CHAPTER X: THE GIRL WHO CRIED WOLF

DAD DIDN'T EVEN GET HALF of what he had on his list. As though in a fugue state, I went through the grocery mart witless, grabbing only the basics for a week's worth of groceries; eggs, milk, bread, butter, and bottled water. I remembered him telling me to grab a few cans of marinara sauce, for spaghetti and pasta, but the confused, angry part of me feigned forgetfulness as spite.

My mind was frantic. I was desperate to think back on all previous encounters I had with Paul, with Jared, with Dad. Were there signs? If Jared was a shapeshifter, did that mean Paul was, too? Or Dad?

Sam has to be one, I thought with a dawning frown. Jared follows him around like a lost dog.

So did Paul. So did Embry.

They all had long hair and lanky figures before they started following Sam. But the moment they cut off contact with everyone else, with anyone but their little clique, they grew taller, bulkier. They cut their hair and got matching tattoos. They became feverishly warm, something I noticed whenever Paul or Jared would touch me.

And when they were angry, they would shake. Paul never shook before he started following Sam; but after, after he changed, he was so much easier to anger. And it was like a monster was beneath his skin, trying to claw its way out.

I thought back on the day in the cafeteria, when Paul attacked Jeremiah. It never occurred to me how exactly he heard Jeremiah's insults. We were separated by quite a few yards, and even though Paul was in eyesight, he never would have been able to hear me over the boisterous laughing and talking of our peers.

If what the spirit told me was true, then it meant that the boys had supernatural hearing. It meant they had (well, probably: that was 'to be determined') supernatural strength. Things I never would have believed if it wasn't for the signs—signs I ignored when I believed the legends to be nothing but fables, stories made up for the entertainment of tribal children.

It explained the unwarranted hatred that the entire tribe held against the Cullens, if they truly were the Cold Ones. And it explained why Jared and Paul called themselves protectors, why they acted like a cult, and why they warded away others who didn't have that same damned tattoo—Jesus Christ, it all makes sense.

How could I be so blind?

Ignoring the clerk as he told me to have a very nice day, I barely paid any attention as I walked out of Pic-Pac. I walked over to my car—well, my Dad's car—slowly, so much slower than my usual pace, holding the grocery bags tight in my grasp. The unmindful part of me wondered if I still had time to run in the local drug store and pick up stain remover for the coffee stain on the passenger seat, while the paranoid part couldn't stop my eyes from flickering around, waiting with bated breath for something to jump from the shadows.

Surprisingly, my paranoia wasn't so far off the mark for once. I had a right to be afraid.

A shriek caught itself in my throat when I saw limbs materialize from the darkness. A ghostly woman appeared in front of me, blood covering her from head to foot. She had a gash in the side of her neck, and from what I could tell of her misshapen figure, a broken back. Blood was spilling into her eyes from the open wounds on her scalp. She whispered, "He is here." She was looking over my shoulder, at the front of the grocery mart.

"Who is here?" I asked. A sardonic voice said, The pizza man, while another one whispered, A monster. My fingernails dug into the skin of my palms and I felt my blood freeze. Not even an hour ago, I learned the truth of shapeshifters, and here I was, being told by a newer, scarier-looking ghost that someone was behind me.

"He's here. He's here. You are not ready," cried the woman, eyes beady and black. They turned bloodshot as red pulp drowned in them.

I had yet to turn around.

"I've heard many things about those with affinities." The voice was deep and velvety. There were no footsteps, yet the hair on the nape of my neck curled, as though there was someone watching. A predator. "But none so widespread as the stories about your father."

"It runs in my family. Are there others?" I should not have spoken. There was no mistaking the sarcasm in my voice; from what I knew, there were no other families. I was taunting him, knowing there was nothing I could do, if this was where I'd meet my fate. As I always did, I let my wit outweigh my brawns, relying on sarcasm as a defense mechanism.

The man chuckled, the sound dark and haunting. It was almost scathing, sending a chill along my throat and down to my stomach. "I have been alive for a long time, young one. I have met many of your predecessors."

Did you kill any? I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. Angering this man, this creature, would do more harm than good. I decided on a light approach; I told him, "Then you must be well over a century old."

"Indeed," he said simply. "Do you know why I am here?"

"No," I said. I was watching the spirit in front of me, listening to her rapid, borderline-insane murmurs, trying to ignore the fear as it crept up my spine, as it wracked me with shudders. "Why are you here?"

