A/N Thanks to team Prey - Beta Saritadreaming, pre-readers Popola & RubyLou. You guys are the best.
Prey for the Wicked
. . . . . .
Drowning in a sea of rage,
I taste the embrace.
. . . . . .
Chapter 20
Skušnjava
. . . . . .
In contrast to the sweltering heat outdoors, the air-conditioned air inside Newton's Outfitters makes the assortment of jackets on an overstuffed rack to the right of the door, highly appealing.
Bella shoes squeak against the shiny laminate flooring as she makes her way between displays of bear repellent and marked down first aid kits, trying not to focus on Edward behind her. He's been quiet since her phone call with Charlie—not that she gave him a chance to speak after she hung up. To avoid confrontation, she grabbed her wallet and keys and darted for the door, telling him she needed to get to the store, even though it was only a few minutes past ten.
Edward, surprisingly, followed without comment, maintaining this even as she tried to insist he didn't need to drive or even come with her at all.
She tried to reassure him she wouldn't run away again.
She babbled, and he listened, holding the car's passenger door open, head cocked slightly to the side, eyes intent on her. When she finally quit, he just waited.
Bella got in the car.
He stayed quiet through the drive, only giving her that irritating and disarmingly attractive half smile when she tried to convince him to stay there while she ran in.
Now, passing the familiar shelves crammed with everything the sporting enthusiast could ever need or want, Bella's stomach cramps at the thought of facing either of Mike's parents, especially with Edward in tow. If she wasn't so desperate to get away from the confines of her house, worried about a confrontation after blatantly going against his instructions for dealing with Charlie, she would've probably phoned in.
Steeling her spine, Bella forces herself forward and finds Mr. Newton Senior rummaging through a small box behind the checkout counter. She instantly notices he looks exhausted and older, his graying hair lank against his forehead. He hasn't shaved in days, she'd guess. Her stomach cramps harder when she realizes the box is full of missing person flyers plastered with Mike's picture.
Edward makes a sound that's distinctly growly, and Mr. Newton's head snaps up, gaze zeroing in on him instead of her.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize anyone came in. Can I help you?"
Edward tips his head in her direction, and Mr. Newton turns. Surprise at seeing her seems to hit him hard. He reels back a step and exhales in a rush.
"Bella."
"Hi, Mr. Newton. I..." She suddenly has no idea what to say. Belatedly, she realizes this is a mistake. She knows too much, and she's a horrible liar. Faced with his apparent grief, she feels sick.
"Bella," he repeats, appearing equally lost. He closes eyes that are red-rimmed and puffy. His breath smells like alcohol. Edward steps closer, and Mr. Newton snaps those tired eyes back open.
"I...wanted to call you, dear." Mr. Newton shakes his head, looking down at his flyers. He startles and awkwardly flips the top batch over, trying to conceal what she already saw. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to hear from me, or if it was wise to speak with you under the...circumstances."
"No, I understand. It's why I decided to come in. I know I'm scheduled to work today. Obviously, with everything..." she trails off, wishing she was anywhere else. Her palms are sweaty, her mouth dry. She doesn't understand how Edward can be so cool, knowing he's responsible for all this obvious grief.
Mr. Newton blinks like an owl. "Bella, dear, surely you don't want to continue working here with all that's going on. It wouldn't be...right."
He's correct. She doesn't. Being in this store makes her skin crawl. She's been so lost in her confusion surrounding Edward, she hasn't processed Mike and the things he did, least of all the things he could've done.
Bella opens her mouth to agree and request her last paycheck so she can leave as quickly as possible, when Edward intercedes.
"I believe a severance package will be in order."
Mr. Newton's head swings to Edward, mouth opening in surprise. "I didn't say I was firing her."
Edward leans into the counter, and Mr. Newton blanches.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Edward Masen. I'm a friend of Isabella's." Edward emphasizes "friend" and turns his head to smile slightly at Bella, his expression momentarily mocking.
Bella blinks, realizing she didn't know his full name before now. Masen. Not Cullen.
An alias? There's so much about him she doesn't know…
Edward returns his attention to Mr Newton, and speaks slowly. "You no longer need her services, and you're letting her go. You're going to give her any pay you owe, a glowing letter of reference, and severance pay." He rests his forearms on the counter, and Mr. Newton shuffles back. There's nothing outwardly threatening about Edward's movements, but the aura of menace around him somehow makes it clear the counter between them isn't a safe barrier.
