A/N: This update is sponsored by incorrect quotes, delivered on a wave of tears (mine) and an ardent wish (Hyacinthed's) that one day the newborn arc will be done.
River: I'm changing my username. It's been ten years, nobody can spell it.
Hyacinthed: Rebranding at this stage is a terrible plan.
River: I've had worse.
forty-seven
(Leah)
"I really don't think this is a good idea," Jacob says for the third time.
Or perhaps it's the fourth, or the fifth — she's already lost count. Either way, she refuses to slow down, continuing her march towards the Uley-Young love nest with a type of dogged determination that ordinarily she wouldn't have believed possible for a person to possess at two o'clock in the morning.
Jacob is almost as determined as she is. Even whilst staging his last-ditch attempt to change her mind — as if such a thing could ever be accomplished — he easily manages to match her pace. "Honey—"
"No," she says.
And, damn him, he laughs.
She had thought that she won this argument before he'd fallen asleep, but it seemed that, even in unconsciousness, Jacob had managed to convince himself all over again that her tagging along is a Very Bad Idea. From the very minute he'd opened his eyes, he proceeded to regale her with his impressively detailed argument, presenting his oddly specific concerns: hiking halfway up the mountain range was a sure-fire way for her to catch pneumonia; that, coupled with his assertion that she had earned every bit of rest, tonight was merely a formality if nothing else; that he would be home again before she knew it, so she didn't need to worry.
In the end, it had taken very little to shut him up, even for just a minute. She'd simply walked out of the door.
He followed, of course. He'd even had the forethought to grab her green parka from the back of the couch as he went, grumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a complaint about her catching her death.
"Fine," he says (again), apparently — finally — abandoning his poor attempts at persuasion. He puts on a burst of speed and skips a few steps in front of her, merely smiling when she glares up at him for stopping her in her tracks.
"You're in my way," she declares.
He scrunches his nose at her in answer.
"Jacob."
He holds out her jacket, ignoring her, and they have a silent stand-off for all of twenty seconds before she finally gives in and pulls it on with a sigh. She has barely zipped it up before he's gently pulling the hood over her head, taking care to tuck her hair in and tug the strings a little tighter, fussing longer than is strictly necessary.
With the way he bundles her up, treating her like she's made of glass, anyone would think her temperature didn't run almost as hot as his, or that she was in some kind of mortal peril.
"It's cold," he explains.
She doesn't remind him that she barely feels the cold anymore, that she isn't as fragile as his overly-protective imprint brain likes to think. Instead, she allows him this small, indulgent moment — one that may help take a fraction of his stress away. Going to confront one bloodsucker in the middle of a high school's parking lot is one thing; taking her to meet seven of his mortal enemies (without the blessing of Sam, his technically-but-not-really Alpha) is another.
"Happy?" she asks. It's a testament to how much she cares for him — loves him — that she doesn't even roll her eyes when she says it.
"No," he says. He stoops to press an array of sweet kisses on her forehead regardless, saving her lips for last. "Let's go."
As Leah predicted he would, Sam takes one look at her and immediately begins shaking his head, his expression rivalling the one that Jacob had worn before they'd left the house.
"No."
It's purely down to how well he knows her that he doesn't automatically blame Jacob for her presence; he has likely already guessed that he tried (and failed) to stop her, has already guessed that this is her decision, and hers alone.
That he still knows her like this annoys her beyond all reason, because of course he knows her. Still, there are times that she finds it useful — like now. If anything, it has saved her the bothersome task of ripping out of his throat to defend Jacob from something that is out of his control.
And by the tiny step Sam yields, he knows it, too.
Coward.
They have had very little to do with each other since he told her Jacob imprinted. Purposefully so — on her part, at least. She wonders if he is thinking the same thing.
Anyone with a pair of eyes could easily blame her avoidance of him on the fact he and Jacob can hardly stand to be around one another (because, as their relationship changes and grows, she is so rarely where Jacob is not and therefore far away from Sam), however nobody seems to understand how angry she still is with him. They don't know why she has spent months distancing herself from him, or that there are some days she cannot allow herself to even think of his name in fear she'll start thinking about everything he had confessed to her that day. They don't know how close she often comes to storming his porch to demand answers — answers that she suspects he cannot or will not give her, not with Emily waiting for him. Answers that his brothers will know as soon as he thinks of them; answers that Jacob does not want or need swirling around the Pack mind.