"Those with affinities are quite valuable to vampires," the man told me. I sucked in a sharp breath. "Did you know that vampires can hold similar powers? Some are benign while others are… Quite violent." There was a smile in his voice. "I am here for your father."

"You won't be getting him," I said. I was scared, but I wouldn't let the fear of being mutilated shake my defenses when it came to my Dad. I wasn't going to let this guy intimidate me. Yet you already are. I ignored the voice. "And you won't be getting me, either."

The vampire laughed. "Is that so?" There was an edge to his voice. I could only assume he was mocking me. "You are but a girl, one without any knowledge of her powers, of what she can do. You are slow. You are but a child."

I dropped the grocery bags to my feet. The spirit in front of me watched warily as I curled my hands into fists.

He was right. I didn't know a single thing about my powers. I didn't know what an emissary was. And what was this reputation my Dad had with vampires? Nothing good, I was sure.

I turned around to face the vampire.

He was good-looking, but any sort of warmth I felt looking at his facial symmetry and bark-colored locks turned cold at the sight of his bloody-red eyes. The smile on his face showed a set of perfect white teeth, including a pair of incisors, that gleamed menacingly. He was tall and muscular, with a famished look on his face.

He was hungry.

He wanted to kill me.

"I will leave your father a message," he said, inching closer. He was slow, and I knew it was intentional; he wanted to mock my human speed. "He will not handle it well to find his daughter's broken, mutilated body as a centerpiece on the news… And he will give me what I want."

My face paled, knees locking into place. Fuck, I thought frantically; what kind of situation did you get yourself into now, idiot? I whirled around, to face the dead lady.

I was being looked at as though I were the next obituary for the local newspaper. The blood-soaked ghost whispered, "You are going to die."

No, I'm not. No, I'm not. No, I'm not. Maybe I'd unlock my powers—whatever the fuck they were—by desperate prayer. Dear God, please don't let me die like this. I always thought I'd die from something crazy and adrenaline-inducing, like skydiving. Not being torn apart by something I didn't even know existed until today. Tonight, actually. Please?

"What's the first thing you do when faced with an enemy whose strengths outmatch your own?" said the vampire dude. A very strange question, coming from a killing machine who only moments ago was threatening to tear me apart.

I clenched my eyes shut, resigned to my fate, and said, "Let them kill you."

The vampire sighed. "That is not a viable answer," he said, sounding like he was… Was this old bastard scolding me? Did he want me to fight back? No-could-do, Mr. I-Eat-People; I had already accepted my fate. I was too lazy to change my mind. "When faced with a stronger enemy, you must rely on observation. You have to find your enemy's weaknesses."

"What kind of weaknesses does a fucking vampire have?" I asked, not intending for a response. The question was rhetorical. I went on; "Yeah, thought so. None!"

"There are two things in this world capable of killing a vampire. Those of their own kind, and shapeshifters. They are virtually indestructible. That is why, Alissa, your powers are so remarkable."

The walking deathmonger in front of me suddenly turned to dust.

I turned slowly around, facing the vampire again—only to watch, with an agape jaw, as the pale, indestructible vampire began to disintegrate. However, it didn't just stop there; his limbs became corded with wrinkles, growing shorter, and the clothes melted off the figure as it appeared. Now, the figure was the same Taha-Aki lookalike I'd spoken to minutes and minutes ago, in this very parking lot.

"What—who—what…" I shook my head, completely bewildered. "What the fuck?"

Taha Aki approached me, looking every bit as haunting and translucent as he was just thirty minutes ago, give or take. "You listen more when you think you are in danger," he told me. "I learned that from our interaction just moments before."

"You know, usually, the unexpected mentor waits a couple days to bother their trainee. It's like that in every movie or book. But you—you waited thirty minutes." I shook my head, scowling. "This is bullshit. I didn't sign up for unscripted visits."

He seemed unfazed, possibly having dealt with the same distressed outbursts from my ancestors. I wouldn't know; this dude didn't seem to have a sense of humor, or have time for chitchat. He barely flinched at my half-bit ramble, and said to me, "Those words were not an illusion. They were a vision. Your father is in great danger, child. As are you."

"What about Jared?" I asked. A part of me still cared about that dickweed's wellbeing, even if I despised him.

"There is no rarity in the abilities of Spirit Warriors," said the spirit dismissively. Wouldn't they want to hurt people we care about, though? Hurt where the heart was. It was like that in the movies. "While the Volturi may not know your father's location, or even your own existence. they know of the great things your family is capable of. One of your great ancestors, Dakota, was actually turned. He is a consultant of the Volturi."

