xvi.

show me that dreamer i love / let me see the fire in your eyes
keane, "i'm not leaving"

(Julie)

She couldn't stop crying as the full weight of missing Lee crashed into her, of feeling so alone this past week whilst her life had changed so drastically around her without him to share it with. And now he was here, he knew — he knew, and he didn't care. Finally he was here.

Lee pulled back, just enough that she could see the concern etched into his face as he looked down at her. But at least he looked better — tired and worn, just as she knew she did, too, but better; his skin was now peppered with splotches of sickly green marks instead of the dark purple she'd last seen, his eyes less swollen. Healing, finally.

He brushed the short strands of her hair back from her forehead, a frown creasing his own as whatever he wanted to say couldn't quite make it past his lips.

She didn't give him the chance. She closed the distance between them, burying her face into his chest again, and it was a full minute before she was the first who found the strength to speak. Her throat burned as she gulped and fought to come back to her senses, feeling like a dam had been cracked open inside of her. "I hate it. I hate this."

Before she could say more, he was lifting her up and carrying her with complete ease to the same chair he had claimed for himself all those months ago. It seemed pathetic, now that she'd thought of it, but she'd not wanted to sleep anywhere else — although there was something to be said in that she was insanely more comfortable as he sat upon it and she curled up awkwardly on his lap. It was as if he couldn't feel her weight at all. Like she hadn't just spurted four inches and gained ten pounds of pure muscle.

They were silent for a long, long time. She was inherently grateful that he didn't try and promise everything would be alright or try and convince her nothing was as bad as it seemed. He didn't mock or patronise or judge her. He simply held her until the worst of it passed.

Julie exhaled, long and slow, melting into his sure touch. "How did you figure it out?"

He told her about the book, about sitting on the couch with Sarah who had laughed about the legends. He'd stolen his mom's journal later that night, had shut himself away in his bedroom and he'd read every single page with Julie's words ringing through his head. And he'd known, then, that his mom's crazy superstitions were not so crazy after all.

But there was a lot he didn't understand still.

"You said that . . . Sam . . ." The name was ripped out of him, and his fingers pressed against Julie's bared hip from the effort it took. But, she thought, not because he was still so cut up about Sam, but because he was mad at her. "You said that she was the reason you couldn't say anything."

Julie knew they were both remembering her struggle in his bedroom. He must have thought that she was choking.

"Orders," she mumbled against his neck, thoroughly exhausted. It was a relief that she could talk without that happening now, even if Lee might have not liked what she had to say. "She's the Alpha. If she wants us to do something — or not do something — then we don't really have a choice. What she says goes."

"Well that's bullshit," he spat angrily, his automatic reaction whenever Sam was the topic of conversation. Sounds like that flew from him so easily at the mention of her. "Who let her be in charge?"

"First come first served, I guess," Julie replied, aware of the evasiveness in her tone. She hoped that there hadn't been anything about bloodlines in the book — a book Bonnie carried with her too, every word of it identical. All the Elders had one: Bonnie, Mrs. Clearwater, Mrs. Ateara . . . Julie would probably steal if herself and read i sometime soon, but she'd been so wrapped up in refusing her mom's insistence to take more of an interest in her birthright . . .

Lee huffed. His arms were still tight around her, and her body burned against him. They had never been so close, so wrapped around one another.

"Could you do it?" he asked, because of course it didn't matter if things like that were in the book; Lee still understood. He knew. He always did. "Be in charge. I mean, Bonnie's the Chief. Surely that means something, you being her kid."

Julie nodded bleakly, but said nothing.

"You don't want to."

"This is going to be my whole life," she mumbled after a long pause, her voice sounding hollow. "It's already hard not to refuse her. I can, if I really want. I have, because she's not supposed to be in charge. But if I take over from her then I'll have nothing else left." His hold on her became impossibly tighter at that. "I don't want to be Alpha. I don't want any of this."

"And now she's mad at you. Because you don't."

"They all want me to take it. I should have taken it when I . . . when it happened. I think they think I'm just being purposefully difficult."

"You? Difficult?"

"Shut up," she muttered petulantly.

