Chapter 20

The Bear: Loose Ends

"Sulpicia, come down. You are doing yourself no favors sitting there. You deserve some comfort and we can help."

"No one can comfort me!" the demented vampire cried.

"Come down, Milady. Milord Aro would want you to." Demetri was fast losing patience with his former coven-mate. It hadn't taken him long to find her, especially as her mind was in agony from the loss of her mate and was loudly broadcasting her pain. But the minute she recognized his and Felix' approach, she had scuttled up a tree. Gruesomely, Aro's decapitated head and body lay at its foot, his arms and legs splayed out and his head perched on his chest with his dead eyes glaring at them. Demetri studiously avoided his former lord's body.

"How do you know what my Aro would wish? I knew him better than any. He would be gratified that I mourn him." She sobbed, but without tears, of course.

"But your pretty dress is torn. We can take you to a place where you can get a new frock and your hair redressed. Surely, Milord Aro would always want you to look your best." Felix knew Sulpicia well enough to know her vanity usually took precedence over just about anything.

Sulpicia looked down and for the first time noticed she was worse than disheveled. She was an utter mess. She put a hand up to her hair that had fallen around her face and pulled out a leaf that was caught in its tangles.

"Come, milady. Let us help you." Felix was at his most cajoling. He was big and strong, but he was also very charming, in a Lurch sort of way, and Sulpicia wavered. She stretched out a leg and noticed she wasn't wearing any shoes.

She gasped at the sight of her bare foot and the gaping runners in her silk hose, and said, "I must have lost my Louboutins somewhere along the way."

"We can help you with that, dear lady." Smiling, Demetri held out his hand. "Come, now."

Gradually, Sulpicia slipped down from her perch to grasp the waiting vampire's hand. He had purposely moved to the other side of the tree opposite from Aro's body so that the sight of it wouldn't distract her.

She stood on the forest floor and tried to straighten her rumpled, torn dress and smooth her hair.

"Don't worry, Sulpicia. We'll soon have you to rights." He held out his arm and she latched on, her strength seeming to fail her, especially as she caught sight of her mate's body.

"Oh, Aro!" she cried and dropped Demetri's arm so she could go to her husband's body. However, Demetri wouldn't let her go and he grabbed her with his other hand.

"We must honor the fallen, milady. We can't leave him here like this."

"What do you mean?"

"We should build a pyre and put him to rest." Felix said.

Sulpicia gasped and cried. "Is he gone beyond all help? I tried to reunite his head with his body, but it wouldn't work. I don't understand why."

Felix knelt to study Aro's remains and said, after a cursory examination, "He's missing a finger. It must have come off as he was being carried to this place."

Looking over Sulpicia's shoulder, Demetri nodded. Let Sulpicia believe that she was the cause of Aro's missing piece. It should make her more amenable. Sulpicia turned and buried her head into his chest and wailed. Catching Felix' eye, Demetri gestured to Felix to quickly dispose of the body. The sooner done with this the closer they would get to placating the Cullens.

Shortly, it was finished. After watching to make sure the fire caught well, Demetri scooped up the moaning Sulpicia and he and Felix started to run back towards Forks and their uncertain welcome.

It was all they knew to do. They hoped it would be enough.


"Has Walalo ever led us wrong?" Harry raised his voice so he could be heard over the uproar. Many of the Quileute, especially the warrior wolves, did not want Bella to become their new spiritual leader, their Walalo. They did not want a vampire, their enemy, to take on this most sacred and honorable role.

Although that thought was prevalent, it was also true that Walalo, throughout all of their history, had never steered them wrong. If she spoke, wise people listened, even if it was something they did not want to hear.

And boy did she ever speak today. Harry, himself, wasn't sure what to think. True, he had known Bella all her life. Her father, Charlie, was like a brother to him. He couldn't help but to think what Charlie would have to say about all of this.

"Damn it, Harry, it's still Bella. She hasn't changed. What she is inside is what counts."

Harry jumped. He had heard Charlie's voice as though he was standing right next to him. He looked wildly around but, of course, saw and heard nothing more. Then he remembered Bella telling him, "Harry, you must know, I'd never hurt you or any of the tribe." She had said it with such sincerity that he had believed her. But he had also seen how she later responded when Auntie had lain bleeding at her feet. She was in true distress until her Vampire nature came forth and then she almost attacked his wounded aunt. He had been glad Edward was there to pull her away.

Then he stopped and muttered, "Edward had pulled her away." That was why, in her letter, Walalo insisted that the mated pair of vampires was a good thing for the tribe to have. Edward would stabilize Bella's instinctive vampire responses. They were a team—a permanent team. They brought out the best in each other—and that would be the best for the tribe.

Harry stepped up to the dais once more and demanded attention. Gradually, the noise quieted and then he said, "It seems to me we've been given a choice. We can continue as we have always been—living on the supernatural side of the spiritual divide. We can have our Wolf Warriors and our Walalo, or we can have neither and live in the world as others do—without the form of spiritual assistance The Creator has chosen to give us. That is the only choice we have, for without Isabella as our Walalo, we will never have another. It has been so written." He held up Leah's letter that he had been clutching in his hand.

"So, Wolf-brothers, what is it that you wish? Do you want to lose your powers, to never run as a pack again? To never be at one again with nature and the earth? Do you not want to pass on this talent to your children and grandchildren?"

He turned to the rest of the tribe. "Do you want to do without the protection of our warriors and the guidance of our Walalo for evermore? What is it that is preventing us from doing as Leah Clearwater clearly told us to? Is it prejudice? Fear? Pride?"

He held up the letter again. "Walalo told and showed us that pride could be our undoing. So, she had learned this herself and wrote time and time again that we needed to put pride aside and have faith. So, let me ask you my brothers and sisters, is your pride blinding you to the truth? Is your faith strong enough? Do you truly believe? That's what this choice is about, and it is up to you to decide, not only for us today but for all Quileute that follow us in years to come.

