Author's Note: Happy 2020, folks! I'm still here. We're still here.

"Are you sure about this?"

Bella was pacing back and forth in her room, twisting her hands in a nervous gesture Paul had never seen her do before, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip. It'd been at least ten minutes since Paul suggested they went to his place for dinner and since then Bella had been slowly building herself to a nervous breakdown, acting as though he had invited her to a lion' den instead of his own house.

Paul sighed, regretting everything already. "My answer hasn't changed since the last time you asked, Bella," he said from his place at the bed. Repeated for the hundred time, actually. "You know, five seconds ago?"

"It's a big deal, Paul!" Bella insisted, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring down at him. "I have the right to be nervous, okay? It's not like the last time I met the parents of a boyfr—" The words died out on her lips and she seemed to freeze, her eyes going wide as she caught herself before finishing the sentence.

"A boyfriend?" Paul guessed, unsurprised. "Bella, you are my imprint, for fuck's sake. You can call me your goddamn boyfriend if you want — I won't freak out, I swear."

She started to blush, lowering her head. "I know that," she said. "I'm still trying to come to terms with you being so easy-going about this entire thing, you know? I'm constantly waiting for you to freak out, I guess."

Paul frowned. "Freak out? Me? Bella, if anyone should freak out, it's you."

"You are stuck with me for life, Paul. C'mon, don't act like this is a dream come true for you," she murmured, her voice weak. "You are… you." She mentioned to his general direction, waving her hand in circles as if to mention his whole being. "And I'm just, well, me. There's no way you're not freaking out about being tied down with me for the rest of your life, but you keep acting like it's okay, like you don't give a shit and I'm not sure how to take that—"

"Hey!" Paul called sharply, starling Bella hard enough to snap her out of the rant she had been going on about. "Where's this coming from? How long have you been thinking that?" He asked, although the answer seemed obvious enough by then.

God, it's like Bella's insecurities were an endless well and each time Paul thought they had reached the end, another wall collapsed and the whole thing became deeper still. It was frustrating and heartbreaking, to see her unravelling so many years of silence before his very eyes, displaying a crazy amount of trust in him — to hear her pains, to understand where she's coming from, to keep her secrets, to be there for her the next day, even with all the crap piling up.

Fuck, Paul wanted so badly to kill that bloodsucker. To take a bite of his fucking face and slowly watch as the venom poured out of him, as the realization that he wouldn't survive to see another day dawned on his eyes and the panic started to settle in. Paul would revel in it, savoring the moment without an inch of shame as—

Fingers carded through his hair, gently rubbing his scalp. "You are trembling," Bella said in a soft whisper, shaking him from his bloodthirsty daydream with her presence alone. "What happened?"

"Shit, Bella," Paul cursed, looking down on himself and seeing how tightly his hands were fisted. He probably looked half-insane to Bella, getting out of control like that in the middle of a conversation. "I was— goddammit."

"It's fine," Bella said, stepping closer and closer until she stood in between his legs. "Try to breathe for a minute, yeah?"

"I'm breathing." And he was — too shallowly, too hard.

But the skin-to-skin contact helped, and Paul refused to allow the conversation to be directed to his murderous fantasies about the leech. He wouldn't lose it — not here, not now. The fucking Cullens were gone, hopefully for good this time, and now it was up to Paul to help Bella get over them and their shit. It would help no one for him to keep brooding about it.

"I just want this not to be a complete disaster," Bella admitted, in an obvious attempt at distracting him. As she spoke, Bella kept massaging his scalp with her fingers, running them gently through his thick hair.

As far as distractions went, it was a fucking good one. The instinct to soothe, to help, to calm, to settle all of his imprint's concerns was instantly triggered, and it overpowered any other necessities he might have had.

"It won't be," Paul said, leaning into her touch as much as he dared. "Ana is not some—"

"I know! It's not about her, though. It's me! I'm not a good sell with parents as is — I imagine it's worse now."

What? "Worse? How?"

"Don't do this." Bella shook her head gently. "With the C—Cullens, with vampires, with putting your life at risk." She paused, then gave him a pointed look when he failed to say something. "With Victoria, Paul."

"Bella, chasing vampires is kind of what we do," Paul gently reminded her, gesturing to his body. "Werewolf, remember?"

"No — it's not. You said so yourself, even. Before I came here, the Rez was a quiet place. There certainly wasn't any crazy, psycho vampire trying to murder people to get to me."

Paul shook his head. "None of this is your fault, Bella."