Leland chuckled, the movement jostling her against his chest. But Julie didn't care, instead feeling a small smile breaking out. That he could still laugh, that he wasn't repulsed by her and still wanted to be her friend, was enough to keep that smile on her face as they lapsed into comfortable silence again.

She listened to his breathing, his heart, the sounds outside of the garage around them, her keen ears picking up on even her mother opening and closing the refrigerator inside of the house. She had gotten used to it — the hearing — but it was still an effort to drown out the background noise. Emma still had trouble with it. There was so much going on, all the time, so much more than the naked eye could see. It was even worse when there were four other voices inside of her head.

Lee tipped his head back, sighing deeply. "This is so fucked up," he said eventually, his voice almost as weary and defeated as she felt. Exhaustion coated her very bones. It wasn't long before she had to run again, still on double patrols. Not that anything ever happened.

If double patrols had been her punishment for trying to bring Lee into the secret, Julie had no idea what was in store for her now that he did know. It wouldn't matter that he had figured it out himself with the rubbish clues, the vaguest hints she had been able to leave him with. It would still be her fault. And yet . . . whatever Sam would throw at her, Julie would take it. Gladly. No matter the price for having Lee back, she would pay it.

"I believe it," he said then, "I'm just not sure I want to. It's so . . . so . . ."

"Unbelievable," Julie finished for him. "I know."

He nodded. "That book, it said that it only happens when, you know . . . vampires—" he scoffed "—are near. Cold Ones."

The question was evident. Who?

"They're called the Cullens. The leader, it—"

"Wait," Lee blurted, sudden realisation dawning on him. Jules tried not to squirm uncomfortably, tried to keep herself in place within his arms. "Charlie's kid — he was going out with one of them. I remember my mom saying. You said it, once."

She felt tears pricking at her eyes once more. "I know."

There was a dead silence, and then, "They killed Beau?" he asked incredulously, voice pitching.

"No. They . . . Beau — he was . . ." Julie blinked her tears away, fighting the rising sickness which had plagued her since she'd found out. And when Lee's hands slipped slightly — perhaps whilst he had another revelation — Julie eased herself out of his grip and got to her feet. She couldn't bear it any longer, being so close, feeling his . . . indignance about it all, knowing that it was all on her behalf. Lee might have been closer in age with Beau than he was with her, but he'd not known him. He'd never spent any significant time with him like she had when they were kids. Hell, he hadn't even gone to the funeral.

"He was what, Julie."

She looked at the Rabbit. "Not was. Is. He's one of them, Lee."

Lee sputtered behind her. "They — they made —"

"No," she said again. "At least, they said they didn't. Not technically, I guess." The whole agreement her mom had made was based on a fucking technicality. "It was another one who did it."

Lee was on his feet now, too, his hand on her shoulder and pulling her back. His voice continued rising with every word. "They said?"

Jules closed her eyes just so that she didn't have to look at him, concentrating on her breathing. She had a great deal more control than her sisters, thanks to Jade putting her through her paces night after night, though maintaining it was a constant thing.

"After the funeral," she began quietly, "the same day that I locked myself in here and . . . well, you know. Sam sought them out. She only had Jade and Paula with her then, and they were outnumbered. They wanted to fight, but they couldn't. They would have lost. Badly."

Lee scoffed again, as if to say, So what, but it lacked the same heat. Because despite himself, Julie knew that he still cared. He hated Sam, hated Paula, but he wasn't evil enough to wish them both dead. Not like she was, wishing the same thing on Beau.

"So they tried to drive them out," Julie continued, remembering what had happened as if she had been there herself. She'd relived the memory enough. "The Council — my mom, she decided it after she saw them at the funeral. Except the bloodsuckers . . . They had this story, so she went to meet them with the pack. And she saw him. Beau. She saw Beau and . . . she let them off." The words were a growl.

It faded by the time Lee spoke again. "Please don't tell me they're still here."

"They said they'd be gone after a year."

Lee kicked the garden chair. It topped over noisily on its rusted side as he began stalking the length of the garage, back and forth and over again, his strides long. His hulking frame seemed to overshadow the whole space entirely, making even her clutter of tools and oil cans seem small. It seemed as if he'd done some growing of his own, filling out in all the right places.

Not that he hadn't been worth looking at before.

"Have you seen him?"

