CHAPTER SEVEN: CONSCIOUS
Name: Emily Uley
Age: 27
Location: Forks, Washington
Relevance: Voluntary Character Witness
Last Official Statement: …
There must be some kind of mistake. My sister would never, ever do something like that. She's simply not capable of it. And to Embry of all people? No. He's like a brother to her, to all of us.
I've heard the statements made, and I know what Brady said. I also know that he's grieving. God only knows what I would do if someone ever hurt Sam. But my sister is too loyal and protective to harm an innocent soul, least of all someone she considers a dear friend. Whatever she's got going on with Salvator, she's not bloodthirsty or ruthless enough to want Embry dead. At least, the Leah I knew wouldn't have been capable of it.
But then again, she has changed. A lot of things have changed since the last time I saw her. We're not as close as we used to be, a good thing I think –- you can't imagine what it was like having to grow up with her. Living in her immaculate swanlike shadow. I was the ugly duckling, you know? Constantly trying to hold up against the perfect Leah Clearwater Standard…. And always failing in comparison.
It didn't get any better after Sam and I got together. I thought it would, at first. I was naïve enough to think that for once something was working in my favour. That true, magical love existed. That for once, I was someone's first choice. Not Sam's, no of course not, but Fate's nonetheless.
In the end, she didn't even let me have that.
I'm never going to forgive her for what she did.
Not that it matters now. I won't let aunt Sue suffer anymore, Mr Michaelson. She has very little time left and she deserves some peace with her last fragile breath. And that's why I'm here. She asked me to make this statement, and I agreed because I do think Leah is innocent of this crime, though I don't think she's innocent of much else.
My cousin did not kill Embry Call; I am certain of it. But whoever did, them she will kill. Leah is headstrong, and dangerous and right now, someone is a threat to her entire family. Someone has hurt them. So she will not stop, not rest, until they are dead justice is served. And if what you claim is true and she's made nice with a dangerous ex CIA officer, then I can promise you that Embry's murderers don't have much time left at all.
.
(Leah)
.
"Leah."
"No."
Damon snatches a frustrated breath, running his fingers carelessly through his dark hair as he glares in your direction. "It's been days. You need to eat something." He says.
He doesn't give you a chance to refuse him, instead he drops a small white box of cold, stale Chinese food into your lap.
With a sigh you pound your head hard against the stiff, wooden cart packed tightly behind your body. It's dusty in here, the smell of old dirt and rot clings to every inch of the small yellow freight train travelling in the early hours of the morning, but you barely notice the stench with the scenes of Embry and Colin's wrecked, bloodied bodies vying for attention in your throbbing head.
"I'm not very hungry." You already know he's going to argue, and so you add. "I am currently operating at full strength, Raven. Let that set your hitman's mind at ease."
You don't need to spy him out to know that your attempts at lightness have not worked. Damon's face remains expressionless (he hardly ever wears his emotions openly) but your instincts are sharp enough since your phase that you can make out the subtle shifts in his scent that mark his different emotions.
He is worried about you.
How worried? You're not quite sure.
"Leah, it's been days, and you've been developing a fever since your phase. Your first in four years. Nothing in the world would please me more that if you ate something." You open your eyes slightly, enough to catch his wicked, playful smile. "Pretty please?" he says innocently, cupping his hands together in petition.
Worried enough to manipulate the Imprint, apparently.
"You're an asshole." You retort in an effort to tease, but grief and exhaustion taint your every word, and you sound glum and miserable instead.
"You've mispronounced Godly, Eternal Stud." Damon smirks, seemingly having not noticed your sorrow, and you could kiss him, really, for knowing that a soft, compassionate touch is not what you need right now.
He crouches beside you, managing to maintain his balance despite the bumpy, grueling course of the train in the dark and the mountainous cargo caught in a violent, frenzied dance. "You're wrong though. You are not currently operating at full capacity. You're overwhelmed, fatigued and upset. And since I've never had to track down and murder a supernatural creature bent on killing my mate before, I'm going to need your help to figure out how they found us."