"A generous severance pay, Mr. Newton," Edward continues, still speaking in that quiet, silky voice. He doesn't need to raise the volume; "or else" is implied in every syllable.
"Edward..." Bella tries to intervene. She can speak for herself, though admittedly she wouldn't have thought of asking for severance pay.
Edward ignores her. "And when I say generous, Mr. Newton, I do mean, generous." He flips the top flyer face up and stares momentarily down at it before looking up at Mr. Newton, his point apparent.
Mr. Newton turns slowly back to Bella, his complexion paler. For a moment he appears sorry, as though he understands how unfair it is that Bella should lose her job because of his son. He nods once and reaches with shaky hands for the chequebook by the cash register. Before he can fill anything out, Edward takes it from him and scrawls a number too quickly for Bella to read. He spins it back around with a graceful wrist flick, an aggressive curl to his mouth.
Mr. Newton stares at the check for a long moment. When he finally looks up, his eyes skate back and forth between her and Edward. Frustrated curiosity makes Bella reach out, intent on seeing the amount, but Edward captures her hand. His clasp is gentle yet firm as he draws her arm down, using it to tug her close to his side.
"Date it. Sign it." Edward's instructions are clipped and hard, a direct contrast to the careful way he's handling her.
Mr. Newton keeps his eyes glued to the check as he begins to gush in apology. "I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry for what Mike did. The pictures, the following... I don't understand what was in his head, but my son is a good boy—he's just...sick. He's not well. You understand? We'll find him and get him help, and you'll see he's not capable of truly hurting anyone." He lifts his head, expression pleading, like he wants her to agree. Bella's stomach cramps harder, and she wonders if she'll be sick. Just throw up right here right now. Splatter vomit all over the shiny glass counter and the multitudes of flyers plastered with Mike's grinning face.
Without warning, Edward tugs her back, moving to block Mr. Newton's pleading face from her view so that all she sees is Edward's strong back in his iron gray shirt. He keeps hold of her hand, pressed tightly against the back pocket of his dark jeans.
"Enough," he says in a way that doesn't encourage anything except compliance. He lowers his voice. "Don't plead for her understanding. Sign the check."
Bella hears the scratching of the pen and then finds herself moving, pulled back to Edward's side as his feet propel them both to the door and out it without a backward glance or word.
She has to hurry to keep up.
"Do you think that was wise?" she asks, her nerves frayed. "You were totally confrontational, and you keep showing your face to all these people. Aren't you worried about them making connections, figuring things out? Did you see those flyers? They're looking for Mike, and you and I both know he's...and you..."
Edward squeezes down on her hand warningly, and she clamps her mouth shut, tamping down rising hysteria.
"The only thing I'm worried about, Isabella," Edward replies, "is leaving you for one second unprotected in this fucking, damned town.
They reach his car, and he opens the passenger door, only then releasing her hand so she can get in. When he slides into the driver's side, she's disoriented when Edward sits gripping the wheel with fists clenched so tight she hears ominous creaking and popping sounds. He's seething. He slams the gearshift in drive and tears out of the parking lot, heading away from town rather than back towards her house.
"Distract me," he suddenly orders through clenched teeth.
Bella jumps slightly in her seat, watching him warily, not understanding this sudden mood change. "What?"
"Distract me," he repeats. "Talk to me."
"About?"
"Anything."
"I don't..."
"Distract me so I don't turn this car around, go back to that store, and tear that man's throat out."
"Edward! No, you can't do that. He's...it's not his fault..."
"Distract me."
Feeling the anger coming off him, Bella scrambles and says the first thing that comes to her mind.
"Thank you for doing what you did in there. I never would have asked for severance. I probably would've just quit and left with whatever he owed me, you know, pay wise."
Edward seems to ease slightly, the steering wheel quiet under his punishing grip.
She keeps talking. "I wasn't even thinking at all. I haven't had time to process Mike and what he did, taking all those pictures, stalking me. I put it out of my mind, and I'm just kind of now figuring out how messed up it all is, and how I couldn't work in that store after...with his parents and..." She pushes her hair back, shrugging as Edward looks over, his features slowly losing the hard set that reminds her he's capable of cold-blooded murder.