It's not exactly as if she needs to know, either. Just her morbid curiosity, perhaps — something that likely had more than a little to do with the Swan girl (until Jacob had eased those particular concerns, anyway). Because if anyone was able to understand that girl at this moment in time . . . If anyone could understand what it was like to have everything and yet still want more, it was Sam.
Sam, who had held her up in the days after her father had died; the very same man who had insisted on coming to her graduation due to some long-dead promise they'd made to each other before the supernatural world existed for them.
And now . . . Now, she knows that even if imprints were something that could be broken, the possibility of her ever wanting to be with Sam like that again is about as likely as Taha Aki walking back out of the forest after seven hundred years. And maybe not even then, considering that she doesn't think she will ever be able to look him in the eye again, not for the rest of her life, not without thinking about it, without remembering everything he had said to her that day.
'I didn't want to leave.'
'I love you, too.'
'The man — he would have chosen differently.'
It still makes her sick.
Jacob, too.
(He doesn't talk about it, and neither does she, but she knows how it makes him feel. He and Sam may be able to stand in a room together — progress, of sorts — but they have not permitted one another entry to their thoughts for a while now. And on the days when their responsibilities do put them in the same room . . . Those are days when Jacob comes home and holds her for just a little longer than normal, almost as if to remind himself of where they have both chosen to be. Where she has chosen to be, regardless of destiny and fate.)
"Go home, Leah." Sam's voice is hard and flat — everything she associates with the after of their relationship, when there had been nothing but anger and betrayal and broken pieces of them left.
Her shit-eating grin comes easy. "And wait up all night, wondering if I'd missed my last chance to piss you off before the world ends? I don't think so," she says, purposefully ignoring the tension around them. If she wasn't so hellbent on standing her ground, she might've laughed at the way the Pack have become suddenly interested in the moon, or the nearest tree, pretending as if the bland scenery is the most interesting thing they've ever seen in their lives.
(And if she sees a few of them trying to hold back their laughter, or appearing a little pleased with themselves — namely Embry and Paul — then she graciously chooses not to say anything. She does not doubt that they have just won a bet on whether she would have enough balls to show her face tonight or not; these days, she can predict just about anything they're willing to risk their wallets for.)
Sam is unmoved. "I've got enough to worry about tonight without you antagonising the Cullens."
"Best behaviour only," she promises sweetly, knowing that the sudden coughing from within the group is her best friend trying to rein in his laughter. "So, are we all set?"
"We are," Sam says. "You are going home."
"Great," she chirps with false feeling from underneath the hood of her jacket. "Ready when you are."
Sam looks to the heavens as if he might find the strength to refrain from throttling her, although she's quite confident that at least four of his wolves would hold him back the second his hands twitched in her direction.
Apparently thinking the same thing, Jacob squeezes her hand, a quiet warning to not push him too far lest they not make it off the front lawn. Even Embry takes a surreptitious step towards them, closely flanked by Seth and Quil.
"We haven't got time for this, Lee."
"You're the one wasting it, Sammy."
"You're not going to be able to keep up."
"So don't leave me behind, and we won't have a problem," she says.
"You'll be a distraction," he counters. "This is serious. You can't protect yourself, and I'm not about to lose my best fighters because they're too busy worrying about an imprint being within touching distance of our enemies—"
"Jake has managed perfectly fine so far. Several times, with me right there to witness it. How is this any different?"
Something in his expression flickers that he can't quite recover from. "It's not just Jake I'm worried about."
It's a no-brainer that Sam is thinking about himself, too. But she's not — she's thinking about Seth, about Embry; Quil, Brady, Collin. Paul. She will even stretch to granting some headspace to Jared, purely owing to how much she has come to care for Kim.
"Glad we can agree on something, at least," she says.
They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, both refusing to be the first to break. Something that he knows, and likely the reason his lip curls in an aggravated snarl, his heated gaze snapping to Jacob instead.
"You're happy with this?" he demands.
"No," Jacob answers honestly, "but she's made it perfectly clear that if we go without her then she's only going to follow us."
"Don't forget the other part," she chips in.
Jacob sighs, equal parts reluctant and defeated. "She also painted quite a vivid picture about getting lost in the woods and being found by a certain redhead."
