Chapter 3 – Order of Importance

Paul watched his imprint's house nearly every night and throughout most of his free time. At first, he'd done so in his wolf form. However, his lovesick guilt and self-pity had annoyed the shit out of any other wolves who were on patrol, so Sam had decreed that Paul should do his weirdo stalking in his human skin.

If Sam hadn't, then Paul would've been subjected to a very different meeting.

Immediately upon entering the Black residence, Paul knew that he'd fucked up somehow. How did he know?

Well, Billy looked like he was about two seconds from defying medical science and jumping up from his wheelchair for the sole purpose of strangling Paul. Also seated at the kitchen table, Harry and Old Quil had their heads bent together over an old laptop, and the pair appeared to be an odd combination of annoyed and amused and in complete disbelief at the level of fuckup.

They didn't hesitate to spin the laptop around, and Paul discovered why.

The footage was grainy and clearly shot at night. However, there he was, clear as day, lurking in Ruby's backyard.

"She felt someone watching her," Billy announced between tightly clenched teeth, "And set up a bunch of trail cams. Which you clearly didn't notice."

Too mortified and horrified to speak, Paul sank into a chair and nodded meekly.

"It's not as bad as it could've been," Harry insisted, stifling laughter, possibly the hysterical kind. "You're fully clothed and not doing anything… strange." From the way he said the last word, he definitely meant perverted. "And at least she doesn't have video of giant wolves."

"You're also damn lucky that she brought this to us instead of Charlie," Old Quil contributed, far more collected than his fellows, which somehow made his intense stare even worse. "The charges against you can easily be refiled, and she'd surely want to add stalking and trespassing."

Although his throat felt tight, Paul managed to croak, "What am I supposed to do? I need to be near her somehow-"

"Sam and I are going over there this afternoon," Billy declared. "We're going to tell her the truth. With any luck, once she knows how much of the situation was and still is out of your control, she'll agree to… some kind of arrangement."

"Supervised visits, probably," Harry chirped. "I think that's the most we can hope for. Even if she insists on ignoring you, she just might allow you to be in a room with her as long as someone else is there to make her feel safe."

The cold hard fact that his soulmate didn't feel safe around him was yet another stab to Paul's much-abused heart, but he knew that he had only himself to blame.

xxXxx

The one and only reason Ruby didn't immediately turn Paul in for stalking, menacing, trespassing, harassment, and whatever else she could make stick was that she was fairly certain she could use the incident to extort an actual home security system out of the elders, who seemed unusually invested in keeping the psychotic meathead out of prison.

Of course, the girl hadn't really thought her strategy all the way through; if she had, she would've gone for the option that didn't leave Paul "Certified Creeper" Lahote dangerously at large and quite possibly doing goddess knows what in the backyard.

Actually, it was a really stupid plan. What the hell had she been thinking?

Since seeing the footage and sending it and an irate email to Chief Black, Ruby hadn't stepped a single dainty toe outside or opened a single window or curtain. She felt sick and scared and trapped and once again full of hatred for Paul and his uncanny ability to torture her. What kind of total freak lurks half-naked in the woods at night? Just stands and stares at the house of the girl he bullied and assaulted? Was he plotting her death? Or worse?

Unfortunately, Chief Black had answered the email with another email, which was kind and reassuring but offered nothing but an announcement that he would be coming by to discuss the matter in person.

That's right: Ruby begged for help with enforcing the unofficial restraining order that the elders had begged for in lieu of an official one or an actual jail sentence for the aggressive amoral prick; instead of providing said desperately needed help, the old man invited himself over to "discuss the situation," which was likely a nice little euphemism for "yet again plead for mercy on behalf of poor misunderstood Paul." She was honestly considering just not answering the door. Of course, if he was anything like his annoyingly chipper son, Chief Black would probably weasel his way inside regardless, even if doing so meant crawling through a window.

Nervous and terrified to the point of nausea and full-body trembling, Ruby flinched violently and then realized that the sound that had startled her out of her latest paranoid spiral was the doorbell. Because she had been expecting the chief, she didn't hesitate in getting up to answer it.