"Of course it is," she insisted, clearly unwilling to budge on the matter. It was so much like Bella to shoulder the entire responsibility of everything that happened around her...

"No, it—"

"But it is. I chose to date E—E…" Bella took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. Still, she carried on strong. Progress. "I chose to date Edward, I chose to go meet James, I chose to keep dating Edwards afterwards, I chose to stay in Forks. In the end, no matter how much it hurts, I have to accept that it was my choices that brought me here."

"So what?" Paul asked, frowning. None of that shit made any sense. "You fell in love and stuck by the person you loved? That's your big speech of blame? That's bullshit — it's what it is. You can't blame yourself for having feelings."

"I can if it puts others in dangers," Bella explained, allowing her hands to fall from his hair and stepping back a little. Paul allowed her to step away, even though he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her middle and keep her right where she was. In his arms, touching him. "I can if it was a stupid idea from the start. I can if it never meant anything."

Paul refused to stand up, though. He refused to act as though that was an argument, a fight, a big deal. Instead, he rested his palms flat on the bed and leaned back, relaxing as much as he dared to. He had already almost lost it once minutes before, and he wouldn't do it again.

"Don't say that," Paul said, eyes glued to Bella's face, watching her reactions to each of his words. "Just because he was an idiot who decided to throw everything away when it got tough, it doesn't mean it's on you. It meant – means — something to you, and that's what matters."

Bella's body did something that closely resembled a flinch and she lowered her eyes. "If someone dies because of this mess…" The words died out in her mouth. "That's what matters."

Honestly, it was a little insulting.

"Stop worrying about shit that hasn't even happened, Bella. Stuff that won't happen, alright? We're good, for fuck's sake." Fucking great, if he said so himself. "Much better than a single crazy-ass leech. Give us some credit here."

Bella's head snapped back up as soon as he began to speak, surprise flashing on her brown eyes. Maybe she hadn't expected him to defend the pack so strongly. "You haven't seen them—"

"I have," Paul cut her off, shaking his head. "Honestly, Bella, I have seen them. Stop underestimating us — or overestimating the leeches. I don't know. We're an entire pack. There's a reason she hasn't shown her face in a while — why her scent is nowhere around forks or the Rez. She's scared, she's planning. As she should — if she wants to have the slightest chance."

She paused. Considered. "You really think that?"

Had he not just said so? "Yes."

"Okay." Bella sighed, blinking slowly as if trying to ground herself. "Okay, alright."

"I'm your imprint, Bella," Paul gently reminded her. "No one's going to hurt you while I'm around. Not without going through me first."

It was the wrong thing to say because Bella's stare turned to reproach instantly. "That's not nearly as comforting as you think it is."

"You don't think I can—"

"I do," Bella spoke over him, crossing her arms once again, gearing up for another round already. God, Paul had only wanted to go home and eat some shit and show Ana his goddamn mate. "I think you absolutely can throw yourself in front of whichever danger heads my way. How could I not, with what I know? You don't think that's scary for me?"

Their eyes locked, and the silence held for an immeasurable moment. Her words hung around the room, heavy and full of some dark, twisted meaning Paul had yet to grasp. In his imprint's glance, Paul could see a silent plead for him to understand her, for him to hear what she wasn't saying, for it all to click.

And just like that, it suddenly made sense. "You're afraid of me getting hurt," Paul breathed out, barely believing the words leaving his mouth. It had to be true — it felt right — but it couldn't be, not when Bella knew how much—

Bella studied his face. "Oh my God, did it took you until now to figure that out?" She asked in disbelief. "It did, didn't it? For the love of— Paul, of course I'm afraid. I don't want no one to throw themselves in front of anything for me — not now, not ever. My stuff will always be my stuff, and I would never wish it upon anyone else. With you, though? It's a hundred times worse."

"It should be better," Paul corrected, still trying to come to terms with the sudden shift in the conversation. "I heal."

Bella bit her bottom lip. "Not from some things, you don't."

"I'm not dying, Bella."

"You can't promise me that. No one can."

"For the last time: I'm your imprint. We're fated, or some shit, to be together. This shit wouldn't have happened just for me to die like that. The Gods are smarter than that, okay? They know you need someone watching out for you, less you walk unaware into a lion's den."

"That's—That's not even possible," Bella squeaked, a reluctant smile tugging on the corners of the lips. "It's Forks."

"No, no. You're wrong. It is possible because it's Forks. Get your facts straight," Paul corrected with a fake-disappointed voice. "Haven't you heard the rumours? There's a bunch of wolves running around this place."

