn't felt this relaxed in some time. Even with the maddening tingle and edginess, she still felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Whether it was being out in the woods on this peaceful back road, the fact that she was finally going to be able to put this incident to rest, or simply that spending afternoon with Emily had been so enjoyable, she welcomed the respite.

As she neared the bend in the road that Emily had described, she saw the little cottage set back in the trees. It was a small clapboard building – like many on the Rez – unpainted, but well-enough kept. Her pace slowed at the sight of a motorcycle of some sort parked along the side.

But Emily had said he wouldn't be here.

But what if he were? What then?

With a purse to her lips she decided she would just tell him the truth. Apologize, hand him his care package and then be on her way.

Nodding resolutely to the reasonable plan, Bella took a deep breath at the bottom of the four stairs up to the rail-less porch, and then jogged bravely up them. The old wood creaked. She raised her fist, hesitating only a second, and knocked thrice briskly against the weathered wood.

She waited, turning to look out at the deserted forest surrounding the house. It was peaceful enough to be wilderness, even though just around the corner was a more residential area. The birds called to one another in the treetops and nearby a stream babbled providing a serene soundtrack to the scene.

With one more rap on the door going unanswered, Bella shrugged a shoulder to her ear and turned the doorknob. Especially with a cop father, it seemed odd that some people didn't lock their doors, but it certainly made sense for anyone in the Pack. An intruder could be scented and tracked down with ease.

She pushed the door open only wide enough to slip through, feeling intrusive entering someone else's home though Emily had told her to do so. Stepping into a dim room almost as large as the entire structure, her discomfort transformed to dismay. She realized the other reason he didn't lock his door: there was nothing to steal.

Perturbed by the sparseness of the furnishings she crossed into the center of the room and spun around with an open mouth. In the far corner was a double bed that was neatly made and beside that a chest of drawers with a pair of workman's boots set neatly beside it and crowned with a scuffed hard hat. Along the wall to the right wall were two doorways: an ancient kitchen evident through one and a dark tiny bathroom through the other. Along the front of the house was a battered couch and a weight set. But the main (and only) focus of the room was a huge old wooden desk on the far wall with a folding chair before it.

She crossed the creaky floor slowly, her eyes taking in every sparse detail as she made her way to the kitchen. Maybe it was that the majority of the room was empty space that it seemed so ascetic, or maybe it was that there was no television, no stereo and very little color.

Bella's brow furrowed as she passed through the doorway to the tiny basic kitchen; she knew he wasn't rich, but even so, the house seemed overly austere.

Setting the bag down on the card table set with one folding chair (the mate for the one at the desk), Bella rummaged past the cookies and bread to find the items that needed refrigeration: a left-over roast and a quart of milk. Bella opened the half-size, rusting refrigerator, that was mostly bare, and set the items on the bottom shelf by a row of beer.

She closed it with a hollow thunk and turned around, rubbing her hands on her thighs nervously. Shuffling back out into the main room, her eyes were drawn immediately to the heavy desk which was enticingly strewn with papers, stacks of notebooks, books and other anonymous items. It was the only area of the house that seemed lived-in at all.

Bella's feet stopped. Surely one little peek wouldn't matter? Emily had said that he was a talented artist, and Bella's curiosity was begging for satiation.

Pursing her lips, she took a deep breath and strode toward the desk. She saw drawing pencils in various states of sharpness and lengths and smudged boxes of opened charcoal scattered over sheets and sheets of drawing paper. She was disappointed to see that no sketches were visible in the disarray. Why were all of the many papers on the desk blank? Had they all been carefully turned upside down?

Okay, you tried. Leave now, Bella, her conscience pleaded.

But she was so close. Reaching out a shaking hand – and feeling distinctly guilty – Bella pulled one of the papers out from under a pencil and turned it over.

And gasped.

It was a drawing of the Pack, lounging around the table while eating dinner at Emily's house... and it was absolutely stunning. As Emily had said, his technical ability was astounding: perfect proportions, a flawless sense space and dimension, and features detailed and accurate enough to be a photograph. But what made her slack-jawed in amazement were the tiny, exacting strokes and shading that made each person come alive. Her gaze automatically searched for some photograph that he had used as a model, but there were none to be seen anywhere. This came from his head?

