Just a warning that updates won't always be this often. I'm on vacation at the moment but RL starts up again next week.

Deştepta

Pairing: E/B endgame, but wolfpack fans will like the beginning
Rating: Are you kidding?
Setting: College AU
All standard disclaimers apply

A hot, overcast twilight hangs over the Seattle waterfront as Edward stands uncertainly at the intersection of First and Pike, staring at the glowing red neon Pike Place Market sign. Busy people in shorts and tank tops or business suits, coming from a day at the aquarium or the office, brush past him in waves as the lights change. The air is warm against his skin, damp and oppressive. Twilight is usually his favorite time of day, but he does not like the rising humidity from a cloudy summer day. It reminds him too much of hotter summers in other places, playing baseball as a child in the scorching summer streets of Chicago. They're good memories, but tinged with bitter regret for things he will never have again. That being the case, he'd just as soon forget.

He's currently not speaking to three of his siblings after the debacle at the wolves' frat house. Alice refuses to tell him whether she knew it would happen, which of course means she did. Exactly how much she knew Edward doesn't know, and he's furious. Any meeting with the wolves is dangerous, as he attempted to get across to her, and withholding information might have got him killed. Sam phased, and was ready to rip his throat out. But Alice just tried to hug Edward when he argued with her, singing sweetly in her head so he could see nothing, and smiled one of those irritating little smiles of hers, the ones he's learned from long experience to be very wary of.

He tried to relay his story in a sensible way, laying out the logical reasons he did what he did, breaking through a locked door when he thought he heard the cry of a girl in distress. Despite his attempts, Emmett and Rosalie thought it was the funniest thing they'd heard in decades, and they haven't stopped laughing at him since.

"Dude, my man, listen. We try to be, you know, considerate and shit when you're within earshot. Keep the noise level, I don't know, PG-13 at most? But you've lived with us for a long time, and we're not perfect about it," Emmett said between very unmanly giggles. "How could you possibly not know the difference between—"

It was at that point that Jasper very calmly slapped Emmett upside the head, which led to an argument, which led to a brawl in the woods between Emmett and Jasper that soothed their feelings and released some tension, and—on the outside—that was the end of it. Jasper never once laughed at Edward, either in his head or out loud, and so he's currently the only sibling Edward isn't coolly ignoring.

Making up his mind, Edward finally trudges into the busy market. He's here to do a little research, he tells himself. To satisfy his curiosity, the analytical part of his mind which has been running on overdrive since that night. It would be one thing if he'd made a mistake and walked in on Sam with a human girl, or a wolf. He would have remained composed on the outside and been mortified on the inside, but quickly gotten over it. The problem isn't his mistake.

Oh, no. The problem is her.

That young woman was not human, he's certain of it. But he has no idea what she is, what else she could possibly be. Not wolf. Not vampire. What else is there? He asked Carlisle, and got the most unhelpful of Carlisle answers. "It's a large world, Edward," his father figure said kindly. "I've seen much of it, but not everything. The man who says he's seen it all has obviously learned nothing." Which was about as helpful as no answer at all.

Edward ducks inside the Market Spice storefront, a cascade of scents crashing down upon him. Bottles and jars of bulk teas and spices line the walls and display countertops, even crammed around the tiny corner where the cashier sits behind a pair of digital scales. Specialty teas and spices since 1911, the sign proclaims proudly. One corner of Edward's mouth twitches. He was ten years old when this store was established. Most of the other customers' grandparents weren't even born yet.

He inhales slowly, his acute senses filtering through the mass of odors, fragrances of all the spices, the teas, the people crammed into the little shop. He's only looking for one. He went to the nearest grocery store and came up empty—none of the bottled spices smelled right. None of them smelled like her. So he's here, at this specialty shop almost as old as he is, seeking at least one answer to this mystery.