"Of course she did," Sam says flatly. "And you went and fell right for it."
Leah puts her hand up. "She is right here, thank you."
She goes mostly ignored, though Sam is forced to silence the laughter from his Pack with a swift and deadly look in their general vicinity.
"Why do you want to come?" he finally asks — demands — of her. Like she is one of his duty-bound wolves compelled to listen, to answer.
"You can't seriously expect me to sit at home twiddling my thumbs whilst you're all out risking your lives."
"Emily and Kim—"
"—don't have as much riding on this as I do."
"Oh come off it, Leah," he argues. "Don't pretend this doesn't have anything to do with getting one up on Bella Swan."
"So what if it does? I'm not going to stand by and watch whilst some little homewrecker steals my boyfriend."
Again, she doesn't add.
But Sam hears the unspoken word — they all do — and despite everything she knows about him, about how he feels, the implication makes him flinch more than she thought it would.
It seems that some wounds are just not meant to heal.
Maybe he doesn't want them to.
He bares his teeth, jabbing a pointed finger at her with (what she assumes to be) a kind of threatening malice, though it has little to no effect; she has won.
"You are not to speak to them — you keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself, Leah, or I swear to God you'll regret it. Am I clear?"
"Crystal."
It doesn't seem to satisfy him. "You've just fucked up every plan that I had for tonight," he growls. "I hope you're happy."
The retort is on the tip of her tongue, but even she considers it a miracle that she manages to swallow the words.
Sam whirls on his feet and stalks away, and it's only when he barks a furious command over his shoulder that the Pack lurch after him, almost as if they're being yanked by an invisible string.
There's quiet terror in the eyes of the youngest members: Collin, Brady and Seth each look as if they're about to crap their pants, unused to seeing someone stand up to Sam and live to tell the tale, whilst the older members seem equal parts impressed and stunned stupid that their Alpha has given in.
After a long pause of silence, Jacob seemingly remembers he's supposed to follow the commands of the Alpha, too; he makes a great show of urgency, though they both know that he has long since won back his free will.
"I swear, you're going to get us killed one of these days," he mutters.
His palm is sweaty against her own, his relief rolling off him in huge tidal waves that wash away her adrenaline with every lull. But they both know — and don't say — that Sam was never going to refuse her; he only needed to show strength to those who still believe in him, almost as if he is aware of just how quickly he is losing control, like the trickling grains of an hourglass, slipping hopelessly through his fingers.
Whether Jacob will be there to catch them once they fall is another matter entirely.
It is with a grudging sort of acceptance that she allows Jacob to carry her on his back as they run through the rainforest, if only because she has no hope of matching their speed.
(In a bid to hurry the pace, Jacob had suggested phasing and carrying her a different way. And as much as the thought of arriving on wolfback for all the Cullens to see still gives her a slight thrill when she imagines it, she had quickly shut the idea down before a single joke could fall from Paul's lips.)
There is nothing human about the Pack as they journey deeper into the Olympic Mountains; they are a focused unit, quieter than she ever thought possible, and so she speaks little to Jacob — to any of them. She even has to forcibly refrain from sneaking glances at her little brother, wishing that it wouldn't make her a hypocrite to send him home and keep him there until the worst has passed.
He wouldn't thank her for it. He'd probably hate her for months, and still she would do it anyway. Because if there was ever a time to swallow her pride, then it is now. She has never begged anyone for anything in her life, but she will for Seth. She'll get on her hands and knees in front of Sam if she must, and she won't lose a wink of sleep over it. Not if it keeps her brother away from the frontlines, safe and out of danger.
(Ditto for Jacob, though she doesn't need a crystal ball to know that getting between him and his plans to decimate some leeches is a recipe for disaster.)
She knows they are close to the ranger's station when the boys start undressing, shamelessly casting aside pairs of shorts held together with little more than hastily sewn patches and prayers (Leah's, specifically; she's not entirely comfortable with the whole nudist situation, practicality be damned). Jacob wordlessly sets her down, pulling her to his side, and she leans into him until the last rumbling growl dies and the wolves are standing tall, shaking out their fur. Only Jacob and Sam remain on two feet, united in a way she has never seen before.
"Seven leeches," Jacob murmurs. "One heartbeat."