"Mike used to ask me to go out with him all the time," she adds unthinkingly, instantly regretting it when the steering wheel emits a new crunching sound. She rushes on anyway, unable to shut herself up with her nerves so scattered. "Back when we were in high school. He tried so hard to get me to go to prom with him, but I wasn't the prom type of girl, you know? I never went to prom."
"Why." He doesn't phrase it like a question. It's pure demand, and for once she doesn't think about not complying.
"I just didn't. It wasn't my thing. The dressing up in fancy clothes you'll never wear again. The stupid, painful high heels, the make-up and hair, the dancing." She forces a laugh. "I would have broken my neck just trying to walk from some ostentatious limo to a tacky decorated gym. I used to be a total klutz—like the most uncoordinated dork. I'm better now." Embarrassed at revealing so much, Bella shrugs again. "Anyway, it just wasn't me."
"Prom is a rite of passage in a human life."
"Prom is an excuse for bored girly-girl's to play dress up and the last few remaining virgins to get laid."
Edward looks at her, a slow genuine smile transforming his face. Bella feels that smile all the way through her body. It stuns her and warms her and leaves her faltering.
"So cynical, little beauty."
She shrugs, and his attention turns back to the road, the smile receding.
"What did you do instead?" he asks after a moment.
"Um... Just stayed home, alone. Ate junk food, watched a black and white horror movie marathon. Boris Karloff in Frankenstein, Fredric Marsh in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Bela Lugosi in Dracula. You don't act like Dracula by the way, though there's a little Jekyll and Hyde in you." Heat blooms in her face, and she wonders what happened to her filters. She used to be so good at keeping her thoughts to herself.
The right side of Edward's mouth twitches as his hands begin to relax their grip, one falling to rest on the gear shift, the other sliding to the ten o'clock position. His fingers drum lightly against the wheel.
She stares out her window, trying to find a sense of calm in this latest crazy before daring to say quietly, "Mr. Newton's not a bad guy."
Edward's jaw tightens instantly, though his hands stay relaxed. He takes his attention off the road again to look at her. She notices it doesn't affect his driving in the least.
"He knew, Isabella."
She frowns. "What?"
"He knew his son was unhealthily fixated on you months ago. He knew, and he didn't do anything to stop it."
. . . . . .
Edward watches Isabella's already pale complexion lose what little colour remained from her blushing confessions over prom.
"I don't understand." She curls her hands around the strap of her seatbelt as if she requires something to hold onto. "He knew?"
Edward fights the urge to comfort her, to offer his hand to hold. Such a ridiculous gesture, one he finds hard to resist. "Yes. He was aware," he tells her, granting upsetting information rather than comfort. "He found hundreds of pictures of you on the cretin's phone. He watched him often when you two worked the same shift, and he witnessed dozens of improprieties."
"What kind of 'improprieties?'"
Edward turns away from her wide eyes and pale features. The tremor in her lips makes him want to commit acts on the senior Newton very much like those committed against his son.
"Standing too close when you were occupied, smelling your hair when your back was turned, watching you constantly."
"You read all of this in his mind?"
"Yes." That and so much more, though Edward keeps the more damning evidence to himself. If she were to know it would only cause her embarrassment and upset. Comforting her is a foreign, awkward concept to him; shielding her from harm on the other hand is as instinctual as the breathing he no longer technically needs to do.
She's quiet for a very long time. Edward drives, his mind turning from rage at what could have happened to Isabella had he not come to town and ended Michael Newton's life, to cold calculation.
As if she's learning the way his mind works, Isabella adjusts her position in her seat so she's turned toward him, the knee of her left leg bent and tucked up so she has room to do so.
"Mike is...was...their only child, Edward. I don't think Mr. Newton would be able to wrap his head around what Mike was doing."
Edward doesn't answer. She's mostly correct, but where she views such a thing as a valid excuse for his failure, Edward only sees it as damning evidence the man is spineless and therefore a waste of space. That he dared to address Isabella and plead with her... His fury nearly ratchets back up.
"You're welcome."
Isabella stares at him, thrown by the abrupt change in their discussion. "Pardon?"