Bella's gorgeous eyes shone with mirth as she raised a brow and teased, "Well, I heard they are not very impressive. If you know what I mean."

Her mouth was curled up in a wide grin, teeth almost showing, and it was truly a great look on her. Happiness.

Freedom.

Progress.

Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised Paul that the whole thing went wrong in a matter of minutes. But, honestly, even he couldn't have predicted that he would get Bella to come to his house to meet Ana only for it to go sideways before Ana even stepped a single foot inside the place.

He'd only wanted a fucking meal. Wanted Ana to meet his imprint, and for Bella to meet the woman who had been the closest thing to a mother figure for him since his own mother's death. That's all. It should've been simple, for christ's sake — mundane, even.

And yet…

And yet, there was his brother, storming inside their house before Bella even got situated, shirtless and pissed off, already trembling with poorly contained anger, eyes bypassing everything else to land right on his target.

A man on a mission, if Paul had ever seen one.

There were no words, no pleasantries, no hellos. They both knew what that look was about and what it meant. In seconds, their eyes met and the message was received. This was about a deep-seated anger, a problem big enough to get Jared going before the fight even properly began.

Which was bad, Paul's brain reminded him.

Terrible. Horrible.

Truly awful.

Absolutely nothing that should send a spike of adrenaline running through Paul's system, pumping bloodlust and satisfaction through his veins, accelerating his breathing and taking his breath away at once.

So why was he shifting in place, mentally calculating the possible damages to the room, putting his body slightly in front of Bella's? Why was he gearing up for a fight? Why was Paul allowing the situation to escalate with his body language alone? Why wasn't he acting like a reasonable human being and stopping this shit show before it had the chance to start?

However, even as he mentally asked the questions, Paul knew the answers already. Knew why. Understood exactly the reason why there had never been a chance in hell of him saying no — why Jared had known that before he walked into the room.

Like an addict, a dark voice whispered in his ear. A drug addict who can't say no to another hit. Again and again, forever trapped in a vicious cycle. Damned to repeat the same mistakes over and over and over; always falling victim to his own instincts and selfish desires.

"Now!" Jared growled, spat and demanded all at once, breaking the silence that had fallen within the house with the force of the aggression pouring out of his very pores. It was an order, clear as the day, and no one was saying no.

Fuck.

It wasn't something Paul had planned for Bella to see — not that side of him, not so soon. Not while she still hadn't completely understood exactly how violent he could get, and all the ways in which he lost his iron grip over his control. Not before he had the opportunity to assure her he wasn't a danger to humanity.

And worst of all: it was Jared.

Jared standing in front of Paul, trembling and shaking and on the edge of a precipice they both knew far too well. Jared was silently begging, teasing, pressing every one of Paul's buttons, eager for a bloody fight — it's pathetically easy to read it in his face... How much his brother was salivating over the need of letting go.

It's not a test Paul was ready to pass. Not even close. Not like that. Not with it being Jared of all people.

At that moment, it didn't matter that his mate was about to witness the whole thing, even though it should've served at least as an incentive. Somehow, though, it didn't. Weirdly enough, Paul could feel the bond resting, calm and settled. Not one single molecule in his body was protesting against the inevitable, imminent aggression.

And if the situation had been different, Paul might've stopped to question the reason for that, however, at the moment, his attention was busy somewhere else, all sharp and focused on Jared.

Honestly, how long had it been since his brother had been the one to initiate a fight like that — not preamble, no small talk? How long had it been since Paul could taste his own bloodlust reflected on Jared's stance? How long had it been since they went all out, no fucking rules in place?

How fucking long?

Too long. Much too long, in his opinion.

Was that why Paul could hardly keep himself from shifting? Why his hands were already fisted and his core tensed up?

The air changed and Paul only had time to turn back and lock eyes with his mate, hoping to convey his seriousness. "Go upstairs," he ordered, his voice already more growly than otherwise. There was no time for explanations, and thankfully Bella asked for none, instead, nodding her head shakily, wordlessly conveying that she understood and going for the stairs just as something moved on Paul's peripheral vision.

Before he could even flinch in response, pain erupted on the left side of his face as Jared's fist connected with his cheek. Instantly, the bone underneath cracked — collapsing under the pressure with surprising ease.

Fire and iron spread all the way to the tip of Paul's tongue — and fuck, it tasted sweet. So goddamn sweet, despite the way his nerves screamed in protest against the brutal, sudden burst of pain.

To respond in kind, punching Jared right in his open right side was nothing more than an instinctual response. An involuntary retaliation from his trained body. A release of electric current.