"I've already told you Damon, I don't know. I was careful, very careful - Shapeshifters are very good at hiding. I made sure I wasn't followed."
"All that tells me is that you were betrayed by someone who knew where you were hiding then." His eyes grow dark, unreadable. "Somehow, someone slipped, Leah. Rebekah found us, which means Niklaus found us and we're completely naked. No assistance. No technical or personal support, which is a shitty place to be at while we're being hunted. So you need to think really hard about it. Who's behind this? You must have an idea by now, don't tell me that you don't."
With a sigh, you digs one of your cold dumplings out of the box with your fingers and take a large, unenthusiastic bite. "I can't be sure."
"Names, Leah." He grinds out rather impatiently.
"Emily Young. The Cullens. The Volturi."
You catch a brief flicker of surprise cross his face at the last name. Damon crosses his arm, looking every bit like the dangerous, brooding men your cousin read about in her many, many Mills and Boon Novels.
"And how, pray tell, have you made yourself an enemy to one of the most powerful families in Europe?"
"My pack united with some Vampires a few years ago, when the Volturi tried to kill Jacob's Imprint. We resolved the matter peacefully, but their clan was embarrassed by the entire affair, according to Rose they're something like Vampire royalty, and they lost face badly that day. Four years ago two of their members staged a rogue attack on our cubs without their Leader's permission…." You feel the fury well up inside of you all over again as you remember what happened, clench your fists as you recall what those leeches did to Brady, what they did to Colin. "They didn't live to tell the tale."
It is the serious look on Damon's face, the quiet way he observes you that forces you to release the breath you didn't even realize you'd been holding. "That was the last I heard of them, but it's possible they're out for revenge."
Damon takes a moment, his eyes burning. "You mentioned the Cullens?"
"Jacob's Imprint, to be specific. I don't for a second believe Rosalie had anything to do with this."
He makes a face, confused. "I thought you said you stood with Jacob's Imprint against the Volturi?"
"I did." You say glumly, not really wanting to go into it. "Look, the Cullens are a long conversation I don't have the strength for right now, okay?"
Another time, you know he would press further, but he watches you carefully, and whatever he finds in your face compels him to nod instead. Damon drops beside you, wrapping a warm arm around your shoulders as your mind whirls with possibilities.
Who would go through so much trouble as to orchestrate all of this? They'd have to hate you, really hate you enough to want you dead, to order someone to murder Embry, and the only person who dislikes you enough to fit that description might be your cousin. But your cousin liked Em, not to mention she doesn't have access to that kind of money, or power, and that makes you think that maybe the Volturi are more likely to be the culprits. Only someone very powerful could sway the FBI to release information about an ex CIA agent, potentially blowing the covers of other agents who have worked with your Imprint in the field.
And yet… the Cullens were the last to see you alive before the attack on Embry's Cabin. They were the only ones who knew exactly where you were. Rosalie would never betray you, she cut all ties to Renesmee and the halfling's parents after what happened with Jacob, but you know that the doctor still considers Edward something like a son. Maybe he let a word slip, or a thought.
"Leah?" Damon's fluid, sultry drawl disturbs your thoughts. "What are you thinking?"
"That it's my fault. We just left his body there." You whisper into the darkness and hear him sigh, but before he can offer you some trite words of apology you fix him with a piercing look. "He was my brother, Damon. My Second, and we just left his body there."
"Elijah was on our trail."
You shake your head. "It's no excuse." The heaviness you've been battling for days is finally unleashed on your soul. "I should have been there, for my brothers when they needed me most." Not placing the desire to please my Imprint above the responsibility to protect my pack. Like Sam.
Like Jacob.
Damon's free hand trails up your neck and cups your cheek, and he presses a delicate kiss to your lips. It is easy then to drop your head onto his shoulder and give in to your grief then. An inaudible sob escapes you, and his palm is hot and comforting as it rubs smooth, warm circles across your back.
"I'm sorry Leah," he whispers into your hair as you soak his shirt in regretful tears. "I'm sorry."
He says the words as though they're enough to keep the monsters away. For a moment you close your eyes and pretend that they are.
.
.