"You're welcome for ensuring the severance package." If possible, Edward would have gladly taken every penny the man has and placed it in her hand before snapping his weak neck. Instead, even in his rage at what he was learning second-by-second from the man's malfunctioning brain, he was forced to only slightly stretch the definition of generous, writing the check for fifteen grand—a paltry sum. A little less than half a year's wages for Isabella, not that she needs the money. He has more than enough to cater to her every need and desire for a dozen lifetimes.
It was only for show. A staged event for the sake of security cameras and Isabella's safety—her employment terminated with all the t's crossed and i's dotted. Edward kept his back to the cameras the entire time, and the system was cheap and unable to capture sound, ensuring his demands weren't recorded.
Removing the check from his shirt pocket, Edward places it in her lap. She stares at it and blanches.
"It's too much, that's..."
"A drop in the bucket to him, and less than what he should owe." He snarls the last word.
"I can't accept this." Isabella fidgets, the check clamped in one hand, biting her lip. "I can't," she repeats adamantly, as if he argued.
He personally doesn't care what she does with the pittance of a sum, still he tells her, "Your employment has ended through no fault of your own. Severance is your due, Isabella."
She stares at him with wide eyes. "I'm the reason his son is dead," she whispers.
Edward frowns, disliking the shattered look she displays. "You are not to blame for that degenerate's demise. His actions earned his death, and his blood is on my hands, not yours."
She looks out the window. "How can you say that, so casually, like it's nothing?"
"His life was forfeit for your safety. In comparison to you, he was nothing to me, ergo, his death is nothing."
Isabella is quiet for a long moment, watching the passing scenery, keeping her mysterious thoughts to herself behind that impenetrable wall in her mind.
"I should put this in the bank," she says finally, having reached some conclusion she doesn't share. "My mortgage payment is due."
His mood altered enough he feels his self-control return, Edward turns the car around and heads back into town to take Isabella to the bank, choosing not to remind her the money he placed in her account would adequately take care of her and her pittance of bills for months.
Instead, he surprises himself by reaching for her hand, craving contact and the feel of her skin. His thumb slides over her pulse point, oddly reassured by the rapid little tick of her heart. Thirst a dark burn in his throat, he lifts her hand to his face, running his nose over the swell of her knuckles and inhaling deeply. He surprises himself further by kissing her soft wrist, twining his fingers with hers before lowering their combined clasp to rest on her warm thigh. The tenderness she brings out in him is unprecedented and growing.
Isabella watches him, her breathing shallow, obviously affected by his touch.
"Does your head hurt?" he asks.
The question seems to throw her.
"Pardon?"
"When you spoke with your father, you told him you had a headache."
"Oh." She turns her head to look out the windshield and subsides into silence.
Impatient, Edward squeezes her hand. "Isabella?"
She sighs. "I'm fine, Edward."
He regards her, carefully taking note, and decides she's speaking the truth.
"Do you get frequent headaches?"
Isabella arches an eyebrow, turning her head. "Are you compiling my medical history?" she asks sarcastically, though a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
He fights the urge to laugh at her mercurial temperament. "Your father seemed to cave quickly to your reasoning for avoiding him. This leads me to believe headaches are a familiar occurrence."
Shrugging, she drops her gaze and stares at their joined hands. "I get headaches from time to time, Edward. I'm human."
"I'm aware, Isabella."
Edward releases her hand to manoeuvre the car into a parking spot, and she unlatches her seatbelt, reaching for the door nearly before the car is adequately stopped. The automatically engaged locks prevent her from escaping, and she huffs in irritation, making him chuckle.
"Always so eager to escape me, lamb." If the perfume of her physical attraction and desire for him were not apparent, Edward just might be offended.
He reaches out, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to pull her close for his kiss. He needs the taste of her, the feel of her breath warm and sweet in his mouth, the soft sigh she makes in the back of her throat the only thing that will banish the lingering unease he feels after visiting her workplace. Learning just how completely surrounded Isabella is by incompetence and stupidity has his every cold nerve-ending agitated.
She's stiff for a moment before she melts into his kiss sweetly, proof she's unable to truly resist their connection. Edward knows the time is quickly coming when he must take her away from here. The knowledge of the senior Newton's incompetence and compliance in the face of a threat against Isabella only heightens his awareness of her fragility. Keeping his exquisite mate by his side and safe from harm in a place like this, surrounded by idiots and ne'er-do-wells, is a task that's beginning to tax his patience.
He may just set fire to this entire town and watch it burn in the rear view mirror as they leave.