Her gaze returned to the artwork – it couldn't be called a sketch, it was too intricate and perfect. She could hear the laughter, see the movement, hear the sound of Embry's sloppy chewing, feel the affection between Sam and Emily. Each Pack member's personality and energy was exquisitely captured in whatever they were doing at the time - without seeming contrived - like they had been frozen in a single perfect moment of time. She had never seen anything like it. The drawing had a soul.

Now she understood why his house was so empty. Who needed things when he had such a vibrant world in his head – and could recreate it on paper.

Excited to see more now, she tossed the drawing down haphazardly – figuring she could return it to its original position later – and turned over the next.

Bella squeaked in surprise and took an involuntary step back. The drawing in her hand was a portrait of…her.

Swallowing, her gaze ran over every detail. Like the first, the skill, eye, and execution rendered an impossibly realistic image. But what was so eerily surreal was that it was more like looking in a mirror than any photograph had ever been. The drawing was of Bella sitting in Biology, gazing pensively out the window. The crazy thing was, she knew exactly what she had been thinking at the time based on her complex and perfectly captured expression; she had been wondering whether Jacob was going to pick her up, and actually hoping that he wasn't. Bella blushed.

As her shock and astonishment waned, it was replaced by a chilling realization. Wait, when had Paul seen her at school?

Hastily she picked up another piece of paper. Again it was her, talking to Angela in the parking lot. Another: Jacob with his arm around her at his shop. Still another…reading on the back porch.

Bella rifled through drawing after drawing – all carefully detailed renderings of her!

The last one she picked up was not an actual scene - it was a portrait of her looking straight at the artist as if posed. She lingered on this one, bringing a finger to ghost the surface of the drawing – almost to assure herself that it wasn't a reflection. She felt like this one was a montage of all of her inner thoughts and emotions: all somehow communicated clearly – at least to her – in the minute expressions of her face.

Yet - even with all of her shortcomings and her unmemorable looks on display- he had also somehow managed to make her look… beautiful.

"Looking for something, little girl?" A velvet bass voice seemed to slither up her body along with the chills up her spine.

With a gasp, Bella whipped around to find Paul, indolently standing just inside the door. In the utterly silent way of the wolves, he had slipped into the room with even the squeaky old floorboards none the wiser.

"N-no… I j-just..." her stammer and her pounding heart caught in her throat.

Paul's lips curved up in a slow lopsided smile as he lifted the opposite brow. "Liar," he whispered.

Bella pressed her lips together and glanced down at the drawing still in her hand, dropping it on the desk like it had burned her fingers. She looked back up at him sheepishly, letting her hair fall partially over her face.

With a long audible exhale, Paul leisurely backed up against the door, closing it with a click and his broad shoulders as he leaned against it. He pinned his hands behind him – like he'd done at Emily's that night- as his gaze ran unapologetically over every inch of her body with an unnerving predatory calm. Bella's heart sprinted.

Dressed only in dark shorts slung low on narrow hips, the dim light iced the smooth lines of the lithe, sculptured musculature of his biceps, chest and abs. A quiet power rippled around him that was dripping with an incontrovertible masculinity.

She both heard and saw him lick his lips. "Oh, ho - ho, Bella" the words stretched languorously over a dark breathy chuckle. "You really shouldn't be here."

The hairs went up on the back of her neck as Bella swallowed thickly. "I-I know… I'm sorry… I – I was just, uh, bringing you food for –"

Paul feigned a slow solemn nod, his lips twisted in a sly smile.

In an instant his face frosted over eerily in dispassionate intensity as he pushed off the door.

Hands still behind his back, he took slow, deliberate steps into the room, moving with the same flowing tension of mercury. His eyes, however, belied his eerily languid movements and were sharp, intense… feral.

"Why are you here, Bella?" he asked again, his voice laced with a cashmere undercurrent of warning. She shouldn't lie to him again.

"I was – " Bella worried her lip and pulled her knit sleeves down over the heels of her hands nervously.

He cocked his head. Wolf-like.