Near the back of the shop, past the custom dry-rub blends, he finds it. He was in her presence for a scant few minutes, but he knows the spice of her scent immediately when the gentle, subtle aroma touches his nose again. Almost like cardamom, just as he first thought, but fruitier, and slightly peppery. He inhales slowly. Yes. Yes, that's exactly it. She smells like warm honey, the faintest trace of sweet woodsmoke, and this.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Edward opens his eyes, blinking once at the employee standing beside him. He hadn't realized he'd closed them. The man looks at the jar in his hands.

"Grains of paradise. A discerning choice. You must be a true gourmet." He smiles.

Is...that can't truly be the actual name of a spice, can it? Edward turns the glass jar. Of course it is. Of course it is. His mouth twists with an ironic little smirk.

"I don't cook at all, actually," he says, clearing his throat abruptly. He avoids the salesman's eyes.

"Oh?" the man presses. "An herbalist, perhaps?"

"No," Edward says sharply. He searches for a reasonable excuse to be in this shop, perusing these shelves, if he's no cook. "I'm a researcher," he says finally, opting for the vaguest answer possible.

The man's furrowed brow clears. "Ah! A historian, of course. Grains of paradise used to be a highly sought-after spice in Europe during the Middle Ages but has since fallen out of favor. Most Western cooks have never heard of it. It's common in West African cuisines, however, and in some folk medicines. You will, of course, be familiar with the humoral theory of ancient medicine? The four humors?"

"Of course," Edward says softly, more than happy to let the man drone so long as he doesn't ask any more questions.

"Grains of paradise were well-known for their hot, moist properties, in that worldview. People suffering from a constitution considered too cold and dry were encouraged to indulge." The salesman beams.

Edward abruptly changes his mind. He doesn't want to hear any more.

"How much?" the man asks. "I'll measure it out for you."

"I'll take the jar."

The man blinks slowly. "This is a rare spice in North America, and we import with some expense directly from West Africa. An entire bulk jar would be...a considerable sum," he says delicately.

"Doesn't matter." Edward is tired of this conversation. He just wants to be alone. He digs out his wallet and offers the man a credit card.

The salesman scurries to make the sale. Edward doesn't even glance at the price once the jar is weighed out; he just signs the sales receipt and tucks the jar under his arm, against the fine wool of his out-of-season coat. He's not done seeking answers, but he's done with this leg of the quest. The next, he suspects, will be more difficult.

"What's that smell?" Emmett demands loudly when Edward enters the house. "Where were you? The movers came while you were gone. We had them dump all your shit in your room, but we couldn't tell them any more than that."

Edward shrugs. He doesn't care right now, and he's still coolly ignoring both Emmett and Rosalie, and Alice for good measure.

"Will you quit with the emo bullshit already?" Emmett rolls his head back on his beefy neck. "Christ, it's like living with an actual teenager sometimes. You did something funny. We laughed. Get over yourself already."

Edward ignores him, heading up the stairs to his room.

"You can't hide forever!" Emmett's voice follows his retreating footsteps. "Because forever's a really long time in this family, bro!"

Edward closes the door behind himself.

Esme fell in love with this house as soon as she saw it, boxy and modern and sleek, set on several acres of private woodland that abuts a large swath of Forest Service property. Pacific Grove University sits in a small college town near the outskirts of Seattle and they all feel lucky to have so much privacy—and room for hunting—considering how close they are to suburban sprawl. Also that there's no requirement to live on campus. Edward did that once and he will never, never do it again. He lives reasonably happily with his family most of the time, with a minimum of upsets, but living in a dormitory with so many humans was a recipe for disaster. The thoughts of the boys around him grated at him all night and all day, wearing him down. It wouldn't have been so bad if they worried about things like their grades and maybe the sports they played, but no. It was sex, sex, nonstop sex. Edward caved after two weeks, leaving not only the dorm but the school, since they would not allow freshmen to live off-campus. It's the only time he's ever quit anything, and he makes sure not to put himself in the same position again.