. . . . . .
The second Jake walks through Billy's back door, the vibe he feels is all wrong. That's because Billy's not alone. Sue Clearwater, Old Quil, and Sam Uley—all governing members of the Quileute tribal council—are all crowded around Billy's tiny kitchen table. Leah's here also, and from the looks of things, Jake's interrupting an intense conversation.
Billy wheels his chair around. "Wasn't expecting you this morning, son."
Jake resists the urge to state "obviously" and glances around the room. His gaze hits Leah and lingers, taking note of her mood. She and Sam Uley have a seriously screwed up relationship history. Leah tends to stay clear of him. Seeing them in the same room is odd, but what's odder is she doesn't appear overly upset by it.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, looking back at Billy. "I had a few things to take care of. Thought I'd grab a shower before heading back into town. Don't let me stop your little pow-wow."
He starts forward, heading for his old room, when Billy propels his wheelchair forward and blocks the way.
"Actually, why don't you take a minute and join us. What we're discussing includes you."
Shit.
"Yeah, don't really have time right now, Dad."
"Make time. Leah made coffee. Have some."
Leah's already on the move, pouring a cup and bringing it straight to him. He takes it, cursing mentally at the double block.
Leah sticks her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and says quietly, "I've been calling you."
"Yeah, sorry." He takes a slug of the coffee, noticing it's exactly the way he likes it—strong, black, and scalding hot. "Been busy. You okay?"
She shrugs, studying him while hiding her emotions behind her patent fake, bland smile. "Be better if you quit dodging me. We need to talk, Jake."
He nods, and she goes back to the table, sliding into her seat between Old Quil and Sam.
"All right, I'll bite." Jake does another scan around the table, his weird olfactory sense picking up bites of nervous sweat, stress and excitement. "What's up?"
"What's up is we have tribe matters to discuss, namely the return of a Cullen."
Jake takes another mouthful of coffee and shifts to lean his shoulder against the wall, crossing one boot over the other. Christ, he needs this shit right now like he needs a hole in the head.
"He's not a Cullen." His declaration is met with all heads snapping in his direction.
"How do you know?" Old Quil asks, a shrewd expression on his wizened face.
"I did some checking."
Billy gives Jake a look like he's just won a prize. "Finally taking an interest in your real life, son?"
Gritting his teeth to bite back things better left unsaid, Jake takes a second to tamp down his irritation before leveling Billy with a bored look. "I always take an interest in my real life, Dad, which is why I checked things out. It has nothing to do with any of you. This is about me helping someone I care about, not about ancient legends and bullshit treaties."
Old Quil starts to stand, knee joints popping, looking like he wants to take a strip off Jakes's hide. Sue puts out a hand to stop him. "What do you know?" she asks quietly, always the peace keeper.
Draining the last of his coffee, Jake stalks to the sink half wishing he'd shut his mouth. "Guy's name is Masen," he tells them grudgingly. "He's renting the place, helping to oversee construction and reno work being done by a big legal firm out of Vancouver. Apparently, the house and land is currently managed by them. Far as I can tell, there are no Cullen heirs taking any interest. Not even sure there are any heirs at all."
Jake purposely keeps from mentioning the name Edward. If he's right, and there's an Edward listed on that stupid fucking fictional treaty, he doesn't need to give anyone in this room additional ammo for their fixation. Coincidence makes for lousy evidence unless you're desperate enough to grasp at straws like this group is.
"Any of you ask Embry to look into this?" Jake asks, redirecting the conversation. Billy looks away, which means yes, he did. Sue, likewise, becomes interested in the swirls on the worn Formica table top.
"Embry won't touch this with a ten foot pole," Sam answers, meaning Embry flat-out refused to dig. Embry, like Jake, holds few ties to his Quileute history and feels even less loyalty. He comes to the reservation rarely and only to see his mom, when she's not hitting the bottle, which Jake hears isn't often these days.
Sam gets to his feet, downing the rest of his coffee. Like Jake, he walks the empty cup to the sink.
"So it's not a Cullen in the house. Guess that about ends this discussion," he states. He runs water in his mug to rinse it, and Jake resists the urge to grin at the downcast faces of the older individuals in the room coming on the heels of Sam's remark. Unlike Embry and Jake, Sam still lives on Quileute land. He's proud of his heritage, but it ends there as far as Jake has ever known. He heads up security for the reservation, taking care of disputes and doing regular patrols of the land, handling anything that doesn't require actual law. He's also the youngest and clearest thinking member on the tribal council.