"Christ Salvator, is this really necessary?"
"Unfortunately, yes." Damon strolls into the motel room with a towel wrapped around his wet body and a ridiculous goatee that's only half as convincing as his ruffled, blond haircut.
He doesn't look too bad, not really, but it's hard to take any man wearing fake buckteeth and a blond goatee seriously. "Damon, you look ridiculous." You grin.
"Honey, you're the last person to call anyone else ridiculous-looking right now." He looks over your outfit unappreciatively and you turn back to the small mirror with a groan. As you refused to chop your hair, he's forced you to wear a bright, rather unconvincing red wig and dark eye make-up since you both arrived in Michigan.
"You're the one that picked these ridiculous disguises!" You complain.
"Speak for yourself, sweetheart." He prowls to your side, flicking his flappy, badly-dyed hair out of his piercingly pale blue eyes. "I look like a bombshell."
You snort, but before you can retort he's hauled you suddenly into his arms, pecking horrible buck-teethed kisses all over your face. You swat at him, but only half-heartedly. These moments of joy are rare and short in between, and you've learned to enjoy them while they last.
Plus his kisses are soft and playful and you like it when he's being relentless.
"Gods, stop!" You grin, enveloped by your Imprints intoxicating scent.
You're feeling a bit foolish, to be honest, even though there's so many things to do today. There's disguises to don, things to find out, FBI agents to avoid, civilians to manipulate and information to plant, but being in Damon's arms is rather heady stuff, and you kind of just wish you could stay here forever. Unbothered about it all. It doesn't help that his warm, olive flesh is brushing against your bare skin either, sending electricity throughout your body.
"You're getting a very dirty look in your eyes, Leah Clearwater." He comments slyly. "Need I remind you to control your thoughts?"
"My thoughts are perfectly under control, thank you very much."
You smile slowly as your hands spread out over the skin of his shoulders, reveling in the feel of him flush against you. His eyes grow dark and as usual you feel slightly intimidated being pinned by that intense, scrutinizing gaze.
You know that it consumes him, the Imprint, as surely as it devours you. It smolders between you, scorches like the heat hidden deep in the earth, or in the coals that seem a dead grey on the outside, but inside house a powerful flame.
He has had very few people to care about in his life. That is the case with most Imprints. They are usually lonely and in need of family, of companionship, and perhaps this is the reason he's lived his life so completely in the moment till now, never affording himself too much time to think about anything other than his kills and saving his brother. Perhaps that is why his affections are so ardent and passionate. Perhaps he worries that your devotion to him if fleeting.
The opposite might also be true. After all, Damon is very intuitive, so perhaps he can feel the permanence of the Imprint, and maybe the certainty of it worries him. Perhaps the sudden care and responsibility he feels towards you is too much for him. After all he was a free man, running amok and doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and now he is being forced to survive like a fugitive, living like a criminal hunted by wild dogs and forced to take you with.
"You're over thinking again." He frowns. "What's the matter?"
You shake your head. "Nothing. Where are we going tonight?"
"We both have very important friends to meet today.
Frowning, you search his face. "I thought you were here to meet one of your old contacts? To get a feeler out about why we're currently considered two of America's Most Wanted criminals?"
"That too…." He hesitates, but then his mouth breaks into a charming smile and you're instantly suspicious. "It's just that you have an old friend in the area, and I thought that perhaps we could use this as an opportunity to cut a loose end."
"What do you mean?"
"We need to be absolutely sure that Brady wasn't involved with…" he trails off, and you wonder when he started reading you so well. Every reminder of what happened to Embry still dampens your mood and sends sharp stabbing pains through your chest. Now, however, his words simply make you furious.
"He wasn't involved!" You explode, and to his credit, he doesn't flinch.
"I don't think he was either." Damon says calmly, "But you mentioned Young as suspect, and we need to find out if Brady let the pack know you were with him and Embry. If he did then we can assume that Young knew of our whereabouts."
You nod, understanding. "What friend of mine do I need to talk to? I don't have any friends in…" The world suddenly goes quiet. Cold as understanding. "No." you bark, furious once more.