However, the Native man on the other side of the door was not the chief. The lack of wheelchair and cowboy hat gave that away instantly, as did the man's slimmer physique and less confident demeanor. He was also younger than the chief, maybe early thirties, but he did wear his black hair long in the typical local style. Offering a polite grin, the stranger held out his hand and greeted, "Hi, Isaac Salt. Are you Ruby? I heard that you're good with computer stuff."

After only a brief moment of blinking owlishly, Ruby accepted the handshake and managed an awkward nod.

"Excellent," the stranger, Isaac, announced. "I do some wood carving, and I'd like to sell my work online. But I don't even know where to start. Would you be interested in helping me set up a website? And maybe giving me a crash course on how to actually manage it? I'd pay you, of course."

Again, Ruby nodded, swallowing thickly and forcing herself to murmur, "Sure." And because she didn't like strangers in her house, especially when her mom wasn't there or due to return soon, the girl motioned toward the little café table that was nestled among the thriving herb garden on the large front porch. "Have a seat," she offered. "I'll bring my computer out." Talking to people was still difficult, but business conversations came a lot easier to her—especially because talking to one or two people allowed her the luxury of avoiding the interactions with larger groups that a regular nine-to-five job would require. Isaac would be her first face-to-face client, but she felt ready to handle the ordeal.

She barely waited for a noise of agreement from the man before darting back inside and gathering up her laptop as well as a pad of paper. After only a moment of hesitation, she also grabbed her no-frills digital camera; it wouldn't be capturing any high-def masterpieces but did produce perfectly serviceable pictures and videos of merchandise. Ruby had developed a decent eye for advertising and was signed up to start an online community college course on the subject, along with several computer science classes; if her potential client didn't have his own pictures or means of taking pictures, she would be glad to offer additional assistance and collect additional pay. She was already mentally planning various service packages and accompanying prices to offer.

By the time she returned to the porch, Chief Black and Sam Uley had arrived.

During the brief preceding minutes, Ruby had completely forgotten that they were coming as well as the events that necessitated the visit. "Oh," she muttered quite eloquently, realizing with a bit of mounting horror that being outside meant possibly being watched by Paul "Probably Plotting Gruesome Murder" Lahote. "Um…" Was there a tactful way to tell the tribal chief and his favorite hulk to scram? That she didn't have any desire to deal with their defense of an irredeemable psychopath, especially when she had an actual paying customer to secure? Would she be able to bring herself to invite Isaac inside? Could she do so without looking rude or like an indecisive idiot?

She was thinking no to all of the above. Damn it.

"Don't mind us," Billy piped up, smiling kindly. "I didn't give you much warning or a definite time, after all, and we can wait until you're done with Isaac." With a brief nod to the man, Chief Black added, "Though if neither of you mind, I am interested to hear about this website thing. We have quite a few businesses and craftspeople in the tribe who could benefit from wider exposure."

Isaac gave a good-natured laugh and agreed, "My wife had the same thought. And got sick of hearing me bitch about my day job. She agreed that I get to quit as soon as I can actually turn my hobby into a steady source of cash."

Ruby wasn't entirely pleased with the added audience, but she didn't feel strongly enough to make a big deal out of it. Billy was well-connected within the community and could potentially get her some referrals—even if she had to guilt him into doing so. Sam had only ever been nice to her, and his fiancée was a very good customer who Ruby didn't want to vicariously offend. She sat at the only open seat at the little two-seater table—Isaac occupied the other; Billy had his own chair, and Sam remained standing, flanking the chief like a massive bodyguard. After Ruby opened her laptop and started to introduce and explain her sites and various other projects, her nervous energy gradually ebbed. Her words started to flow with ease. She was pretty good at what she did and didn't mind showing off. As long as her audience was comprised of mature adults who meant her no ill will, she didn't struggle much to express herself.