Sam stops behind Leah's chair and puts his hand lightly on her shoulder. "You need anything, Leah, you know I'm only a phone call away."
He gives a gentle squeeze, and the hair on Jake's forearms stands up, his back straightening. He feels a strange growl percolate in his throat, and his hands fist as he swallows it back, mystified by his own reaction which is straight up kick-to-the-balls pissed, jealous, and protective. He glares daggers at Sam then finds himself taking a step forward and hooking his hand around the back of Leah's neck, putting himself in Sam's space, forcing him to prematurely step back. Jake's move says "mine" just as loud as if he spoke, and he has no idea why.
He catches Billy's eyes on him, clear interest all over his face. Jake doesn't like it, but it doesn't stop him from keeping his hand right where it is or giving Sam a glare that he knows comes across as a warning to back the fuck away.
Sam shoots him a speculative look before he turns on his heel and wisely leaves. That's when Jake notices Leah's gone tight under his hand, and Billy's not the only one looking at him strange. Jake forces himself to let go of Leah and catches sight of the clock over the fridge.
Shit. The day is getting away from him, and he really needs that shower. Maybe a blast of cold water will shock him into a saner frame of mind, though it looks like he's going to have to pass.
"Jake." Billy begins to back his chair away from the table, clearly not thinking this is over.
"I gotta run. I've got a lot to do today."
"Thought you wanted a shower?"
"Out of time, thanks to this crap. You guys done poking your nose into innocent people's business?"
Sue blanches, and Old Quil mutters something unintelligible under his breath. Billy finishes backing his chair up and glares at Jake. "Don't you think it's weird after all these years of that house being abandoned and falling down on itself, it's all of a sudden occupied?"
Jake shakes his head. He should have known Billy wouldn't let things go easy. "Dad, drop it. It's not a Cullen—that's all you need to know. If you're determined to stick to the rules of this so-called treaty, just stay off the land the same way you always have. You've got no reason to be in this guy's business."
Sue gets to her feet. "Let's just adjourn this meeting. There's no point in arguing."
Jake shakes his head. "Why is any of this even on the table for discussion in the first damn place?" he asks, patience snapping and curiosity getting the better of him.
"You're so ignorant to the way of things, Jacob Black," Old Quil grates out hostilely. He struggles to his feet, shaking off Sue when she attempts to help. "This is your legacy, boy. Your history and your people. You should..."
"Enough, Old Quil." Sue cautions, her tone quiet yet firm.
Old Quil makes a derisive and unattractive sound in his throat. He glares at Billy, things unspoken passing between them before he mutters he's "going out for a smoke" and shuffles to the door.
Sue stands as well and begins to clear the table. She glances up at Jake and sighs. "I know you don't agree or even understand what the issues at hand here are, Jake..."
"You're damn right, I don't."
Billy whacks his hand down on the arm of his chair, the smack of his flesh on the padding resulting in nothing more than a dull thud. "Damn it, Jake, don't you get it? If this is a...Cullen...a meeting between us would be in order to ensure the rules and agreements of the treaty were respected by all parties. We can't just have one of their kind running around free. Your great-great grandfather would be turning over in his grave if he knew you were turning your back on everything he worked so hard for, ensuring our people would be safe from those bloodsucking monsters."
Jake drags a hand through his hair, mentally counting to ten and cursing under his breath. "Well, it's not," he finally replies, voice low as he leans forward getting eye level with Billy. "And I'm telling you right now, Dad, shelve this shit and move on before you start harassing some innocent man and bringing a lawsuit down on the res. Hear me?" He doesn't wait for a reply. "I don't need you creating trouble. Get your head on straight. There is no such thing as vampires!"
Billy leans back hard in his chair like Jake slapped him, face turning red and blotchy. "Boy, you don't know what you're talking about. I'm telling you right now, everything I know, everything I am, tells me we got trouble. You need to man up and take your responsibilities to your people seriously."
"And how the hell am I supposed to do that, old man?" Jake asks, his tone condescending as he glares down at Billy who glares right back.
"Accept what you are and set up a meeting, make sure this cold one knows he has to abide by the treaty rules or leave."