"Dakota?" Volturi? The fuck is that—some sort of drug empire? I sucked my lip underneath my teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully. "If he had shapeshifter genetics, wouldn't the vampire venom have killed him?" I was following a whim on my thoughts.

By the unimpressed look on Taha Aki's face, I was nowhere close to the truth. "Being an emissary, he had no shapeshifter blood. Merely emissary. It is told that the blood of an emissary mixed with the venom of a vampire creates one of the strongest creatures a mortal may ever face."

I smirked. "You trying to tell me something, creepy dude?" He was no longer a pallid, cryptic-worded vampire, but he remained a pain in my ass, with a manner of speaking that was just as cryptic. In conclusion—I liked neither one. I preferred my previous existence, in which I thought I was a perfectly normal human-being with far too much kick-ass for one puny body. Much simpler times… I could weep, just thinking about it.

The spirit didn't smile, and his formidable pose didn't waver. He said, "You are still in negation of your heritage. I cannot allow that. Waiting for you to realize the truth could set into motion a turbulent chain of events, none of them wise or good. You will endanger every person you love." His eyes were like steel as they met mine. "You will tip the balance between peace and outright catastrophe."

"Jesus H. Christ, you make me sound like… well, like God or something." I shook my head. Sure, maybe I was in a little bit of disbelief (read: denial), but after that freaky tattoo appeared on my palm, I was more than a little perturbed. And I certainly was ready to believe this wasn't a psychotic episode… sort of. I still had my doubts. Okay, maybe this spirit had a right to be wary. "I know this is real! In whatever realm of consciousness I am in right now, this is totally real."

"Go to your father," instructed the spirit. He seemed far too wise and old to endure my games. He surprisingly managed well, though, and didn't call me a petulant child; I called that a win in both our books. "He will teach you control and endurance."

"And what will you teach me, oh great one?" There had to be a reason why he was the one spirit, of thousands, to seek me out… and offer me guidance.

"I will teach you how to harness the prowess of a thousand warriors," he said. Um, what? "You will need not rely on others—namely, your generation's Spirit Warriors—for protection."

I snorted. Yeah, right. Me, protect myself from immortals? What a fucking joke. But he seemed serious.

The Taha-Aki lookalike—who I was starting to think maybe was the Taha Aki—disintegrated again. I watched him, a disgruntled arch in my brows.

When he was gone, I rushed to my Dad's car. I absentmindedly put the groceries in the backseat, then hopped in the driver's seat.

I didn't bother to buckle in. I let out a hot breath and slammed my head against the wheel.

The horn went off. It was terribly loud. But I ignored the bewildered grocery clerk as he came hauling out of the store, probably annoyed with me for being such a public disturbance, in favor of reversing. Then turning off onto the broken blacktop.

I was quiet and contemplative on the drive home.

And when I got there, I was none-too-thrilled to see Jared on the front-porch. Paul was with him. It looked like the two of them had just gotten back from somewhere.

I glanced at the moon, as it lay overhead. With how dark and cold it was, it had to be around 11 at night. Maybe even midnight. I wasn't surprised. That ghost-dude spent a long ass while drilling into me.

Ghost. Spirit Warrior. Emissary.

Those fuckers.

I pulled into the driveway, a bit too swift for a place without much space. Unlike a parking lot, where there was a surplus of space. Ignoring the heated stares I was getting from the two assholes on the porch, I hopped out, pulling Dad's keys and my lovely wallet with me. I whistled. The sound was loud and annoying, and I hoped with every inch of life in me that it hurt those half-wolf nimrods' ears. I grabbed out the two grocery bags I had in the backseat, and used one hand—the hand not holding the keys and wallet—to carry them. I walked slowly, to purposefully annoy Dickweed and Butthead.

Jared looked angry when I stepped up onto the porch, his face knit into a scowl. "It's almost midnight, Alissa," he told me, all slow-like—like I needed a fucking speech lesson.

I smiled sweetly. "Perfect observation there, dickweed," I said, my smile growing even sweeter when his face flashed violently. I really wanted him to show his true colors. Did anger trigger the shift? Maybe that was the key. Maybe all I needed to do was hit him where it hurt most. But how? "But I don't need a revisit to primary school clockwork lessons. Save the lecture for Father Time; he's a real Wild Man."