Eventually, she and Isaac agreed on a fee for building his website and teaching him how to use it; depending on how much extra help he needed once everything was up and running, they would negotiate weekly or monthly consulting and management hours. The next day, Ruby would go by his house to take pictures of his work and workshop and maybe even him and his family. In the meantime, he would start putting together information that would allow Ruby to write descriptions of his pieces as well as his professional biography and supplementary copy. She sent him off with a packet about search-engine optimization, social-media marketing, and options for web-hosting services.

Once he was gone and she was left alone with Billy and Sam, Ruby awkwardly recalled that she hadn't offered any refreshments. Even if she had remembered, there was nothing but maybe half a glass of orange juice in the house. Well, and water, of course, but neither Ruby nor her mother drank much else—except for an occasional milkshake as a treat at the diner. Caffeine sensitivity plagued their family, so most coffees, teas, and sodas were little more sure ways to develop insomnia and migraines. If Mom had booze, she certainly hadn't told Ruby about it, let alone offered up the stash to her or anyone else.

Regardless, the diminished but by no means diminutive audience didn't seem to notice or care. In fact, Chief Black still wore his kind smile and had even added a proud sparkle to his dark eyes. "You're doing really well for yourself," he observed, tipping his hat up just a bit. "I always like to see that."

"Thanks," she muttered, fingers deftly switching from her work windows to her surveillance windows and a certain damning and disturbing piece of footage. "However," the girl drawled, spinning the laptop screen for easier viewing, "This situation is unacceptable." Despite the chief's obvious guilty wince, she demanded, "If you can't keep him away from me, then I want him behind bars. Those are the only options." Actually, there was a third: if Ruby told her mom about Paul's nightly stalking, Miriam Kayad would make good on her threat to murder the deranged behemoth. The girl fully believed that no one would ever find his body, and she wasn't at all disturbed by the notion.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Sam spoke up for the first time since he'd arrived. "There are some extenuating circumstances, and we hope that telling you about them will make you a little more understanding of what's going on."

Although Ruby had known it was coming, once again realizing that the "trusted elders" of her community were not on her side, that they were actually defending her attacker and stalker, was devastating. She snapped her laptop shut and refused to look at either of the two men. "I don't want to hear why you think he should be allowed to terrorize me," the girl murmured, suddenly exhausted. "I just want him to leave me alone."

As sadness and frustration crept into his tone, Chief Black replied, "I know. And I'm sorry. Will you hear us out anyway? There really is a lot more to it than just the atrocious behavior you've seen from Paul."

Ruby sighed, "If this is some sob story about his rough home life-"

"Do you know our people's legends?" Sam interrupted. "About the spirit warriors?"

Annoyed and confused by his odd non sequitur, she huffed, "Doesn't everyone?" Her grandfather used to take her to the bonfires to listen to the stories. She hadn't been since he died—wow, had it really been a decade?—but she remembered them well enough.

With an amused smirk, Sam walked away and down the porch steps and into the middle of her front yard. He stopped, turned, winked.

And then exploded.

The effort of comprehending the fact that an enormous black wolf was standing exactly where a man had been just a moment before may have short-circuited her brain. Making and finding herself unable to break eye contact with the mythological beast surrounded by denim confetti worsened the situation. Her mind felt blank yet raw as it rewrote her concept of reality to include magical wolf-men and the undead monsters that they hunted.

Even worse, Paul was obviously a wolf as well. Her attacker and stalker was about a thousand times more dangerous and volatile and capable of harming her. And the very few people who could possibly protect her were firmly on his side.

Billy placed a hand over hers, which was trembling along with the rest of her body, and squeezed gently as he started talking about the legends and the pack and the rage that accompanied a wolf's first shift. He insisted that Paul hadn't been in control of his actions and felt horrible about hurting her… Then, the chief reminded Ruby about the third wife and about the strange look that Ruby had gotten from Paul when they'd locked eyes for that brief second in the threshold of the tribal center's dingy meeting room. Imprint was the word Billy used, which apparently meant that their ancestors had assigned Paul to be her protector and maybe (probably) eventual lover.