Tit for tat.

Still... it's easy to see that Jared was holding back. From the shift, that was, if not from the violence. His whole body was literally trembling from the effort necessary to keep his anger from forcing the change.

Despite not understanding the situation and being beyond surprised by his brother sudden fierce aggression, Paul felt a touch of respect. It was a distant recognition, almost on the back of his mind, but some rational part of Paul noticed the level of control Jared was displaying. It was both remarkable and concerning, really.

That had to be a reason for the fear. And it was that — fear. Paul had no doubt. None of them fought the change so much unless they were afraid of sharing whatever it was that swam in their minds, and by the look of it, whatever news Jared had received, it was bad.

And the thing was: maybe Paul could've restrained Jared. Held him down by the neck and forced him to calm down, to share whatever shit had gotten his panty twisted inside his ass. Yeah, Paul could've — perhaps should've — done just that.

What would be the fun in that, though?

Jared was in one of his rare moods. The sort of rage which left him tied up in knots and yet loose, at the same time. As he was, Jared would not hold back. He would give and give and give until they were closer to dead than alive.

Even the prospect was addictive, tempting.

The idea.

The taste.

And Paul wanted it.

More than anything, he craved it. Enough that anything else, any other thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind, and instead, all he could think about were the punches and kicks coming his way.

The all too familiar haze and sharpness Paul had come to associate with bloodlust kicked in, hard, and it was fucking amazing. In a blink, the world narrowed down to the two of them alone, and everyone else besides them faded to the background.

And so they went. Fighting in the living room of their house exactly as they had once promised Ana to never do, breaking all sort of furniture in their way and painting the surrounding walls with a mixture of iron and salt.

Reckless and wild.

A distorted, unhealthy reminder of their youth. Of a time when they fought more than not and words were rare and tentative between them.

Only Jared wasn't fighting like he usually did — there's something wrong, and Paul could tell without a single word needing to be spoken. After all, if there's one person Paul knew, it's his brother.

And sure enough, the next instant, Jared grabbed Paul by the arm and sent his flying across the room until he smashed his head against the wall. A hiss of pain slipped from between Paul's gritted teeth following the impact — fuck, it hurt so fucking much. Wood and old paint rained down around him as tried — and failed — to stand up.

What did the fuck happen?

Jared responded better than him to words, so Paul tried. "Bro, what—"

Only his brother wasn't in the mood for talking. "Shut up," Jared spat out, a lot more growly than normal, looming over him. Feiting a kick before throwing a punch directly on Paul's chin, he carried on the fight, and Paul felt more pain explode from his jaw as it cracked under the pressure.

Paul drooled out the blood pooling in his mouth at the ground, feeling the familiar rush threatening to drown him whole as even more pain and adrenaline kicked in. It was a vicious cycle with him — the more the took, the more the needed it. It made him an awful brother in that situation too, because he wanted to help, to ask what was troubling Jared, to help in whichever way he could, but the second that punch landed, Paul could almost feel the rational thoughts leaving his mind all at once.

In a flash, he shifted; the change overtaking his body the second he allowed it to, agony spreading all over in the process, his broken bones and abused muscles shifting in place to accommodate his larger form.

It hardly mattered, at that point. The layers of discomfort faded to the background of his mind as his instincts all sharpened in concentration against the threat standing in front of him. Nothing else existed — there's only him and Jared in the world. Just the two of them and the violence dripping on the floor around them alongside their sweat and blood.

Paul pounced. Like an animal, he went for the throat, hungry for the kill, for the hot blood pulsing underneath the fragile skin. As a wolf, it was so fucking easy, too. Just a small jump, a leap, a tiny leaning of his gigantic form until he could get close enough to—

As Paul hovered midair, his brother shifted, going from human to wolf faster than he had ever done before — almost too fast, honestly. Ripping through his clothes and bursting into his other form in a blink, responding to the higher level of threat that Paul now presented as a werewolf.

The instant Jared shifted, his thoughts —his loud, unbearable, overwhelming thoughts — seeped through their bond like a tsunami, dominating both their brains with uncomfortable ease.

Frightening and earth-shattering. Loud and clear. Claiming all of their combined attention with the depth of Jared's desperation.

The earth stopped, and it all happened in slow motion. Paul glanced over his brother's shoulder to see Bella standing still at the top of the stairs, one hand covering her mouth and her eyes impossibly wide in what could either be shock or disgust, and at the same time a single phrase glued itself to all corners of his mind.

'Kim's pregnant.'