Jared opened his mouth but closed it immediately afterward, wordless. He looked tired, as though he had been through the ringer a couple too many times. But there were no cuts, no bruises. Just dark circles painted across his under-eyes. A tiredness that seemed to strengthen the longer he was on his feet.

Do not pity him, I thought, my jaw clenching. I could almost feel my teeth grinding against one another, a violent clacking that rang torturously in my ears. He doesn't deserve it.

But the doting, sisterly part of me wanted to pamper and cater to his every need.

We must have stayed silent for far too long, because our secondary porch-lingerer cleared his throat. Paul glanced at Jared, then at me, his expression taut. "It's dangerous," he said. "You shouldn't be here out at this time of night. What if something happened to you?"

It occurred to me, then, all the times I was told a similar sentiment, all by Jared. On date nights, or when I was going out with friends. Anytime it was dark. It's dangerous out there, Alissa. You'll get hurt. It may have hurt my pride to admit it, but Jared wasn't trying to control me by keeping me home. They kept me there, where he knew I was safe, so I'd be out of the crossfire from shapeshifters and vampires alike.

It made me want to vomit. I didn't want to empathize with Jared. I didn't want to forgive him. It put a horrible taste in my mouth.

No. No. No. I won't. I refused.

"I'm alive, so who cares?"

My easy dismissal must have awoken my brother's vocals, because he suddenly snapped his head up from the porch flooring to stare at me, and said— "Stay home at night. Alright?"

I wanted to scream from frustration. "Dad's the one who wanted me to go!" I said in protest. The look he gave me, it screamed 'I literally don't know what to do with you anymore' and I did not appreciate it. Especially when it was Dad who needed me to get groceries in the first place; Jared had no inkling of that, though, and assumed I did every little thing just to tick him off.

Was he far from the truth? No. But this time, I truly didn't intend to provoke him. I was just buying food.

Jared did not believe me. "You could have told him no," he said matter-of-factly.

A lurch in my stomach told me I was irate, and I let it show on my face. I scowled. "He's our Dad, dumbass. Telling him 'no' is like telling Hitler he shouldn't invade Poland. Fucking useless!"

Paul placed his hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. When I glanced at him, it was to see his expression shifting, eyes reading a big fat 'Don't provoke him.' So similar to Sam on that cliff. Like I was one word away from triggering the Big Bad Wolf.

Of course, I never realized the extent of that statement. But now, it truly registered just how much of a life-or-death matter it was. If I continued to provoke him, he would unleash the beast from within, and I'd be at the mercy of fate and karma, whether good or bad.

Did the beast evade reason? Did humanity leave the moment anger reached its peak?

The way Paul looked when he fought Jeremiah that day in the cafeteria, it was more than anger I saw in his eyes. It was like a primal rage had taken grasp of his humanity, and shoved it outside a window. He beat Jeremiah within an inch of his consciousness, chipped a tooth—and there was anything but empathy in his gaze. No guilt, or sudden realization for the extent of his actions. No, even if he was dissociated during that time of anger, the way he looked afterward, he certainly didn't look very remorseful.

If I asked him now whether he felt any remorse for beating the shit out of Jeremiah, I knew his answer. And I was sure that he'd never regret losing himself to the monster within. If he had no care for a person, then their wellbeing was not a priority.

If he was provoked, then surely the provoker deserved the coming fate. Surely it was inevitable.

Right?

"Alissa? Alissa." Jared waved a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my unconscious subconscious internal debate. I raised my gaze to his, just as the hazy image of a bloody, disheveled Paul left the forefront of my mind. "Are you even listening?"

I shouldered away his hand. "Does it look like I was listening?" By his expression, he knew that, but he looked like he had wanted a different answer. I sneered. "Ugh. I'm done talking to you clowns. Be dears and put up the groceries, will you?" I shoved the two bags into Jared's hands.

Jared stared at the bags, then at me. "Alissa—"

Bring him out into the open, said a voice, from within my head. Make him angry. See what he does.

A stupid, flaw-ridden plan, one that could wind me up in a hospital with gauze aligning every part of my body, but a morbidly curious part of me didn't care.

Maybe fear would trigger my powers, just as anger triggered his.

You were afraid when you faced Taha Aki, reminded that same sadistic voice. What makes you think it will save you now?

I did not answer. "Give the bags to Paul," I told Jared, then nodded my head in the direction of our father's car. "I have more in the car."

Jared did as I asked him, a look of apprehension on his face. He looked like he didn't believe me. But he gave the bags to Paul anyway, ignored the bewildered look on his best friend's face, and followed me down the stairs.