Ruby's horrified response was to wonder aloud why their ancestors hated her.

"No, honey," Chief Black insisted, still soothingly squeezing and patting her hand. "I believe that you're both what each other needs. You don't have the best history with Paul, but-"

"But he's sorry because of magic and needs to be near me so that he doesn't go insane," Ruby sneered. "Emotional blackmail at its finest. I either allow him into my life or always worry about what he's doing while he lurks around the fringes of it anyway." Struggling to control her panicked breathing, she added, "You say he'll be whatever I want, but that assumes I want him at all. I don't. He scares me and makes me feel bad about myself, and I don't want him around. But you'll only stop him from stalking me if I hang out with him of my own free will. Because his comfort and sanity are more important than mine. Because he can kill vampires and I can't. Is that about it?"

Although he did have the grace to seem remorseful and a little ashamed, the chief agreed, "Yes." After a long pause, he added, "But you are important, Ruby, and we told you the secret so that all of us together can figure out the best way to make this right for everyone. No one is going to hurt you or scare you anymore. Especially not Paul. I realize we're asking a lot, but if you give him a chance, I know that he'll prove to you that he's changed for the better."

Convulsively swallowing down the urge to cry or scream or maybe vomit, the girl took one last look at the giant mythological creature still patiently occupying her lawn. Then, she stood, gathered her belongings, and croaked, "I need to think." Think about whether she would go along with the supernatural lunacy or just pack her shit and flee for her life. Unfortunately, the girl was getting the impression that it was a you can run, but you can't hide scenario, which made her tremble harder and break into a cold sweat.

"Of course, sweetheart," Billy agreed, gentle and slightly patronizing, as though attempting to calm a spooked animal. (The tone was not appreciated.) "We're having a bonfire on Saturday. You can come by my place in the afternoon. We'll talk some more, and then you can listen to the legends around the fire. I'll make sure the boys leave you alone until then."

Ruby nodded and then stumbled inside her house, collapsing in her office/bedroom (as far as she could get from the life-destroying impossibility out front) before dissolving into helpless, hopeless tears.

xxXxx

Watching the conversation through Sam's eyes was excruciating for Paul. He knew damn well that he'd fucked things up with Ruby, that her opinion of him was lower than dirt; however, until that moment, he hadn't totally grasped just how much he'd hurt her and was still hurting and scaring her with his continued existence. He'd made himself her meanest and most aggressive tormenter, and she hadn't stopped thinking of him as such just because he'd stopped actively attacking her.

This is never gonna work, Paul mournfully reported, cringing and feeling like the worst kind of scum as he listened to his imprint's distraught sobs. She's terrified.

Because Sam had been able to smell the girl's steadily mounting fear and hear her racing heartbeat, neither of the two other wolves who'd observed the scene bothered to argue with that assessment. Instead, Jared declared, If she doesn't run like hell sometime in the next three days, you've got a fighting chance.

Just keep a wide perimeter when you patrol, and don't let her see you on the cameras, Sam insisted, sauntering over to where he'd stashed his change of clothes. Video footage of spirit warriors would be bad, but the alpha was mainly concerned about Ruby's well-being. The poor girl seemed to be hanging on by a thread and didn't need the added stress of knowing that mythical monsters were watching her every move.

If she did run… Well, Paul wanted to believe that he wouldn't stop her, but he was selfish enough to acknowledge that he could never let her go…

xxXxx

Despite her best efforts and a raid of her mother's makeup stash, Ruby was fairly sure that she showed up to her appointment with the Salt family looking like a sleep-deprived hag. Or possibly a plague victim.

Isaac and his wife, Tammy, were concerned enough to offer to postpone the visit. Even after Ruby repeatedly insisted that no such delay was necessary, the couple continued to attempt to supply her with tea (which she had to decline due to the caffeine), lozenges, and comfortable seating. Their youngest child, an adorable three-year-old muppet named Jonah, even tried to make her feel better by sternly ordering her to hug his favorite teddy bear, a brown ball of fluff appropriately named Bear. In the wake of an entire night spent pacing and stressing and sliding in and out of multiple panic attacks and crying jags and puke sessions, the gesture was deeply touching.