She took a deep breath, and let her gaze wander. It was too hard to speak and look at him at the same time. "I felt really bad about what happened the other day. You know, when I slapped you. It's really been bothering me. Jake t–" she stopped mid-word and glanced up at the subtle rumble that could have been a growl. When it wasn't repeated, she continued, "Jake told me some of what happened when you were a kid."

As he neared her, Bella instinctively sidled around the edge of the room. "No one should ever be hit. And I shouldn't have hit you." She paused and furrowed her brow thoughtfully as her hands twisted in her sleeves. "And I think I did hurt you."

Paul barked a mocking laugh.

Bella met his gaze with a scowl, absently switching her direction around the room. "Not like that. I mean you're a 'big bad macho werewolf' and all," she rolled her eyes with an irreverent snort and then paused. Her voice was soft and serious as she struggled to find her next words, "But I think it hurt …inside. Especially because it was some stupid girl you don't even know." She licked her lips. "So I've been trying to figure out what I could do to apologize. And I guess I wanted to talk to you about it."

"Hmm… I see," he crooned.

A cold wash of adrenaline made Bella suddenly stop, her eyes snapping to Paul as she realized that he had been furtively changing his steps to mirror her own.

So he was always between her and the door.

A shrewd smirk hitched his lips when he saw the understanding in her face and Bella's pulse skipped a beat. But something adamant kept true fear from blossoming within her. He wouldn't hurt her, no matter how intimidating he was trying to be. It was a soul-deep knowing.

She cleared her throat and lifted her chin when that truth settled over her like an old comfortable shirt and she continued, "Emily said you were an artist too, and I was curious. And geesh, I'm not an artist or anything, but I've never seen anything like your drawings. I mean, you're really good. Like, professional - good." She paused as a blush rose warm to her cheeks. "B-but w-why are there so many of me? I mean, are you some kind of stalker or something?" She joked nervously.

"Most definitely… of the very worst kind." He grinned wickedly as he inched toward her.

Bella pursed her lips at the smoldering look in his eye. "I'm not afraid of you , Paul," she stated quietly, for his benefit as well as her own.

"Oh, you should be," he murmured holding her hostage with his burning gaze. "Didn't your boyfriend warn you about me?"

"My boyfriend? Jake?" This time she heard the growl clearly. At the mention of Jacob, she felt a subtle rippling vertigo: confusion. Her fingernails dug into her palms: focus. Every instinct in her body was screaming not to let her attention waiver for an instant in this game.

"Um, he said you were dangerous," she couldn't help the break in her voice.

"And I am, Bella. Very dangerous. Especially for you." He spoke softly and evenly, even as he unerringly continued to stalk her. "You should listen to him. Your boyfriend."

Bella gulped but stood her ground.

Paul continued his liquid slink until he was mere inches from her. Then he stopped.

He was so close that she could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest across her cheeks. She could smell his scent: musky, earthy, male.

Oh, God, he smelled so good.

Bella sucked in a breath through her teeth, but stubbornly trained her eyes straight ahead at the nipple set in his smooth brown skin inches from her nose. His measured, slow breaths made it rise and fall. Something made her want to lean forward and take it in her mouth. Bella blinked rapidly at the thought.

For an outrageously long minute, he stood immobile and silent -so close to her that she swore she heard his heart beating -like he was testing her to see what she would do. Bella felt her own breath skate across her lips in uneven, shallow pants.

With a luxurious slowness, without touching her, Paul's ab muscles rippled as he leaned forward. "Look at me," he whispered breathily over her hair.

Licking her lips, Bella slowly raised her head and came face to face with...

Paul

Her breath hitched.

He was gorgeous.

Even with his face set in its intense and unfathomable expression, his lips were naturally hitched up at one corner, the opposite quirk to his eyebrow balancing it out delectably. It made him look at once cunning and fierce and very, very perceptive. She was mesmerized.

His dark piercing gaze darted between her eyes for a moment and then lazily trailed down her face, washing pointedly over every millimeter as if taking an immaculate inventory. She could hear his breath snag and unravel. Just like hers.

The tension was unbearable. Bella made a little inadvertent noise in her throat from the unbidden choking desire that bubbled up over her body, viscous and burning like Napalm.

Paul's eyes snapped back to hers and a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Eyes locked with hers, his lips parted and the tip of his tongue peaked out to trace with sensuous slowness over his full lower lip.