Sam nods tightly, and they silently match forward. The Pack moves noiselessly behind them, shadowing them, obeying when Sam throws out a hand, silently ordering them all to halt.
He doesn't move for a whole minute, hand still outstretched in wordless command. Listening, calculating his — their next move.
"What are you waiting for?" Jacob hisses after another minute.
"Gotta do this right," Sam mutters, though Leah thinks he sounds more like he's talking to himself than anyone else. "One of us needs to stay on two feet."
"What? You wanna draw straws?" Jacob asks dryly. "It won't make a difference how we play it. Every secret we have, they're gonna know by the end of the night. No point keeping our numbers quiet now. Let's get it over with."
Sam hums, an agreeable yet disappointed sound. "We can't all phase." He pointedly glances down at Leah between them, and she tries not to fume too audibly at the unwanted reminder of her limitations. "I'm not having a repeat of the last time we all got together. And from what you've told me, I don't trust Edward to translate without editing."
"I don't trust him full stop," Jacob mutters.
"We may be in agreement for once."
"I hate this."
"Me, too," Sam says tiredly, "but I'm shit out of ideas and halfway to abdicating. So if you've got anything better, now's your chance."
Not for the first time, Leah ponders just how close Sam is to following through on his word. If he truly believes Jacob will feel forced to take up the mantle should he step down from authority.
Jacob doesn't answer.
Perhaps he is thinking the same thing.
"You'll be able to protect her better if you phase," Sam says then. "Everyone listens to you. I'll go in. They'll be expecting that, I think."
Leah feels Jacob's indecisiveness. Stay with her, stay with his brothers. Human, wolf. Warrior, protector. "Fine," he says eventually, "but we're not being stupid about it. Stay in the middle; we'll flank you. Both of you."
"Do as you see fit, Jacob."
If Jacob is surprised, he doesn't show it. He gives her a lingering kiss as a parting gesture, the sort that usually makes others look away — the sort that usually says mine — before he lets her go and starts shucking his shorts. Within seconds, he is rising on four paws and shaking out his fur.
There is little time to marvel over the huge russet wolf that comes to stand between her and Sam, taller than her even in this form. She buries her hand deep into his fur, twisting strands around her fingers and holding on tight. He doesn't seem to mind — or notice.
On her other side, Embry stands sentry, his grey wolf silent and unobtrusive, no more than her shadow — he seems to be in silent agreement with Quil about something, who is guarding their backs just as closely and monitoring their every move, every shallow breath they take. Meanwhile, Jared steps up to fill the unguarded spot on Sam's left, and the remaining members of the Pack seem to naturally fall into some sort of hierarchy around them; Leah recognises Seth's sandy coat at the far end of the line, standing tall and proud between the two smallest wolves who she instantly knows to be Collin and Brady.
Sam takes a deep breath, wincing. "God, it stinks."
"Of what?"
His answering expression is grim, almost as if war has been prematurely declared. "Death," he says. "Stay close."
Shrouded in the shadows of the treeline, so dark that Leah can barely see her own feet, she casts her gaze over the clearing they have been summoned to.
The Cullens stand within the heart of it, their white skin luminous in the moonlight. Their stances appear somewhat casual by the Pack's standards; they are less orderly, less together, seemingly having paired themselves off within their own group. Leah recognises Edward and Bella, of course, though the others she hasn't met before. She allows herself the briefest look at the biggest one of them all: a dark-haired behemoth who is almost as tall as Jacob with muscles to rival Paul's, and she quickly decides that she has seen enough.
"Welcome," one of them calls.
"We'll watch, and we'll listen," Sam replies stoically, not bothering with any pleasantries of his own, "but no more. That's as much as I can ask of our self-control."
Leah schools her features into a similar expression of neutrality, smothering the relief coursing through her that the Pack will not be subjected to wrestling matches tonight — especially against that big brute, although she has a sneaking suspicion that he's the one Paul had fought when the bloodsuckers broke the treaty.
"That is more than enough." The one who speaks is their indisputable leader; his face is barely a few years older than his companions, but he holds himself differently, and his . . . family all seem to look to him for their next move.
Like the wolves look at Sam and Jacob.
What his name is, though, Leah can't remember — she only knows that this bloodsucker is the sole reason why Billy won't go to the hospital over the clinic to get his ruined feet checked and his diabetes under control.