Actually, it was probably the nicest thing that anyone had done for her in a very long time. Possibly ever. Jonah was officially her favorite person.

As far as consultations went, it was one of her worst. She still did her job and did it well; she still left pleased and optimistic clients in her wake. However, her heart wasn't in it. The satisfaction of a job well-done no longer meant much to her—because what the hell was the point? All she had to look forward to in life was ending up as Paul Lahote's prisoner and broodmare.

While she was driving home, the dread and pressure boiled over. Ruby passed her turn and just kept going. The more she realized that nothing left at her home was necessary or irreplaceable—except her mom, who would definitely understand, and her herbs, which she would find a way to grow wherever she ended up—the farther Ruby drove, only stopping for maybe ten minutes at a time to fill her gas tank and empty her bladder and purchase another round of unhealthy sugary drinks from sketchy mini marts in the middle of nowhere. About five hours later, she crossed into Oregon. Another five hours after that, she was struggling to stay awake at the wheel but more than halfway through the state and looking forward to her first glimpse of California.

Screw Paul. Screw the elders. Screw the ancestors.

Ruby didn't need anything but distance and Wi-Fi.

After the third time she caught herself beginning to drift out of her lane, she pulled into a picturesque and thankfully deserted rest stop. She had never been more grateful for her foresight in buying Jezebel; the unusual van might not have had the best gas mileage, but after ten hours of driving, its built-in beds more than made up the difference. She barely managed to flop onto the nearest padded horizontal surface before passing out cold.

For the rest of the scant hours left of the night and just a few of the day, Ruby dreamed—one long dream of interconnected and repeating episodes, all of which felt real, viscerally disturbing, and utterly terrifying. A progression of men and women in traditional Native clothing showed up to call her a selfish and ungrateful coward—in Quileute, of course.

When they weren't present, Ruby ran through dark forests from ice-cold humanoid creatures that scratched at her skin and cackled at her pain and were clearly toying with her for their own sick amusement. When she stumbled or stopped to catch her breath or sob out her fear, they came and pinned her down and squeezed bruises into her flesh and licked the blood dripping from her wounds. They thanked her for weakening and probably killing one of their enemies, thereby leaving the sweet, succulent children of the tribe unprotected and ripe for feasting.

Sometimes, they dragged sweet little Jonah in front of her and made her watch while they snapped his bones one by one before finally tearing out his throat—all while he begged her to save him.

After what felt like days of that torture, her only reprieve was a massive silver wolf that arrived to drive off every tormenter and then curl around her, providing blissful warmth and safety and affection that felt a lot like love.

Ruby woke covered in bruises and long thin welts, several of which had actually broken her skin. Normally, she would've thought that she'd hurt herself thrashing in her sleep. However, the shapes of the injuries didn't match her own hands or nails. The bruises were too big. The welts had been made by something jagged. The worst set of scratches had slashed down the middle of her back, in a pattern and position that her own nails could not have feasibly produced. She didn't feel the least bit rested. Instead, she felt as though she'd spent all night screaming and crying and running for her life and being assaulted and tortured and traumatized for her troubles.

For the next six hours, she drove south like a bat out of hell, desperate to put as many miles as possible between her and La Push. Ruby stopped only when the pain in her chest, which had been steadily building all day, grew to a level that she could no longer ignore. In any other situation, she would've called an ambulance or taken herself to a hospital. However, she was almost entirely certain that her affliction was supernatural. Normal doctors likely couldn't have done a damn thing for her, and she wasn't about to get stuck with a huge medical bill for the privilege of hearing that they didn't know what was going on.

She was so tired. So scared. So cold. So hopeless. So desperate to escape the fate that felt like a noose slowly tightening around her neck.