"No," she said, surprising herself at even how calm she had turned. Lee's anger had had a strange effect on her, like he was mad enough for the both of them and she was the one who had to keep her head to stop him from doing something stupid. "I'd probably kill him."

"Good."

"It'd break the treaty."

"They broke it first," he argued, still pacing wildly. "I can't believe they . . . And you—" His voice cracked. "You thought he was dead. You thought that you — and your mom let you . . ."

Suddenly, Jules understood his anger. It warmed her slightly in spite of herself, knowing where exactly his rage had been born from. And in a strange, sick way, it pleased her. They were the same, thought the same. It was as if nobody else cared about the finer details, but he did.

"I know," she said. She picked up the chair from the floor and straightened it out. "Sit down, Lee."

He whirled round, although something about him relented after he faced her. Still, it was with some reluctance that he sat, elbows propped against his thighs as he bent his head and tugged at his hair.

Julie crouched in front of him, crossing her arms over his knees. "Your temper's almost as bad as mine," she joked weakly. "I thought you were going to start sprouting fur for a second there."

"I wish I could," he muttered. "I want to. What they've done to you —"

"No, you don't," she said quietly, wrapping her fingers around his wrists and coaxing them out of his hair. "You'd have to be inside of Sam's head, then."

Lee stilled. "What do you mean?"

"I think that book of your mom's left a lot out."

"It just had the stories. Histories, I guess. What happened and why it happened. Not . . . What do you mean," he said again, "inside her head?"

Julie sat back and rallied the last of her strength. She'd be so, so drained when she had to phase again, inhuman strength and resilience be damned . . . but she could do this.

"I don't have a lot of time. I have patrol—"

"Patrol?"

Julie felt the side of her lip twitch in slight amusement. "If you interrupt—"

"I won't."

She raised an eyebrow, and colour tinted Lee's cheeks. He dutifully closed his mouth, straightened his back to attention upon the chair, and mimed zipping his lips closed.

It was an effort not to laugh, and she squashed the urge with a deep breath. She would have suggested that they walk down to the beach, because she was bound to be late for her next double shift and the thought of someone — Sam — coming to look for her here, the one safe place she had . . . But wherever she told Lee everything he wanted, needed to know, no place would make it easier to hear.

She started small. She told him about the pack. How Sam had been the first, followed by Jade and Paula and Emma. And to his credit, Lee kept his silence throughout. Julie tried to skip over Sam's story as much as she could; she couldn't bring herself to tell that part of the story. Not yet. Not ever.

She told him about what the pack could do, how they'd been thrown together and now relied upon each other. How she relied on Paula, even though she still hated the bitch for what she'd done. She told him about the bloodsuckers and how she wanted to tear them limb from limb but was bound by the treaty to leave untouched. How their very presence had created the largest pack the tribe had seen for centuries, that they'd probably be the biggest pack in history once Quil joined them — along with whoever else might be affected. Whoever else had the right gene.

"Sarah," he said twenty minutes later, his voice hoarse.

"Yes. But she's young," Julie tried to tell him convincingly. "Well, younger. Emma and I are the youngest, but Sam, Jade, Paula — they're your age. Older, even."

"Will she . . . ?"

"No," she told him firmly. She believed that much. Hoped for that much. "And by the time she's old enough, they'll have left."

Lee's shoulders dropped in what Julie knew was relief, and he nodded. "And Quil?"

"Soon." Julie fidgeted on the floor. "Sam said yesterday that she can feel it, now, like she felt it before each one of us joined the pack. I've been . . . well, not avoiding her, because Sam's had me running flat out ever since I tried to tell you. But I haven't seen her."

"And she has no idea what's about to happen to her."

Julie couldn't give him an answer. It was hard enough being ordered to keep him in the dark, but Quil — who deserved to know more than anyone else, who probably felt as if she had been left behind — was surely going to hate them all for it. Because Julie did. She hated them all for prizing the secret above their daughters and their friends.

She leaned against Lee's legs, head tipping against his knees.

"Can't you tell her?"

"No. And you can't, either. What if she gets mad and she phases? What if she's too close to you and you get hurt?"

"Jules—"

"No, Lee." She pulled back to look up at him staring down at her. He had the Look on his face — the one that said nobody and nothing could stop him, that if he wanted to tell Quil then he was going to do just that. And Julie had only one thing in her arsenal to stop him.