I looked at my palm, feet freezing in their place. The crescent moon wasn't very vibrant, painted a dark black in contrast to my tanned skin, but it seemed to turn alight with beams the moment my eyes fell upon it. I placed my second palm atop it, dragging a finger along the lines—and I nearly gasped when it suddenly glowed bright.

Jared had also stopped walking. "Alissa, I thought we were getting more bags?" He sounded even more nervous than before. Maybe he thought I was going to commit homicide. Sure, the idea crossed my mind—but I didn't have the guts for murder.

I turned to look at him. I wracked my brain for things I could say that would abuse his control, that would test his limits, but I found nothing. From all our arguments before, it was as though he was one with his wolf, and he was hard to rile. Unlike Paul, who was volatile, and anything and everything could—would—piss him off. My gaze traveled back to my palm, growing awe-filled at the way it brightened upon my attention.

Taha Aki never said what my powers are, I thought, frowning to myself. Can I force a shift?

"Alissa, why are you staring at your hand?" Jared asked. "You're starting to really freak me out."

I looked at him. He was watching me, warily, and he had a twist to his lips that almost made him seem like he was scowling. But he wasn't. He was just anxious—he didn't know what to expect from me. He didn't know whether I'd suddenly yell at him, or attempt to hit him.

I marched forward. My hand was still growing, and I caught the look of confusion and horror on Jared's face. He began to back away from me, eying me like I was a bad guy, but I ignored it. I dodged his hand as he attempted to grab me by the wrist. He was fast, but I was determined, and my determination out-beat his will to avoid my unwarranted touches.

I did as I had intended, as I had wanted since the idea first crossed my mind—

I grabbed his head between my palms, my crescent tattoo aligning with his left ear. I could feel its power throbbing from within me, like I had veins brimming with light.

"Shift," I whispered.

Jared didn't move, nor fight off my loose grip. He merely stared, like he no longer knew me. There was a look of horrified understanding in his eyes. He was obviously bewildered; I could almost hear him now—How does she know?

Shift.

Shift.

Shift.

The front door burst open. Jared hardly even flinched. I peered around his shoulder, eyes searching for the sudden intruder—and I felt a frown appear on my lips when I found my father and Paul standing in the doorway. Paul no longer had groceries, so I knew he must have gone inside to put them away. But my father… why was he here?

Did he know?

Paul tried to rush forward, but Dad grabbed him, muttering something inaudible. Dad yelled, "Alissa, don't!"

My hand turned stark-white, growing incomprehensibly bright. Jared's face began to pale, too. He started trembling.

A growl came rushing out, his lips curling into a sneer. His dark-brown eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head; his pupils dilated, eyes turning even darker. The hands at his waist suddenly reached up, and grabbed onto my wrists.

He tried pulling me off, but I shook at him. I pressed harder. So hard that Jared let out a yell of pain, like the light in my hand had burned him.

"I just want to see him," I said breathlessly. "He won't hurt me. I won't let him."

He wouldn't hurt me. He couldn't. He wouldn't. I'd never allow another man to pain me.

But Red Riding Hood was never a match for the Big Bad Wolf.

Neither were the Three Pigs for their predator.

The little boy who cried wolf could only watch and cry as his sheep were powerlessly slaughtered, with no one there to save him.

They were stronger, faster. More intelligent than anyone ever gave them credit for.

Though I tried, I would never be anything but a weak, helpless human.

Odin was no match for Fenrir.

And I was no match for my brother.

A/N: I was listening to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack while I wrote this so that's probably why I made it so tense and angsty lmfao.

I hope you guys enjoyed this! It's kinda long, so whoops about that, and it kinda ends on a cliffhanger, another oops, but hey! I finally got the motivation to finish it.

Did you guys enjoy it? I keep going through periods of motivation and demotivation because I feel like it's shitty and not very good? Idk

On another note, what would you all like to see in upcoming chapters? You probably think the prank war has slipped my mind because it hasn't been mentioned in, like, five years, but it's just because all sorts of other shit have been happening. It's not a current priority for any of the characters, and honestly, I'm thinking about just having someone beat the holy hell out of Jacob as a substitute. He's not going to change from being one of Alissa's enemies and he'll definitely be at the root of some of Alissa's future problems

Are y'all excited for her to find out about imprinting? Who would you like her to find out about it from?

Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, or reviewed so far! Y'all make me feel better whenever I feel like this book is complete shit heh

See y'all soon!