After realizing that she hadn't eaten since before her worldview was shattered and hadn't drank anything since the previous day, Ruby tried to snack on some crackers and water. She ended up puking in a McDonald's parking lot and getting scandalized stares from the nearby patrons, who clearly thought that she was a drunk or a junkie or a battered wife. Maybe all of the above. She certainly looked and smelled the part—haggard and strung out and reeking of fear.

When she finally managed to stop her stomach from trying to invert itself, Ruby stumbled back inside her van and collapsed on the floor. "You won't win, assholes," she croaked, too weak to even wipe away the sweat and tears and bile soaking her face. She was also possibly delirious; after all, the girl didn't usually feel the need to directly address her apparently nosy and twisted ancestors. But she was exhausted. She was done. "I'd rather be dead," she told them firmly, resolving to either escape or die trying. Although no longer suicidal, Ruby had long since made her peace with death. If a life with Paul Lahote was the only alternative, then she welcomed glorious paradise, eternal torment, or bleak nothingness.

As her vision started to blacken around the edges and then darken entirely, Ruby felt a peculiar and entirely foreign wave of both pity and resolve.

xxXxx

The day after the big reveal, Paul started to feel a little odd, both restless and anxious. He desperately wanted to see Ruby but held off, hoping that showing restraint and giving her space would help with their meeting on Saturday. (Also, after getting caught creeping in her backyard, he wasn't in the biggest hurry to face her.) As the day progressed, he felt progressively worse, like someone was squeezing his heart… then squeezing and trying to rip it out of his chest.

By the time he managed to persuade Sam to check on Ruby, Paul had curled into a ball of agony on Emily's floor and didn't think he'd be able to move even if the house went up in flames. When Sam returned to report that they couldn't find Ruby, that she seemed to have run, Paul wasn't the least bit surprised. Hell, he couldn't even blame her, and the pain he was in seemed like nothing less than what he deserved for all he'd put her through over the years. He just hoped that no matter what happened to him, she would be safe and happy.

His state grew increasingly more severe but then finally leveled off at around four in the morning. Until about nine, he didn't improve but didn't deteriorate further. He even managed to sleep a bit, off and on, wracked with tremors and dreaming of Ruby.

Unfortunately, after that brief reprieve, the pain once again began to intensify—until Paul was screaming and crying into a pillow and begging for someone to just fucking end him. Phasing made it worse and crippled any other wolf who was phased with him, so much so that Sam ordered him to phase back and fucking stay that way until told otherwise.

Six hours of that were six more than Paul had ever wanted to experience.

Still, his most coherent thought throughout the ordeal was I deserve this.

At some point, the mind-melting agony must've driven him to unconsciousness. However, when he woke the following morning… he actually felt better. Not good by any means, but at least not willing to let a leech kill him just to make the pain stop. He was able to drink a bit of water and eat a bit of food and converse with the worried elders about what the hell was happening to him. As the day went on, Paul continued to improve and grow more and more hopeful that his drastic turnaround signaled Ruby's imminent return.

On Saturday, as Paul was getting himself ready to head over to Billy's place, Jared burst into Emily's kitchen and shouted that he'd seen Ruby's van enter the rez.

Paul was up and running before he made any conscious decision to do so. Within minutes, he was sprinting up his imprint's long driveway and seeing her van parked in its usual spot. The engine was still warm, and he could hear someone—hopefully his girl—puttering around inside her house. And he… kind of forgot that he wasn't supposed to be near her. Besides, it was Saturday. He had left her totally alone for three days with the understanding that he'd get to see her on Saturday.

He needed to see her. Even if she ignored him or ended up even more pissed at him, he absolutely needed to lay eyes on her and make sure that she was alright—especially because he could smell that she was terrified and had been sick and probably hadn't really eaten or showered since her conversation with Billy and Sam.

Plus, her front door was standing open. He knocked hesitantly on the jamb and called, "Hello? Ruby? Are you in there? Are you ok?"

An unfamiliar male voice answered, "Just get inside, shit for brains. You and I need to talk."