"Don't move," his words were merely a breath in the back of his throat. And with that he lowered his face towards hers.

Slowly.

Agonizingly slowly.

Bella closed her eyes, suddenly craving the touch of his lips against hers.

When it didn't come, her eyes popped open to find him watching her - always watching her - and so close her eyes had to cross. His breath spilled warm and moist over her lips and she inhaled him. His gaze softened behind fluttering lashes as his own inhale coaxed the answering exhale from her mouth.

Time had lost its meaning hours ago it seemed as Bella stood with her face tipped up, Paul's body towering over her, as they strung each breath along a fine line between them. In, out… in, out. Bella struggled with her hitching, erratic pants so she could greedily pull every last warm, sweet drop of him into her lungs, into her body. With each draw, she melted on the inside, the runoff pooling between her legs, warm and heavy.

"Do I turn you on, little girl?" Paul murmured over her lips in a voice of dark chocolate.

Pride made her deny it with a minute shake of her head.

He sniffed a laugh, cool against her check. "Liar," he mouthed silently and a slow smile stretched his perfect lips taut.

He moved then and she felt warmth cascade over her cheek in the skipping staccato of his breath. Carefully, slowly, he ghosted his mouth along her jaw and then followed her pulse down her neck. His short hair brushed her cheek and she gasped from the contact. Every nerve was on fire.

A purr vibrated deep in his chest as he drew in a shaky breath at the crook of her neck. "Mine," he pushed the whispered word huskily along his exhale.

Bella reeled, and rocked back on her heels as her knees buckled in a rippling wave of ardor.

With a groan, Paul abruptly jerked himself away, so forcefully that he teetered on the outside edge of his foot. Catching himself, he strode briskly past her to his desk, leaving Bella's entire world spinning on its ear even while every cell in her body frantically protested the loss of his proximity.

What was wrong with her? He hadn't even touched her. Bella squeezed her eyes shut. For several minutes she could only stand there, listening to her heart beating frantically in her breast. She struggled to gather the strands of sense to restring a million pieces of herself that had scattered like so many pearls of a broken necklace. She felt like a clumsy child, scrabbling to gather them up from where they rolled haphazardly about on the floor. Finally giving up, with a deep resetting breath, she opened her eyes again and turned around.

Paul was carefully sifting through the drawings and placing them in a notebook. His movements were exacting and precise, but she didn't miss the tremor in his hands.

Bella started when his deep voice finally spoke, his back still turned to her. "Tell me something… what makes a little girl want to fuck a blood-sucking corpse?" His voice slipped like hypnotic silk in contrast to the crass words.

Taken aback, she blinked and then scowled. "Stop calling me that," she complained, unintentionally sounding like she had asked him a million times and she was finally fed up.

Paul glanced behind him with a surprised lift of his brow, his mouth quirked at the corner.

He turned back to fiddling with the papers on the desk. "Alright. So what makes a small woman want to fuck a blood-sucking corpse?" Was that a smile in his voice?

Bella huffed and rolled her eyes. "Well, we never–" she started automatically and then stopped. What business was it of his anyway?

"You never fucked," he supplied helpfully and turned around with a smirk that was most definitely mischievous.

Bella wished she were sophisticated enough to deliver some scathing comeback, but all she could do was blush and drop her gaze.

And when she did, she felt the hole in her chest throb. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "And - and I didn't think of him like that, anyway. I mean all the Cullens did the best they could – they couldn't help what they were. So to me, he was just…E-Edward. And he was the only person in the world who ever made me feel-… I felt-… I thought-…" her voice evaporated as the hole in her chest threatened to engulf her.

Bella squeezed her eyes shut; she couldn't talk about this right now. She couldn't talk about this ever. She looked up expecting derision, but she was surprised to see him watching her intently with a serious expression… and concern.

She pulled an ear up to her shoulder uncomfortably. "I- I'm sorry… I-" She felt like such a loser. Why did she still fall apart when she thought about him?

Paul turned all the way around to face her, with a sober furrow to his brow. "You loved him," he stated quietly, all traces of mockery gone.

Bella bit her lip and nodded quickly.

"And he hurt you." Not questioning. Not incredulous. Not judgmental.