He folds himself onto his black leather chaise longue, finding a corner just big enough to fit his seat bones, the rest of the thing piled with boxes. Ignoring the chaos of his room, he sets down his new, very expensive, spice jar and pulls his phone from his pocket. He really doesn't want to make this phone call, but searching the internet for information on this girl proved useless. He has no hard facts to reference, nothing to go on. He knows she's not human, but he has no scientific proof and therefore no lead to what she is.

Except one.

The way she made him feel.

This is the part he revealed to no one, not even Carlisle. He can't prevent Alice from seeing whatever she sees, but he can keep his mouth shut and in this case he has. No one but Edward knows what his brief interaction with that girl did to him. No other girl's ever made him feel like...that.

First it was her scent, hidden here and there throughout the frat house, leading him like a trail of breadcrumbs, drips of honey, a predator luring prey. That scent was so alluring, so sweet, that he assumed at first he'd found another vampire, an unknown female—a hunter who'd found easy pickings in a frat house. But his rational mind quickly cast aside this notion. The wolves are too canny and would never let a human-hunting vampire through their door, and she smelled nothing like his kind, anyway. It was only that dangerous edge to the sweetness that put him on alert.

When he heard her cry out, nothing but the desire to save her existed in his mind. Then he broke through the flimsy little lock on the doorknob and got a good look inside the office. Yes, he was mortified. Embarrassed beyond belief not only at what he walked in on but at his own naive mistake. As Emmett said, he's lived with three passionate couples for decades. He shouldn't have been so stupid, but Emmett's right that they...tone things down when they know he can hear. And that girl's cry was so...so urgent. So compelling. It did something to him, something he doesn't want to admit even to himself.

So did the sight of her wrapped around one of the wolves, sandwiched between two of them, bare and gleaming, head thrown back, caught in the throes of something he himself has never experienced. He was embarrassed both for himself and for her at the shameful sight, and angry at his own mistake. He was disgusted by the nearly-naked wolves. But he was also a hundred other things when he saw that sweet skin, the curve of her spine arched so beautifully, her full mouth fallen ever so slightly open as she panted. He was so incredibly uncomfortable. And he also wanted her. Wanted her more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. For a long moment, a battle raged within himself. A large part of him was ready to tear the wolves off of her and snatch her away, run with her until they found a place Sam and his pack could never find them. The urge had nothing to do with his misinterpretation of her cries and everything to do with the sudden tightness in his jeans, the pulsing at his temples and wrists that almost felt like blood.

He's not an idiot. He's been hard before, and he's been to medical school. He knows exactly what causes it, far better than any of the boys in that frat house. He's just never found anyone he wanted to share that intimacy with, so abstinence never felt like a hardship or even a choice. It's just his life. He was raised in a time when sexual pleasure was reserved for the marriage bed, and that's a boundary he's never felt the desire to cross.

Until that night. And part of him very much wants to hate her for it. He doesn't want to feel this way about a stranger. He's not sure he wants to feel this way at all. He's grown used to being alone; it's familiar. And she's not the kind of girl he wants, anyway. He could never even consider attempting a relationship with a girl like...that. She's not his type, and anyway, Sam made it very clear that she belongs to his pack. The pack want Edward and his family as far away from them as possible. That means the girl is out of his reach, even if he wanted her. Which he doesn't. He swears he doesn't.

So why is he sitting here with a very expensive jar of spices, phone in hand?

Because, as he discovered long ago, he may be just the tiniest bit masochistic. Also because he can't stand this mystery going unsolved, and Alice refuses to show him what she knows.

That's the real reason, he decides to tell himself. He just needs an answer, and then he'll have closure. It's just his analytical mind requiring the solution to an equation that doesn't add up.

With that decided, he finds the contact he wants and hits send.

"Buenos dias, primo," Eleazar greets him on the third ring. "How are you all liking the lower states? Missing moose and grizzly bears yet?"