"Leah, darling," Damon whines with a wry smile, "Hear me out."
You shake your head. "You don't know what you're asking me to do Damon. He's going to skin me alive. It's one of his favourite pastimes. And I don't want to put anyone else in danger by getting close to him anyway. I can't -"
"Leah," The Prince of Darkness palms your hand, kissing it twice in quick succession. "I give you my word that I will personally ensure that he is protected."
You scowl at your mate, but he is undeterred.
"Don't you trust me? I swear if anything happens to him I'll even let you kill me." He finally says with a grave expression. "I'll hand you the shovel myself."
He shoots you the single most innocent, angelic smile you've ever seen on a man's face, and that's how you know you're in trouble.
.
.
The dark-haired man glances up suddenly, a look of shock streaking across his pointy features as he pours whiskey into a glass.
He laughs. It is a loud, slow mocking sound that grates against your steadily waning patience. "Oh ho ho! You've got balls showing your face around here, Clearwater!"
God, it's been four years of growth and evolution for most, but Paul fucking Lahote is still the same annoying, vulgar, dick-swinging idiot he was back in Forks.
"What has a sweet, law-abiding citizen like myself done to deserve such a horrible, waste of an encounter with Fork's most infamous pack-murderer Leah Bitchwater."
Off to a good start, then.
"Lahote." You spit in response.
Your former packmate drags his drink off the counter and swaggers across the short distance between you two swiftly. He still walks like he's trying to swing his dick around, and judging by the amused smirk he wears he probably thinks his little performance is effective. "It wasn't enough to get Jacob's right hand man, was it? Come to finish off the rest of us too?"
For a moment, you contemplate phasing right there, tearing across his office and ripping him out of human memory, but that's probably the exact reaction he's looking for. You know Paul, you understand him better than anyone else in both Packs ever did. Because Paul is you. Or rather, he's exactly who you were, back when you thought that everything bad in the world - from dad's death to Sam fucking Emily – was your fault.
You take him in. He's dressed in a wife beater and floral shorts, and open sandals grace his feet. His dark, handsome face is still the same as it was when you last saw him, a sign that he still phases regularly, but there's something lost in his eyes. Something missing.
"Dear Gods Lahote, it's mid-autumn and you live right next to the lake. The least you could do is pretend that you're human."
Paul merely glares at you. It's a moment before the unreadable intensity of his face suddenly breaks into a warm grin. His hands grab your shoulders, shove you into his arms, and trap you in the largest bear hug you've felt in years.
"I'm furious with you." He whispers into your hair, wrapping his arms even tighter around you. "Fucking, crazy furious. I could slap you I'm so mad."
"We don't condone that kind of behaviour here." Damon's voice cuts through the moment, and you glance up at him to see his eyes like sharp knives on Paul.
Paul's grip on you loosens, but he does not let you go as his eyes move swiftly from your Imprints to yours. "Well, if I'll be damned. Leah's not lesbian after all."
You punch him hard in the bicep, and he scowls as he rubs his arm. Paul crosses the distance between the two of you and Damon, offering his hand to your Imprint.
"I'll take it you're the reason behind all this madness."
Damon simply watches the other man's outstretched hand with eyes that are cold and indiscernible. When it becomes clear that he is not going to shake Paul's hand you clear your throat, sitting on the nearest desk you can find as Paul looks your Imprint over in amusement. "Paul…" you begin.
"You're an extortioner." Damon suddenly drawls dryly, glaring at Paul.
"Please, please…" Paul grins at him before taking a long gulp of his drink. "I prefer the term 'loan shark.'"
Your brother flashes one of his galling, toothy grins before heading back behind his table. "Nothing as impressive as you though."
On his table rests a small, red radio and he flicks one of the buttons on it, so that the otherwise empty office is suddenly filled with static and a deep, narrating voice.
"The suspects in question are 5 foot 9 Caucasian male with dark hair and pale blue eyes, and a 5 foot 7 Native-American female with dark features. Anyone with information pertaining to the whereabouts of these two is urged to contact local authorities immediately. The suspects are considered armed and highly dange -"
"A rather glowing recommendation," Damon smirks flippantly, "However they did get my height wrong…"
"I guess it's kind of obvious then, why you're here" Paul says, his dark eyes staring into yours now. "But before I answer any of your questions, please, indulge one of mine."