Bella nodded again mutely and her eyes started to burn.

Oh, dear God, no. Not here, not now.

She sniffled as she struggled to reign in the impending tears.

With a low guttural noise and wolf reflexes, in an instant Paul was enfolding her in his arms. He pulled her gently to his chest and his gravely growl smoothed out into a soft, wordless croon.

Stiffening initially in surprise, she found that she simply couldn't hold onto the anxious sadness in his arms and it all slipped easily from her shoulders, like a silk shift to pool at her feet. Her arms seemed to encircle his broad torso of their own accord and she pressed her cheek to the smooth warm skin over his heart. Its rhythm was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.

The tinny tingle in her bones that had been driving her mad was instantly extinguished by his touch. In fact, Paul's long, muscular arms seemed to gather all the tattered remnants and pieces of herself; pulling them all together and holding them in his embrace.

For the first time in her life, she felt whole: that sucking hole in her chest was plugged, that aching loneliness was soothed, her feelings of incompleteness and inadequacy were razed by a sensation of utter security. All while a delectable languid yearning rose sweet in her heart and the slow burn of desire bubbled up from her core.

Paul just held her to him for several minutes, swaying slightly as if rocking her, as his hands drew lazy circles on her back. Finally he pulled back just enough to silently look into her eyes and with one hand he brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek.

Bella's heart skipped at the unmitigated tenderness in his gaze – it showcased a vulnerability as extreme as his anger and severity. In that instant she understood -beyond a doubt- that this was a profoundly sensitive man who had gotten the caring literally beaten out of him.

Damaged.

Like her.

Bella blinked against the burning of an entirely different type of tears and one broke free from her lashes.

Paul's eyes snapped compulsively to the glistening drop and, without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed it gently from her cheek with hot lips. Another tear followed and he brushed it away, rolling it on his tongue, then another. Soon the tears had stopped altogether but he was still raining light, sweet kisses all over her face. Without even thinking about it, Bella turned her face up to capture his mouth.

When their lips met, it was like a sonic boom; a kiss that was instantly overwhelming with its bone-deep passion. With a growl, Paul wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him, bending her to his body as his impassioned mouth covered hers.

Her lips parted willingly. But Paul's tongue didn't plunder; it traced the quivering shape and fullness of them with a delicacy that belied the frantic play of his hands as they cataloged every inch he could without altering his possessive embrace. Inviting him with an encouraging tongue, their mouths unfolded, opening to one another. The delicious deepening of the kiss made Bella boneless and aching for more.

More. More now. Mine.

Bella's hands reached up and encircled his neck, pulling him closer. Oh, closer. She couldn't get close enough. As if in answer to her body's demand, Paul stooped and easily lifted her hips up by one strong forearm. Bella ardently wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers eagerly trying to memorize every line of his chest, tracing his jaw, raking through his hair.

"Holy shit," his curse tingled on her lips even while he stalked the few steps to the desk. With a sweep of his arm and a crash, he set her butt down on the desk, taking advantage of his free hands to explore her body. In contrast to what had become a rabidly fervent kiss, his hands were surprisingly gentle as they ghosted over her arms, down her back - raising her nipples with a palm, drawing fire up her neck with long fingers.

As if her body were combustible tinder, Bella was burning, Each sensation stoked an inferno that was crackling deep inside her, its flames licking and charring everything in their wake, leaving only a parched cry for satiation.

Mouths still rapturously joined, Paul's hands rested at the back of her head and tangled in her hair as he slowly leaned over her, supporting her with this arms until she was lying back on the hard surface, pillowed on his palms. His body pressed down over hers and Bella whimpered at the delicious feel of his weight. She tightened her legs around him as he began to push his body against her rhythmically. Groaning deep in her throat, she arched, rubbing her crotch against him brazenly with desire. Bella could feel his arousal through the thin material of his shorts pressing right where she wanted it.

And she wanted it.

She needed it. Now.

Paul gasped and left her lips, nipping frantically down her jaw to follow her pulse point to where he suckled ravenously, marking her.

Oh, yessss. His.

She threw her head to the side to give him better purchase and pushed her neck into his covetous mouth.

Right now.

Oh, God she was burning! If he didn't give her what was her body was screaming for soon, she felt like she would implode.