"Cousin," Edward responds quietly. He opens his mind, listening intently. No one in the house is actively listening in on his conversation at the moment. Emmett is downstairs complaining to Rosalie about the smell of the spice Edward brought home. She's ignoring him as she paints her toenails. How Emmett can smell a little spice over the reek of that toxic polish, Edward can't even guess. Esme and Carlisle are out, likely shopping for new furnishings for the living areas of the house. Jasper and Alice are in their room a floor below Edward's, doing things that quickly make him duck out of their thoughts. "We have both grizzlies and moose here," he tells Eleazar. "Just not in the quantities you do."

"Tell Emmett to be careful he doesn't drain any animal with a research tag," their Denali cousin jokes. "He'll start another chupacabra rumor, and then you'll have those cryptozoologist nuts hounding your every hunt." He laughs.

A flicker of a smile touches Edward's mouth despite his sour mood. "That was why we had to leave Louisiana, if you recall. He got careless and suddenly the town was buzzing with rumors about a swamp monster."

"Oh, I remember! I don't think he'll ever live that one down." Static crackles along the line. "Sorry. Reception here is better than it was even a few years ago, but it's still not great."

"I know. I had a question for you, but I'm not sure how to frame it." Edward rubs the back of his neck as he searches for a way to ask what he wants that doesn't give too much away.

"Of course, of course. Always happy to help family. What do you need?"

"I ran across someone the other day." He chooses each word with care, having no wish to relate the entire mortifying story to yet more people. "It was a...very brief encounter. I don't know that I'll ever see her again. But she wasn't human, Eleazar. I know it."

"What was she?" the man asks, his tone calm. "One of us, a nomad? Tanya says she's heard through the grapevine that there's been some activity in your area. Enough that local law enforcement has taken note."

"No," Edward says, though this is good information to have. He files it away in his mind to tell Carlisle and Esme later. If there are nomads in the area, they'll want to be on alert. "Not vampire. Not human. She was with the pack of Quileute wolves, but she wasn't one of them, either."

Eleazar hums, encouraging Edward to continue.

Edward isn't sure what else to say. "I didn't know there was anything else. Do you? You've been around far longer than me, and I wondered if your gift could tell you anything. Have you met, or even sensed, any other...beings...in this world?"

Eleazar hums again, but this time the sound is contemplative. "What does Carlisle say? He's older than I."

"He believes it's possible, but he has no firsthand knowledge."

"Nor do I, I'm sorry to tell you." Eleazar clears his throat. "I'm not doubting you, Edward. Please don't think that. But what specifically made you believe she was not human?"

"Her scent," Edward says, though he's even more careful with his words now. "Everything about her, but that most of all. She's not one of us; she has a heartbeat. But trust me, she's not human, either."

"But how do you know?" Eleazar presses. "What specifically? You've been to medical school. Give me her attributes. List them as if they were symptoms, and perhaps that will lead you to the correct diagnosis."

"I can't." Edward winds his free hand into his hair and tugs hard. "I can't, because I just don't know. She smells like smoke and honey and spices, which sounds edible, but she doesn't smell like food. Not like a human. I can't explain it. Her skin has this...this glow. And she's so warm, warmer than a human, warmer even than a wolf. Like there's a fire inside her or something. It's...inviting." Tantalizing is the correct word, actually, but Edward refuses to say so. He's already said too much.

"Warm? Did you touch her?"

"No. I didn't have to. It hovers around her." Edward knows he isn't explaining this well, but he doubts even Carlisle could do any better. She defies rational analysis.

"I admit I'm at a loss, Edward. I can only offer conjecture. What you describe sounds alluring—a siren, perhaps?"

"On dry land?"

"Mm. Maybe not. Though we're living proof that legends are often horribly inaccurate."

"Not exactly living proof," Edward corrects, his voice dry as a desert.

"We may have to agree to disagree on that point." Eleazar chuckles. "My other immediate guess would be a succubus."

"I thought Tanya and the girls were behind those legends?"