"Jesus Christ," Jake mutters. "You've lost your damn mind."
"Jake." Sue moves closer, soft eyes beseeching. "I know it's hard. Your mother took you away when you were so young, but you know the legends. You carry a very special gene. You can't keep running away from this. You know you're different. You know you feel things others don't..."
"Bullshit," Jake tells her. "I'm not a damn wolf. I'm a person. You people need to let me live my life and stop trying to drag me into some twisted modern version of some ancient, made up story."
"It's not made up," Billy roars, face getting redder with his rage. "Your blood is pure. You're the last of your line. It's not just about transformation, of taking on the shape of a wolf. It's in you. It's what you are. What you'll always be no matter how much you try to deny it!"
"This affects more than you, Jake," Sue says, her tone quiet in contrast to Billy's outburst. "You have to think of the future."
Billy suddenly spins his chair to face Leah, breath sawing in and out. "Tell him," he says, jabbing a finger at her. "Talk to him, right now."
Leah turns pale and gets quickly to her feet. "I told you, no."
"Billy, now's not the time." Sue moves behind Billy and grips his shoulders hard, but he ignores her.
"You gotta get through to him, Leah. Make him understand," he yells, spit flying from his mouth.
Jake moves fast, getting closer to Billy. "Enough," he says hard. "You don't raise your voice to her like that. You hear me? I'm done with this."
Reaching over, Jake grabs Leah's hand, making her move with him, fed up and needing air. Leah follows, only partially reluctant, telling Sue she'll call later as Jake pulls her out the door and past Old Quil who's puffing away on a cigarette on the porch.
Jake drags his cell out of his pocket noting the time. Christ. Already 10:30. His gut reminds him he hasn't had anything to eat yet while his brain reminds him of everything else he hasn't gotten done. He can't believe he got dragged into yet another argument about Quileute superstitious nonsense.
He stops at his car and finally turns to address Leah, who's looking at him sternly.
"You should go easier on Billy, Jake." Her admonishment pisses Jake off as it always does when she tries to intervene.
"Leah, Billy tries to suck me in all the time. Now he's got the tribal council doing it. I'm tired of it so don't you start, too."
She looks away, but not before Jake catches the glassy look of her eyes and the slight flinching of her shoulders.
He breathes out and leans his back against the car. "Look, sorry. I don't mean to be an ass..."
"You're doing a good job for someone with no intention," she snaps, still avoiding looking at him.
Jake gives her that. She's entitled to the attitude. He's been a dick lately, and blowing her off the way he has is a shit thing to do. She deserves better. Hell, she deserves better than him, period.
"I know," he replies. "Hey, look at me." She does, and he continues. "What was that about in there?"
Leah shrugs and looks back at the house, frowning. "Nothing," she answers, brow furrowing in annoyance or worry, he can't tell which. "Just...Billy and Mom think I need to work harder to convince you...of...things."
Jake doesn't know what to say to that. They've always carefully skirted around talking about anything Quileute. He thought she was okay with the fact their beliefs didn't mesh, but right now he can tell she's holding something back. He's just not sure what it is.
Tension flaring in his back with a dull ache, he bites the bullet and asks, unable to keep the disdain out of his tone. "You really do buy into all this, don't you?"
Leah's head snaps back around, and she scowls. "I believe there's more to this world than you do, if that's what you're asking."
Jake resists the urge to bang his head against something. "You sound like your brother."
"Yeah, well, Seth is smart." There's acid in her tone, but she quickly sighs and drops it. "Look, let's not do this here."
Jake exhales roughly, his skin prickling like it doesn't belong on his body. Restless and pissed, he still tries to control his temper. "I'm sorry I've been out of touch. I'm caught up in this shit with Bella and..."
"What else is new, Jake?"
His jaw clenches, and he drops her hand, stuffing his in his pockets. Again, she has the right to be upset. Still...
He narrows his gaze at her. "You and me, Leah, have things changed?"
"What?" she snaps, all attitude and claws. There's something new and vulnerable thrown in the mix, though, and Jake could kick himself for not noticing it sooner.
"Changed, babe. Have things changed between us?"
"I don't know what you mean." But her eyes shift away, and he can tell she knows exactly what he's asking.
"You said when we started things between us, it was casual. Just us having fun, spending time together in bed when it suited us. Nothing serious. Has that changed?"