Damon frowns.
"So, was it true?" Paul stares at you intently. "Did you do it?"
"Was what true?" Damon asks, eyes shifting searchingly from Paul to you. "Did she do what?"
"- cause that would be pretty low, Leah. Even for you."
"Wait, what'd I miss?" Damon asks again.
You stare right back at your brother, ignoring your Imprint's questions, "Mind your business, Lahote."
"I always do," Paul admits as he sits, and you watch the misleading casualness of his movements. He's a lot like Damon in that way, you think. There's always a cavalier nonchalance to their movements that belies their deadliness and precision. "You however, didn't mind your virtue, little Lee Lee."
You shoot Paul a warning glance, hoping to quell him before he stumbles out something that'll make Damon ask even more questions. You're not ready to talk about that stuff yet. So many years have passed, there's so much you've experienced since, yet still a deep, overwhelming shame grips you at the mere thought of what happened. Of what you did.
"Jacob abandoned you, after all, and weren't you two trying against all odds to have kids? That must have hurt like a fucker."
"Paul." You warn.
"And then Colin died in your arms, hell Brady almost died, and you were the one that assigned them that patrol, weren't you? So in a way, it was your fault when the cub died."
Vaguely, you register that Damon has stepped closer to the two of you in a territorial gesture, as though to confront your brother, protect you from his sudden assault, and that there is a terribly menacing growl growing louder like thunder in the room with each of his taunts.
"And then there was your little speech at Emily's wedding. One no one would ever want a repeat of. So, did you do it? I never believed it, but Emily did. Emily always believed it no matter what Sam said to the contrary. Put a damper on their honeymoon, as I'm sure you can imagine. So, did you do it? Did you really fuck Sam on the Eve of their wedding just to prove that the Imprint philosophy wasn't shit? Cause Honestly Leah, Rach and I could have told you that."
There it is again, that hollowness you noticed in his eyes earlier, but there's something else in his words. Something that gnaws at you. And yet a crimson hue washes over your field of vision as your newly unhinged wolf detects the attack in his words. Your body tenses instinctively, ready to leap forward and destroy whatever's left of Paul fucking Lahote, but suddenly Damon's standing in front of you, teeth bared against the other wolf. His hands are cool and loving as they stroke gently down your arms, calming your wolf.
"This was a mistake." Your Imprint says gently. For a moment you look away from him, terrified that all you'll find in his eyes are disgust and rage after Paul's accusations, but there's not a hint of judgement in his voice. "We can figure out who's responsible for Embry's death some other way, Leah. Let's get out of here."
Still in a state of shock, you allow your Imprint to lead you to the door. It is only once the two of you have reached it that Paul finally interrupts the silence.
"You've betrayed a lot of people to get your happily ever after Leah. And now you're happy, moved on with a true mate of your own, opening studios and showcasing artworks about your torrid affair with Jacob in some of the most prestigious galleries in the world. What did you think was going to happen? Did you really think that those who've spent years in the shadows were just going to get over the projected memories of how they were never going to be enough while you moved on? It's been seven years, Lee. More than enough time to think about it. You should know know better than that by now."
And suddenly, you know. You know who wants you dead. But your sharp inhalation is cut off by Damon's furious growl.
"Talk to her again you son of a bitch!" Your Imprint roars at Paul, shaking in protective fury. "You even look in her direction and I'll put a silver bullet in your brain." And then Damon glares at your brother once more before grabbing your wrist and storming out towards the uninhabited parking lot.
You could have sworn you saw Paul smirk in approval as you both left his office, but you can't be sure.
.
A/N: I have valid excuses for the lateness of this chapter, I really do. It's been a crazy couple of weeks, scratch that, this year has been horrendous. But it's out now and I really hope you like it. Please do let me know who you think is terrorizing our favorite couple in the comments below (except Paul, of course haha). xoxo Pen_Pearls