"Some, I've been told," Eleazar acknowledges. "You'd have to ask them for clarification. Probably you should. But if I remember correctly, nearly all cultures contain legends of sexual demons of one sort or another, going much further back than any member of this coven has been around."

Edward considers both of Eleazar's hypotheses. Neither seems to fit. But he also has no better answer.

"Shall I tell Tanya to expect a call from you?"

"Maybe," Edward says, not wanting to give a firm answer. He's really not sure yet. "I think I may do some more digging on my own."

"Let me know what you find. Carmen and I would be very interested to know if you prove another legend to be true."

"I will," Edward promises, and ends the call. He sits for a long time in the darkness, staring at nothing, slowly inhaling the scent of the grains of paradise in their jar. It's not quite right, only one ingredient of the complex being that she is, but the spicy-sweet savor somehow soothes him anyway. He listens with half an ear as Carlisle and Esme arrive home and Jasper and Alice go downstairs to help arrange furniture. Because he's still not speaking to most of his siblings, he remains upstairs.

Finally he wakes his phone once more with the flick of a fingertip. Settling back against the jutting edges of cardboard boxes, he begins his research again.

The night has well advanced toward morning when he moves again, finally stretching and rising to his feet. His head feels too full, and he has no clearer answer than he did when he started. He's dug through encyclopedia listings about every mythological female he could find—more kinds of nymphs than he ever knew or cared to know existed. There are apparently Greek nymphs for practically every natural feature, including every body of water. No one seems to agree on whether sirens are beautiful or ugly, part bird or part fish or neither, able to live on land or not. The only point on which there's any agreement at all is that they lure sailors to their deaths. Edward wouldn't lose any sleep if Sam were lured to his death, to be honest, but the wolves knew and claimed her, which to him means she's not preying on them, whatever she is.

But she is a predator. Like calls to like, and he could see it in her eyes, sense it in her scent. She may not be preying on the wolves, but she's dangerous even so. He knows it.

The legends are even less clear about succubi. Again, some claim they are beautiful, others ugly. Some say they haunt men in dreams, others that they are real flesh-and-blood demons. Some say they steal souls, others that they kill the men they seduce. Those, he suspects, were likely influenced by his Denali cousins' actions once upon a time. Some legends say they steal men's seed in order to birth demon children, something quite clearly not shaped by Tanya and her sisters. And again, none of it truly seems to fit. No legends speak of the unnatural but beautiful warmth the strange girl emits—in fact, legends of succibi often claim they're cold inside. And there's no mention of that scent, so tantalizing and sweet. No solid detail he can pin down about her exists anywhere in these legends.

He never before believed vampires could get headaches, but tonight he knows they can. He has one now.

Fed up and unable to sit still any longer, Edward opens one of the sliding panels in his glass wall and jumps. The fall from the third story is negligible to him and he lands soft as water, already speeding away from the house. He doesn't care where he goes, he just can't bear another moment staring at the screen which provides no answers.

He runs for a long time—through the woodland surrounding his new house and the Forest Service property beyond. Over the deserted interstate, pushing east, into sparsely inhabited rural fields and more forest, skirting the edges of the denser populated suburbs without entering them. He's not hunting, not searching for prey. He craves a different kind of release, a fulfillment he cannot name and therefore cannot sate.

He's somehow unsurprised when, after circling back west and angling north, he ends up in the yard of the lambda mu alpha frat house just before dawn.

The house is silent, the wolves asleep within. He can smell their wolfy reek through the open windows of the old mansion, can hear a few snores and even the muddled flashes of a dream or two.

And yes, underneath the stink of dog, he can smell her. She's still here, sleeping—if she sleeps—somewhere in that house. The answers he wants are so close, and yet so far. He can't enter that building without Sam's permission, and what would he even do if he could? Watch her sleep? He's not that much of a creep.

Yet.

Maybe.

And anyway, he can't go in.