She doesn't answer, the ground at her feet suddenly claiming all her attention. Finally she replies, quietly unsure, "I...no. I don't know. Just... Stuff happens. Things always change, I guess. It's life."
Jake stares at the top of her head, liking the way the sunlight hits her jet black hair, highlighting the shine. Fuck, she's pretty, especially like this, showing a hint of vulnerability he's so unused to. His temper eases.
"You said we need to talk. Want to at least give me a hint?"
She shakes her head and finally looks back up. "Not here," she repeats.
She seems a little pale and a lot tired. Something pulls at Jake's chest. An urge to draw her close, wrap his arms around her, and hold her for a little while. Ease some of that weariness of hers, and maybe some of his, too.
She crosses her arms over her chest, and her face tightens, stopping him from putting action to his thoughts. Leah's never been one for tenderness, at least not from him. Jake settles for reaching out and brushing her hair back. He can understand why she wouldn't want to talk here, with Old Quil glaring from the porch and her mother just inside with his dad.
"All right, but give me this at least. Are you all right?"
She smiles a little, some of the defensive sliding out of her posture. "Define all right."
Jake watches her closely, but she gives him nothing, just a quirk of her eyebrow and her infamous attitude. He answers soft. "All right, as in whatever's up with you can wait a little while longer till we have some privacy and time alone."
She licks her lips. She's gorgeous, and he has dozens of memories of them together doing things way better than this, so he notices and likes it.
He curls his hand around the side of her neck and squeezes gently. His to-do list weighs on his mind. He pushes it aside and gives a light pull, dragging Leah closer, asking again, "Yes or no?"
She stares back then sighs. He practically feels her closing down. "It can wait, Jake. Whatever."
Fuck.
"You hungry?"
She blinks at him, obviously thrown by the change in his gears. "What?"
"I haven't eaten yet today. Have you?"
"No."
"Are you hungry?" he asks again.
She opens her mouth to answer but her stomach beats her to the punch, growling softly. Jake barks a laugh, and she smiles, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.
"Guess that's a yes." He doesn't know why he's changing his plans, or at least putting them off, he just knows he can't walk away from her when she's dealing with something that's upsetting her. He doesn't even want to try. "Let's go."
She looks wary. "Where?"
"We'll go to the diner..."
"I'm not talking about private stuff between you and me in the diner, Jake," she interrupts, back to irritable.
Jake waits out her snit and gives her a minute more to see he's not in the mood to fight. "You going into work today at the shop?"
She nods, warier after his silence. "Fine, then. We'll go to the diner," he repeats. "Get some breakfast, then I'll drop you off at the shop. You can tackle some of those invoices on my desk for me and do your other shit. I'll go take care of what I have to take care of then come back and pick you up around five and bring you home. We'll get take out on the way and eat dinner at your place..."
"I'm not eating out twice in one day, Jake. I'll cook dinner."
Jake gets quiet again, waiting. She huffs and mutters, "Fine, take out, whatever."
Reaching out with the hand not around the back of her neck, he hooks a finger in her jeans belt loop, yanking her into him till she's tucked between his slightly splayed legs. Her crossed arms uncross, hands planting flat on his chest. She gasps a little at the sudden change and closeness.
"You look like you're fucking wiped, Leah. Take-out means you don't have to cook, and, baby, looking as wiped as you are, you're not cooking. Are we clear?" He'd made that mistake too many times with Bella, letting her take care of him when he should've been doing a better job taking care of her. If Leah needs rest, he's going to make damn sure she gets it.
Surprisingly, Leah nods then drops her head against his chest with an exhale that confirms she's exhausted. Jake curls his arms around her, pulling her closer, something deep in his gut easing at the way she feels…right, all tucked up close to him like this.
His mind spins, wondering what the fuck is going on between them and what she needs to talk about, unable to stop himself from thinking about the way Sam touched her inside the house. Last he heard, Sam, and Leah's former best friend and cousin Emily, were as inseparable as ever, but maybe things have changed.
Jake's arms tighten around Leah, and his blood boils.
Something deep inside is screaming at him that she's his and his alone. He just might rip Sam's head right off his shoulders if he's even sniffing anywhere around Leah, and isn't that a kick in Jake's aching gut and a complication bound to make his life a whole lot more difficult?
. . . . . .