"My son, Jasper"—the doctor gestures to another blonde male leech nearby whose face is set with distaste, or contempt, or both—"has experience in this area. He will teach us how they fight, how they are to be defeated. I'm sure you can apply this to your own hunting style."
Son. Leah can hear the Pack protesting that part already.
Sam is unmoved. "How different are they from you?"
"They are all very new — only months old to this life. Children, in a way. They will have no skill or strategy, only brute strength. Tonight their numbers stand at twenty. Ten for us, ten for you — it shouldn't be difficult. The numbers may go down."
As Jacob tenses underneath her hand, a low growl rumbling in his chest, flashes of teeth can be seen down the line, the Pack's reaction to that morsel of information unanimous. Ten bloodsuckers each — at least one apiece. Paul and Jacob are probably already fighting over who will be the first to take down the leftovers.
Their Alpha knows them well. "We are willing to take more than our share," he says, and his wolves grumble their assent.
The doctor smiles placidly. "We'll see how it plays out."
"Do you know when and how they'll arrive?"
"They'll come across the mountains in four days, in the late morning. As they approach, Alice will help us intercept their path."
The psychic, Leah thinks. She understands now, more than ever, why Jacob has never cared much for learning their names, even if he once had more reason to than most. It's easier to call the Cullens by the nicknames they've been designated by the Pack, which also helps make the bloodsuckers less human, less relatable, less interesting. That, and it's probably considered bad manners to dismember somebody you're on first-name terms with.
Sam nods tightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Thank you for the information. We will watch."
Leah's head snaps towards him, quickly enough that he catches the movement and slightly turns his own head to her, brows lifting in silent question — a small gesture of acknowledgement that keeps the Cullens in his peripheral vision and doesn't leave him vulnerable to them, but still lets her know that he is listening.
For perhaps the first and only time in her life, Leah wishes that he could hear her thoughts so that she doesn't have to speak the words aloud.
"Do you have something else to ask?" the doctor calls out.
Leah digs her fingers into Jacob's pelt, the only sign of weakness she's prepared to show, knowing that there are sixteen pairs of eyes watching the silent exchange between her and Sam. But she needs to know, needs to ask—
If you really must, Sam's expression seems to say, the incline of his head rescinding his prior Order to keep her mouth shut. Not that his decrees have any effect on her, but she did agree not to make trouble. And Sam will definitely count this as causing trouble.
She opens her mouth—
A familiar voice rings out before her own can materialise past her lips. Edward. "She wishes to ask about the Volturi," he says.
Jacob growls, his whole body vibrating underneath her palm. The sound is quickly followed by Embry, Quil, her brother — by the whole Pack, who have been sucked into Jacob's rage — but it is Sam who only can say what they are all thinking.
"You don't speak for us."
Edward raises both hands placatingly, and it's not until he takes a small step back that the wolves quieten.
"I remember your theory," he says to her then, his voice carrying clearly across the wide-open space between them, "but there has been nothing further to suggest they are involved in Victoria's plot. This has been carefully planned so that she's not in any danger from us at all — that is, if she sits safely behind and lets the newborns wreak their havoc here. Your concerns are unfounded."
"As long as there are no survivors of her little army to bear witness against her," the younger blonde bloodsucker, Jasper, adds sagely, frowning. "I would not be so eager to dismiss the lady's fears, Edward. If this does not go our way, there is a very real chance that the Volturi will get involved to clean this up."
The burly one laughs, a great boom erupting from him that makes Leah's skin crawl. Or maybe it's Jacob's revulsion she feels, or Embry's, both pressed so close to her sides that it's a wonder she can breathe.
"Doubting your skills, brother?" the huge vampire asks, clapping Jasper on the shoulder.
Jasper doesn't waver. His expression remains fierce, hard; battle-worn enough that Leah wonders just what kind of experience he is supposed to have against these other vampires that makes him so invaluable. He mutters something that she cannot hear from this distance, although the way he looks at her afterwards tells her all she needs to know:
She's not the only one worried about the Volturi.
"We're not worried," Edward says, his irritation tangible, unquestionably having something to do with the way that Bella leans into his side. The girl is almost as pale as he is in her evident fear — something else that Leah is going to be blamed for, too, she is sure.