It's a horrible violation of privacy, but he opens his mind to the sleeping wolves anyway, dreading what he'll find and yet unable to stop himself. Her mind is still closed to him, not a trace of it to be found, though he can smell her in there very clearly. His gift is not so encumbered with the wolves, and he listens to their sleeping minds with heavy guilt...but not heavy enough to stop. Most do not dream, or dream nonsense. One dreams of running in his wolf form under a full moon. It's fitting, and while Edward cannot quite sense emotion when he listens to thoughts, the overall impression he gets from this dream is peaceful.

The dream of the wolf down the hall shatters that peace. It's vividly clear, likely a memory, as many dreams begin. And it's of her. She's stretched across the long dining table in the frat house, a wolf holding each wrist, pinning them to the wooden surface. Bent at the waist and leaning over, the round curves of her buttocks present a very clear target for a doubled-over belt, which cracks down against her sweet skin with bruising force. She cries out, trembling at the blow. Edward sucks in a breath of air he does not need, the image seared into his brain. He can't dislodge himself, can't look away as her flesh shudders at the impact, flashing white for a brief instant and then turning quickly red as blood and heat rush to the area. She trembles, that lush, creamy skin slick with sweat, and a low cry he cannot claim to mistake any longer leaves her lips. The belt comes down again. Her head thrashes and turns, and those big brown eyes blink hazily in his direction. There's pain in the set of her full mouth but nothing but need and overwhelming lust in her deep liquid gaze.

"This is what happens to bad girls who wander," Sam's voice says sternly, but there's a mocking edge to it that tells Edward, no matter how awful the sight before him, it's all...play? For fun? He doesn't understand. He truly doesn't understand. Oh, he knows these things exist. He'd be an oblivious imbecile if he didn't. But he's never cared to know more than that, and he's certainly never witnessed anything of this magnitude.

Despite the playful edge to Sam's voice, the hand holding the belt whips it against the girl's buttocks with vicious force. Edward's own body jerks in unconscious sympathy as the crack of leather on skin rings out. Sam's voice says he's playing, his strike says he's not. The girl's body shudders and trembles with pain, but her shout is pure sex, her eyes melting with desire.

And to Edward's shock and distress, he finds himself hard and throbbing in the wolves' back yard as he listens vicariously to a dream, the girl herself asleep somewhere inside.

Edward does not, as a rule, approve of self-abuse. But, as if in a dream, he watches as his hand cups the tented fabric at the fly of his jeans. And it feels...good, the pressure of his hand, the movement as his fingers twitch involuntarily. He grips slightly harder. She's in there right now, maybe just a single wall separating them. Is she asleep, like the wolves? Or awake and prowling the night, like him? How long ago was the memory that triggered this wolf's dream? Was it just the other night, the night of the party? If so, she must still be in pain. Sam beat her so hard, too hard for play, though Edward has never been able to fathom how striking someone could be considered fun in the first place, no matter how light. He's learning quickly, the throbbing in his groin telling him how wrong he was. But he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand at all.

Is she with him now—with Sam? Or with the dreamer? Curled up with a man, sharing his bed? Sharing that delicious body heat she spills like tendrils of flame?

Hot and moist, the man at the spice shop said. Good for people with a cold constitution. Edward looks at his ice-white hand as the first sliver of dawn paints the eastern horizon hazily gray, and his mouth twists with a frozen, mocking sneer. He tears his grip away from his groin. No. No, this isn't him. He's not...like that. It doesn't matter where she sleeps, because she doesn't mean anything to him. Whatever she is, he won't let her affect him like this. He's better than that. Siren or succubus or nymph or whatever, it doesn't matter. He knows who he is, and that's what's important. He straightens his shoulders and clears his throat softly. He won't return to this house. Not ever. Carlisle can go himself next time, or send Rose if he's really feeling daring. Edward is done. He leaves the wolves' property at a run, and does not look back.

A/N: I said we'd be vaguely following the events in Twilight, and we are—sort of. This time Edward's the one researching and needling others for information, not Bella. Next up: biology class!

Thank you so much to all my readers and reviewers!