"As for me, I am going to do what our Walalo told us. I will be humble. I will have faith. I will choose Isabella Swan-Cullen."

There were mutterings that almost sounded like whines and a general roar reoccurred, but Harry had said his part and sat down. It was now up to the tribe to decide its destiny.

"Let us vote!" was shouted from the crowd.

Then Billy Black rolled up to the front of the room and said, "A vote, yes? Majority rules?" Billy had been the most vocal against having Bella as their Walalo. He was sure the pack would agree with him, but he hadn't noticed the furtive looks the warriors had been giving each other as Harry spoke. Did they truly wish to give up their ability? Being Warrior-wolves was so much a part of their identity, they weren't sure they could go back to just being men. They enjoyed their specialness and weren't so positive they should give it up.


"Holy Moses, this is sick," Emmett said as he surveyed the inside of the small jet as it sat in its hanger at SeaTac general aviation. Three bodies were neatly sat in their seats, looking for all the world as though they were awaiting take off. The pilot and copilot were even wearing their sunglasses. Evidently, the Volturi had pulled the jet into the waiting hanger and arranged the bodies before they escaped.

Turning to Jasper he said, "Why would they go to this sort of trouble?"

Shrugging, Jasper responded, "I suppose they figured it would buy them some time. What are we going to do about it?"

"Can we stage an accident? Fire this place up, maybe?"

"The FAA and Fire Marshal would be all over that. We'd have to make it look like someone didn't purposefully start the thing."

Emmett got a gleam in his eye and said, "There's something I have always wanted to try…"


Carlisle studied the sleeping Bree Tanner. The familiar hum and beep of medical equipment surrounded them, and the smell of antiseptic permeated the air. She should be awaking soon. He hoped she would believe their story.

"Carlisle, do you need anything else?" Peter asked. Peter was an old friend of the family and he was more than willing to help however he could. He and Jasper went way back, even long before Jasper and Alice had met. It hadn't taken more than twelve hours for Peter and his mate, Charlotte, to set up this "hospital." It was intended to appear as a small, private clinic. Charlotte was acting as a nurse, Peter as a doctor, and a few other former nomads had stepped up to act as other patients and other hospital personnel.

Just then, Bree moaned and stretched. As Carlisle had predicted, she was gaining consciousness. He had given her a mild sedative that she temporarily would continue to take once she was "discharged." Hopefully, that would keep her foggy for a while and give this whole episode the air of fantasy.

Nodding at Peter, he handed him Bree's chart and left before she completely awoke. It was better that he not be seen by her lest she recognize him.

"Oh, man! What a trip!" Bree said as she opened her eyes.

Peter chuckled. "Yes, I can imagine that it was. How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I just got off a bender! What happened to me?"

"I was told that you took ill during a flight from Europe. It was a virus of some sort, we think. You lost consciousness as the jet was landing at SeaTac. They had you immediately transported here to be treated."

"So, I'm in Seattle, now? What is this place?"

"You are at The Riley Biers Institute of Wellness. It's a small, private hospital and was closest to the airport."

"Small? Private? I certainly can't afford this." She started to sit up, but Peter forestalled her.

"Don't worry. Your expenses are being seen to by people who wish to remain anonymous. They were concerned when you fell ill."

"Must have been those spooky people on the jet. I guess they weren't so weird after all."

Smiling reassuringly, Peter asked, "I'd like to check your vitals, if I may."

"Sure. I feel a little hazy and weak, but otherwise fine."

Peter made a non-committal doctor noise. He listened to her heart through a stethoscope and then checked her pupils with an ophthalmoscope. "You're doing fine. After another good night's sleep, you should be ready to go home."

"How long have I been here?"

Peter looked down at the chart. "Three days."

"Wow! I really must have been out of it. Am I contagious?"

"Apparently, not. None of your companions have fallen ill. We believe it was a virus but are honestly not sure. Sometimes these things go away as mysteriously as they come. You seem to be completely on the mend, though. There seem to be no lingering aftereffects. It should not reoccur."

Bree sat back against her pillow. "Boy, I was having the weirdest dreams."

"You were?" Peter paused as he put notes on her chart.

"Oh, man. It was wild. I dreamed that I had been kidnapped by a bunch of emo-goths but I was rescued by John Travolta as he danced to disco music…then everyone started to sparkle like diamonds and I laughed so hard I passed out. It was truly the strangest dream I've ever had, and that was even if you consider the times when I was a young and stupid teen and did recreational pharmaceuticals."

She shook her head and sighed. "It was wild."

Peter nodded. "I'm not surprised. Your chart shows that you were given a morphine derivative before they transported you here, and sometimes opioids can cause very lucid and strange dreams."

"That would explain it, I guess," she said uncertainly.

Peter clicked the ball point pen he had been using shut, stuck it in his coat pocket and said, "I'm going to prescribe for you a good dinner. After you eat and have a sound night's sleep, I will see you first thing in the morning. What would you like to have?"

Bree thought a moment, then said, "Anything but Italian, please."

AN:

Please excuse the delay in getting this chapter to you. I had surgery the beginning of March and it took more out of me than I expected. Then, I needed to write an excerpt of The Mail Order Bride for a fandom charity compilation—which meant I had to get my head out of The Bear and vampires and the 21st century, and back about a hundred years to Mail Order Bride-ville and ranchers and cowboys. It was harder than I expected. But that's done and here I am back in the saddle as it were. (My surgery went fine and I'm better than new, or so my doctor says.) I'm thinking maybe one more chapter or two and then The Bear will be complete. Thanks for your patience. And thanks to my husband for pre-reading this.