"Last time you and I spoke, you were very quick to point out that the Volturi would object to our existence," Leah reminds him. "That if we stayed off their radar, we would be safe."
The woman beside the doctor gasps, white hands flying to her throat. "Edward, you didn't."
"I didn't intend it as a threat, Esme."
Liar, Leah thinks, but does not say; she knows that Edward hears her. "If they do get involved, then you've just signed our death warrant."
The Pack erupt into snarls that disturbs the forest at their backs, wildlife scattering in their wake. Surprisingly — or perhaps not so — Sam does little to curb their fury, allowing his Pack to make their statement until the doctor places himself at the head of his coven again, his palms upturned in surrender and his steps unhurried. Caught in her own temper, Leah has barely noticed that, though the wolves have not moved, the distance between their two groups seems to have closed.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Doctor Cullen says. "If we work together, I have every confidence that there will be no need for the Volturi to intervene."
"If you're that concerned for your lives," Edward adds, taking a brief pause to send a baleful glare in her direction at the expense of earning another rip-roaring growl from Jacob, "then you are free to leave. We can handle this."
Sam bristles. Looking at him, there is very little left of the boy Leah once knew in his features. "You called us, Cullen."
Not even Edward seems to have a smart answer for that.
With a sigh, Jasper steps into No Man's Land. "Carlisle is right. If we coordinate successfully, this should be over very quickly." He straightens, all business. "The newborns will fight like children," he begins to tell them. "The two most important things you'll need to remember are, first, don't let them get their arms around you and, second, don't go for the obvious kill. That's all they'll be prepared for. As long as you come at them from the side and keep moving, they'll be too confused to respond effectively. Emmett?"
Her argument dismissed, Leah fumes quietly, though she makes sure to keep her thoughts loud.
If Edward pays the disgusting, violent insults that she sends his way any attention — insults that her mother would surely try to ground her for — then he doesn't make it known.
As if sensing her fury, it takes a long while for the Pack to settle. Eventually, they crouch low on their bellies, their eyes focused on the instruction being given: first with Emmett, then the pixie, then Edward. And on and on it goes, until Leah's back is aching and her legs are leaden underneath her from her stubborn refusal to sit on the ground and take everything in, as if Jasper's training is going to benefit her and she's going to be fighting on the battlefield to remember every technique he shares with them — not that her heavy eyes have a hope in hell of tracking every movement the bloodsuckers make, anyway; she can't even keep her focus when Jasper once again goes through the motions of dismembering an enemy for everybody to see, using one of the daintier-looking leeches as target practice.
The Cullens start over. Jasper versus Emmett once more — and this time, Emmett seems out to even the score after losing the first round. The sound of their bodies crashing together is like thunder; it reverberates through her, the unnaturalness of it evoking some innate sense within her that has her cowering against Jacob's side like a frightened animal against her will.
He whines unhappily, craning his head round to blink one soulful eye at her.
She runs her hand over his coarse hair, steadying herself. "I'm fine," she murmurs.
It's not the bloodsuckers that terrify her, not really — it's the thought that in four days time, she knows she is going to be squirrelled away deep within La Push, probably with Kim (and, God help her, Emily), left to wait until it's all over. That, in four days time, the Pack are going to be out here fighting for real, uncertain if they will be successful or even if they will make it home again.
Jasper turns to them. "We'll be doing this tomorrow. Please feel welcome to observe again."
"We'll be here," Sam replies coolly. "If you'll allow me to send out one of my brothers to familiarise my Pack with each of your scents before we leave — so we don't make mistakes when the time comes," he adds, his tone indecipherable.
Carlisle nods, perhaps a little too eager to mollify the tension by how quickly he agrees. "Certainly. Whatever you need."
Leah expects Sam to call upon Paul — who, in addition to having the worst temper is renowned for having the best nose — however Sam's eyes pass right over the dark silver wolf and settle on Jacob instead, and tiredly she thinks, Of course.
Of course he would be sent in Sam's stead to commit the bloodsuckers to memory. Of course Sam would make him go, unable to trust Paul to keep himself in check, unable to put any of the others in danger over their Alpha and his Second.