"Paul," she cried cravingly, her voice hoarse with need.

Her moan of his name made him suddenly freeze as if he had been slapped. Again.

"FUCKING SHIT!"

Bella's heart jumped into her throat as he tore his mouth away, simultaneously slamming both hands down on the table on either side of her head with a thundering smack.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to capture her sprinting breath and reign in the rabid longing that was tearing apart every cell of her body; it was a physical pain.

Hands prone, Paul's face pressed into her neck as his shoulders heaved, his muffled gasps pulling at the skin over her collarbone .

Bella was reeling, a vertigo so violent that nausea twisted her stomach into knots. Her fingers tentatively relaxed from where they still dug into his shoulders.

"Don't move," he rasped desperately, his voice cracking with stress as he panted through his nose like a racehorse. "Fuck. Fuck! I'm gonna lose it. Shit."

Bella froze

She felt a rumble in the chest still pressed soundly to hers."Mine," he growled savagely, sounding more animal than man. She could feel the quiver in his muscles from the effort of holding himself in check.

Suddenly she realized, it wasn't the Phase he was fighting… he was fighting himself.

Finally with a choking wheeze, he pushed away from her a few inches, tilting his face so that it rested in her hair by her ear.

She heard him lick his lips.

"You're a virgin, aren't you." It was statement, not a question. He made a little strangled sound and then swallowed loudly. "Do you know how fucking close I am to ripping these fucking clothes off your body and fucking taking you right now?"

An involuntary whimper of yearning broke free from her lips.

In response, Paul growled low, and she felt it vibrate sensuously down her body. With a heady sigh, she reflexively arched against him.

"Stop!" he snarled.

Bella stopped.

For several minutes, the only sound was Paul's racing breath, spilling hot and moist over her neck and condensing in her hair.

Finally, he whispered, "Did you know that if you let me fu-ck," the K hovered in the back of his mouth, "you, then you're mine? Mine," he growled the word. "Bound to me by this fucking curse forever. No second chances."

"Wha-w.." Bella stammered - her mind felt shattered into a million incoherent shards.

"I didn't think so," he hissed. "You really, really, don't want that, believe me," he murmured over a dark disparaging chuckle.

After a several more deep rasping breaths, he pulled back so he was inches from her face. His eyes were wild and luminescent.

Wolf.

Pressing his lips together with the effort, Paul began to incrementally peel his body off hers, his gaze intense -like a predator waiting for his prey to so much as twitch so he could go for the kill.

Eyes rounded, world spinning, Bella didn't move a muscle. Or breathe.

When he was standing upright again, he whipped his face around with a guttural snarl and stalked to the other side of the room. Leaning forward, he splayed both hands against the far wall and let his head hang as he roughly panted.

For a moment Bella did nothing. She couldn't.

Then, inhaling deeply for the first time in several minutes, she slowly sat up, fighting dizziness and her aching body. Lowering herself off the desk, and steadying herself against it as the floor undulated under her feet, she tried to regain any type of balance.

Any type of balance at all.

All the while she kept her gaze nervously trained on the man shuddering across the room, the muscles in his back and arms twitching and rippling.

Paul seemed to know when she was finally able to stand on her own. "You need to get out of my house Bella." His voice was calm and breathily monotonous. "You need to leave right now."

Wrapping her arms around herself as if it could somehow hold together the pulverized pieces, Bella stumbled obediently toward the door. She was beyond confused, beyond frightened, beyond ashamed, beyond feeling anything at all.

As her shaking hands clumsily fumbled with the door knob, Paul hissed contemptuously to the wall, "go ask your boyfriend what imprinting is, Bella. See what he says."

Finally, her numb fingers were able turn the knob and she tore the door open.

"Oh and Bella?" Paul called quietly.

She stopped in the doorway, her head tucked, cheeks burning. She couldn't look at him.

His hoarse whisper was barely audible, "Don't ever come back."

She lurched through the door, slamming it behind her, and stumbled down the few steps tripping and falling on the last one. Desperately scrambling in the dirt to stand again, she started running.

Running.

Sprinting as fast as she could away from his house as the sound of broken glass and splintering crash-after-crash thundered from inside.