Confused and concerned—neither Ruby nor her mother had any male relatives or friends (at least that Paul had seen throughout the months he'd spent watching from the woods), so no men should've been anywhere near the Kayad house, let alone inside it—the wolf entered and cautiously crossed the small but tidy living room, heading toward the open doorway that he was fairly sure led to the kitchen.

As he crossed through the threshold, a bullet hit the wall directly beside his head.

Paul had dropped to the ground and scrambled away about three seconds before he even realized what happened. "THE FUCK?!" he screamed, barely able to believe that he'd just been shot at. If not for the ringing in his ears and the plume of plaster dust settling in his hair, he might've been able to convince himself that he'd overreacted to the sound of a backfiring vehicle.

"Quit being such a pussy," the deep voice taunted flippantly. "If I'd wanted to hit you, I would've hit you, and you'd never have seen it coming."

Although he had no clue what was going on, Paul did know that he wasn't going to take the word of the crazy dude who was shooting at him. "Who the hell are you?!" the shifter barked, not emerging from cover but frantically searching around for Ruby. "What are you doing in Ruby's house?! Where's Ruby?! What did you do to her?!"

"Face me like a man," the intruder insisted. Thankfully, he didn't seem to be reloading or cocking his weapon. In fact, the only sounds that Paul could hear from anywhere within the house were the creaking of a chair and the sloshing of some kind of liquid and the beating of a single heart inside the kitchen. (Increasingly horrible possibilities began to assault his imagination and utterly annihilate his self-control.) The shooter must've been pouring a drink, because he definitely slurped it quite loudly before adding, "Or are you gonna spend the rest of the day blubbering like a precious little princess? You know you had that and more coming to you. And I'm much calmer now that I got it outta my system."

"PAUL!" Sam bellowed from outside. He and Jared had arrived shortly after their determined brother but clearly knew better than to charge in when some psycho was popping off rounds.

"I'm fine," Paul murmured in reply, quietly enough that the intruder should not have been able to hear. "There's… a guy. I didn't get a look at him. He seems to know me, but I don't recognize the voice-"

"It's Reuben, fuck-wit," the stranger replied, "Though Mr. Kayad or sir to you."

There was a long, incredulous pause. The name seemed familiar, but Paul couldn't place it…

Finally, Sam declared, "Reuben Kayad is dead. Has been for a decade."

Oh, right. Of course. Ruby's dead grandfather.

Wait… What?!

"Yeah, no shit," the shooter spat. "Turns out that eternal rest ain't so eternal when magical fuckery and uppity puppies get thrown in the mix." After another noisy sip, he added, "You morons gonna stand around all day? Or finally get in here so that I can say what I gotta say and get back to my well-deserved afterlife?"

The knowledge that he was somehow being insulted by a dead man reignited Paul's courage and curiosity. Carefully, the shifter stood and did his best to peer into the kitchen while also providing as small a target as possible for the gun-toting maniac.

However, the only person Paul saw was Ruby, who was sitting at the little round table with a handgun and a bottle of bourbon that was far more than half-empty and an accompanying tumbler that was far more than half-full. Even the dark shades covering her eyes didn't hide the fact that his sneaking had yielded nothing but amusement. Her pretty mouth stretched into a mean, toothy smile that wouldn't have been out of place on an actual shark.

It was the first time in a long time that Paul had seen her smile at all. However, the expression did nothing but fill his gut with dread and make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with unease.

"'Bout time," she said. Well… her lips moved, but it was Reuben Kayad's gravelly, mocking voice that emerged from between them. With one dainty fingertip, she slid the sunglasses onto the top of her head.

Paul found himself staring into eyes that were normally a deep and entrancing shade of mahogany but had instead gone completely white and luminous like fresh snow reflecting the noon sun.

The grin on her scratched and battered face spread wider, and hoarse otherworldly laughter filled the dim kitchen.

xxxxxxxxxx

So… Yeah… It took a weird turn. Too weird? Awesomely weird? You decide. And hopefully let me know!