"That's how Elliott got hurt. Sam got too close, too angry, and . . . She hurt him, Lee. She didn't mean to, but that — that's what happens. What can happen."

Lee blanched. "It wasn't a bear."

"No," she said, half expecting him to pull away from her, to push his chair back and give her a wide berth. "It wasn't a bear."

Julie got to her feet before she could be struck with the pain of him moving away first. Making the decision for him. She was the one who paced along the garage floor now, less furiously than Lee had but suddenly restless all the same, agitated and worried. Rejection from Lee had been what she'd been scared of all along.

But there were more frightening things, she knew — like the way Lee had fallen silent, the way he averted his eyes and absently picked at one of his nails.

"They're getting married," Lee said eventually, the words falling flat. Julie wasn't surprised that the news had spread across the reservation by now and he'd heard. She only wished that she had been with him when he had. "Aren't they?"

Such dangerous territory they were in. "Yes."

"She did that and he still asked her."

Julie didn't think it would help by telling Lee that it had actually been Sam who had asked Elliott. She didn't think it would help telling him anything — not about Sam and Elliott, not about the real reasons why Sam had committed to a lifetime of making Elliott happy despite the guilt that would never leave her.

Still, she couldn't help but ask, "Does it still hurt you?"

Lee looked up and Julie halted her pacing. He seemed to consider his answer for a moment, struggling with something. Then he shrugged. "Sometimes, I guess." He sighed. "When do you have to leave?"

"Do you want me to?"

Despite the hurt which was working its way in, Julie could have sworn her knees wobbled slightly in her relief that he'd changed the conversation. Explaining imprints, lifelong commitments and things like fate and destiny . . . She still couldn't bring herself to tell him that part. Maybe she would never be able to, because hurting him like that, breaking him like that was something she could not do.

"Not really," Lee admitted. "Sorry, I didn't mean it that way. All of this, it's just . . ."

"A lot to take in?"

"Something like that, kid."

Julie smiled. She would never admit it to him, but she kind of liked it when he called her that. Too much. More than she should. It never sounded patronising coming from him, not like when Mrs. Ateara called her child. It sounded like . . . an endearment, almost. Like when honey slipped from her own mouth.

He didn't call Emma or Quil kid.

But she tried her damnedest not to think about things like that, because her liking it as something of her own and wanting him to say it more (to her, only to her) was exactly the kind of trouble Lee didn't want. Them, being here together, how close they had been . . . it was nothing to him. Just comfort between friends, between family. And — well, she knew how he felt about the age thing.

Not that it mattered to her. What were three or four measly years, after all? There had been three years between her mother and father, five between Uncle Caleb and Aunt Erin.

They'd never spoken about it beyond that conversation after Paula had punched him. Of course, it had been about their friendship, never anything more. Still, it had hurt Julie to suggest there wasn't anything more between them. To lie. At least on her part, about how she really felt.

And Lee was none the wiser. About everything. He seemed wholly unaware of every time he brushed her hair back, draped his reassuring arm over her shoulders, held her hand — because that was how he spoke, especially when words failed him. He communicated with expressions, movement; he explained things by showing, not telling. He showed his affection by hugging and his contempt by hitting or kicking whatever was in sight.

He had absolutely no idea what it did to her.

Until she had the courage to tell him, he never would.

Julie stood. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

She waved a hand. "I'm alright. I'm glad that you know. It's been . . . Well, this week has really sucked, y'know?" He nodded. "But I really do think it's better if I go now. I'm pretty sure I'm late, anyway, and I don't want them to come looking for me here.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He pulled a face. "Especially if it's Paula."

"Don't worry. I've been giving her hell. Elliott, too." Jules held out her hand and helped pull him to his feet, even though he didn't need the help. Still, he took her fingers and hoisted himself up. "You really did a number on his face, by the way." She'd been dying to tell him that. "Almost as bad as Paula did on yours."

He snorted, looking smug, and squeezed her hand gently. "If I hurt him as much as my nose hurt then I'm not sorry."

"You wouldn't be sorry either way," Julie laughed, opening the garage door. Sunlight poured in.

She carried Lee's answering grin away with her.