Jacob seamlessly rises to his feet without a sound, somehow exuding nonchalance over what Leah considers to be the equivalent of baptism by fire, and she reluctantly lets him go, slightly disappointed when he doesn't look back. The empty spot he leaves behind is immediately closed; the Pack tightens its ranks around her, around Sam, keeping their eyes trained on their brother's back as if they all share the same fear.
Opposite them, the Cullens form an unnaturally still line, awaiting Jacob's advance. Out of them all, only Emmett appears relaxed, his grin stretched wide. Beside him, Edward keeps one hand on Bella, looking rather put-out by the situation as Jacob begins to work his way down the line, his tail straight and his head held high.
In a poor attempt to distract herself — this time, from the overwhelming desire to threaten the Swan girl who really needs to keep her damned hands to herself — Leah finds herself turning to Sam. "You should've sent someone else."
"Who?" he asks mildly. "Your brother?"
She doesn't answer, and he sighs. He is closer now than he has been all night; she vaguely wonders whether this is as uncomfortable for him as it is for her, though it doesn't take her more than a heartbeat to decide that she simply doesn't care.
They watch Jacob as he pauses in front of the doctor — Carlisle — and a woman who Leah can only presume to be his wife. Esme, Edward had called her. Then Jacob moves to Jasper, Alice, before loping towards the blonde female whose beauty is marred by the scowl of loathing that seems to be permanently etched into her perfect features — or perhaps it's something reserved only for those she dislikes invading her personal space, exactly as Jacob is doing.
Seemingly unbothered by the blonde's hostility, Jacob pulls away, moving with a sort of languid grace that Leah usually finds infuriating — only tonight, she can't muster the energy, busy fighting her burning eyes and ignoring the tightness in her shoulders. She's made it this far. And she'll be damned if she blinks now, only to miss the chance to knock the living daylights out of Bella again should the girl even think about looking at—
"Calm down," Sam tells her, just as Embry presses his wet nose against her balled fist. A warning. "It's almost over."
But it's not.
Jacob comes to a standstill before Edward and Bella, pausing long enough that Leah knows she's about to feel Sam's hands on her shoulders as he tries to hold her back from dishing out another well-deserved bruise.
In the corner of her eye, Sam takes a minute step forward. "The hell is he doing?"
Embry huffs at her side, a sound promptly echoed by all the wolves as Jacob looks back and forth between Bella and her bloodsucker, pawing at the dirt. It's only because the wolves aren't preparing to spring an attack that Leah manages to keep her feet rooted to the spot. If it were important . . .
Relief thrums all the way down the Pack when Jacob spins around and begins sprinting towards them. Sam, in particular, breathes a huge sigh of relief, one that Leah can't quite find it within herself to mimic until her wolf is within touching distance again. Especially not when she sees Bella's spindly fingers reaching out after him, calling on him to wait.
Bitch.
Jacob ensures he is under the cover of the trees before he phases, rising with seemingly little effort back onto two feet, already reaching for his shorts.
"Well?" Sam demands.
"You're not going to like it," Jacob says.
It seems to take Sam a great deal of effort to not pinch the bridge of his nose and emit a deep sigh. "I never do."
"You trust me?"
"Do I have a choice?"
Jacob's grin is a little lopsided. "Not really."
A/N #2: H is convinced my new treasure trove of scarily accurate incorrect quotes (via perchance dot org — it's really fun) were delivered on a mythical cloud of goodwill from the Oracle. Or something.
Hyacinthed: Y'know, maybe things aren't so bad really. I'm here, I'm alone with my thoughts, I have a whole afternoon to play CK3—
River: Hey bestie! The new chapter is ready for edits!
Hyacinthed: GODDAMMIT. How have we not finished BWYA yet? How long will it take?
River: I don't know. Maybe three, or four.
Hyacinthed: Three or four what? Days? Weeks? Months?
River: Yeah, make it five.
Hyacinthed: Five what?!
P.S. Shout outs to PastOneonta (we love you), KendieV (and you), StormWitch19851, MDBEU, my Aunt(ie) Bran, Jaime Volterra, sentinel10 (heart eyes), Silverfires (no words just love) and Cleo9427 (still not quite sure if you were genuinely upset but hope you've recovered from your bout of sickness — sorry). Thank you!
P.P.S. I used a ton of Cullen line lifts from Eclipse because they do not deserve originality. Disclaimer from Chapter 38/9 applies.