CHAPTER V: La Push's Resident Hothead

It didn't take very long for both Bella and Jacob to pinpoint the blame on me. After all, Paul's angry, fierce gaze was burning holes into the side of my head—the very side that hurt like a bitch—and the crossed-arm, jutted-out-hip look really just made him seem menacing. Truth be told, if I had my car stopped in the middle of the road by a shirtless, hella-hot bodybuilder, I would probably die. A thousand times. In a thousand different ways. I could be very creative when I wanted to be.

In a good, on-the-verge-of-literal-death way, though. I could tell by the panic in Bella's eyes that she was fearing for her life right about now.

"Go see what he wants, Cameron," Jacob whispered, putting a hand on Bella's shoulder. Of course—go and comfort the one with a perfectly intact scalp, rather than the girl bleeding the fuck out.

Rather than make a remark about this, I instead centered him with a leveled look of bliss; it had always been a dream of mine for Jacob to get on Paul's bad side. Maybe today was my lucky day. Would he knock a tooth loose like he nearly did Jeremiah? That'd sure be a sight to see. Even though Paul and Jacob were of equal size, Paul had a better fighting background, and it wouldn't take long for the uglier of the two to be flat on his back, crying out for mercy.

I flashed my teeth at Jacob, then looked at Bella. "Why don't you go, Bella? You do have a thing for guys who'll show you attention." I blinked innocently, smiling so wide that my jaw began to ache. It was worth it, though, when a flash of hurt swept by on her face. "Oh, or maybe not. I forget; maybe it was just guys who pretend to care that really get you going."

"Get the hell out and see what he wants," barked a steaming-cold (Hot? He wishes!) Jacob. When I glanced over at him, I could see that he was nearly shaking with rage, a look of utter distaste in his eye. He really didn't like me, and I supposed that hurting his little pale-faced girlfriend only strengthened that dislike. "Now."

"Of course, Jake!" I said, faking enthusiasm. "And if he asks—I'll tell him you got my face to look like this. He'll have a fun time making the two of us twinsies. Not like you could get any uglier, though, huh?"

Jacob reached across me and unlatched the door, shoving it open; too caught in my amusement, I lost all reaction time, and this caused me to flail away from the seat. A part of my mind began to flood with self-resentment—no seatbelt, not even a smidgen of sensible judgment; no wonder I was in this predicament, on the brink of a secondary concussion, all because I had seventy-five-percent of my mind too occupied with provoking Jacob to think he might try and kill me!

Well, of course, this self-resentment spent a very brief time in my head, because before I could touch the ground—hands already grasping for some sort of handle or surface to elevate myself from a cold, gritty slab of blacktop—someone saved me from my fate. I was mere inches away from slamming my face into the ground, when strong, muscled arms slithered around my armpits and hauled my torso up vertically. A taste of breathless adrenaline, a feeling I had experienced when first enduring my current head injury, was already set in place, numbing the area that was to experience fatal, future trauma, so now, I didn't feel much of anything. Except a strong sense of anxious butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach.

And that feeling was because—

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Black?!" Paul Lahote snarled. He pulled me up until my feet were touching a flat surface; he pressed in a finger against my shoulder as though asking, "Can you stand?" and when I nodded my head against his shoulder, he fell back, until his heat disappeared completely. And I was left cold and bewildered, experiencing only half of this stare-down, not willing to take a peek at what shadow was casted over Paul's face. "She could have gotten hurt even worse; are you a fucking idiot?"

"She's fine now, isn't she?" Jacob rolled his eyes, trying not to look scared—but I saw through his Salty-Spitoon-tough persona. It was all in the eyes. He was absolutely terrified. "You caught her—"

"If it was anyone else, she'd be needing a hospital." Paul's tone was dark, angry.

"If it was—yeah, because you're such a protector. Get off your high horse, Lahote." Jacob threw Paul a dirty look. Bella was still in the driver's seat, looking between Jacob and Paul with wide, horrified eyes. "It was sheer luck you caught her."

"Yeah, and it'll be sheer luck if I don't punch you in the fucking face for that comment," Paul growled in reply, stepping closer; I felt this, because the tremors of heat got thicker and more vibrant—and when I 'stumbled' back, a move I did to get purposefully closer, like the curious whore I was, I felt him shaking. Like he did in the cafeteria, after beating the holy fuck out of Jeremiah.

I decided this was the perfect time to step in.

"Okay, alright—listen, boys." I probably looked like one hell of a sight to see, blood all over one side of my face and neck, like someone out of a freaking horror movie, but this fight needed to stop before it turned from verbal to physical.

I would give a lung and a kidney to see Paul give Jacob a black eye, but while standing back and taking time to really think about it, it occurred to me… this was the chief's son. There'd be repercussions between Paul's Dad and Billy if word got around back to them that the two were brawling. And I was sure Bella would immediately run and tell Jacob's Dad, since she had no sense of loyalty to Jacob's assaulter.

I looked between the two still in the vehicle. "How about… you shut the fuck up for once in your life, Jakey-boy, and you, Bella, drive the two of you the fuck away from me." I smiled, fighting a grimace when I felt crusted blood move along with my jaw. I reached back a hand and patted what I thought was Paul's shoulder; turned out, it was his stomach. Well. I flushed and my smile turned into a flustered grin. "I'm sure Paul will take me to my Dad. And I'm sure my Dad will love to chew out your dadfor raising his son to be a behemoth."

I looked over at Paul. A part of me was curious how he got here so fast, after he'd been with his friends out by the cliffs, and I also couldn't quite grasp why he wasn't soaking like expected from a dip at the cover. A part of me wondered if the reason why he came here to remove me from Jacob's presence was because Sam had seen me, and noticed the blood—but that could only be held accountable to 40/20 vision. Sam had to be incredibly perceptive to even notice it.

But there was no other reason for Paul being here. And I was flattered and a little bit relieved he came in the place of my brother. I wasn't sure I would have reacted very pleasantly if I had to speak or look at that boy.

Paul didn't return the look. He instead stared at Jacob and Bella, giving both a level expression that could only be described by one word: death. He was scowling. "Watch your back," he warned both, before walking to the woods he'd come running out of just moments before. He gave me a head-check when he saw I wasn't moving, and I hoped for the life of me he didn't see the open-mouthed look I was giving his ass.

The subtle smirk on his face, however, told me that I failed, and I was totally going to hear him gloat about it later.

Sparing both Bella and Jacob a look of similar darkness, equipped with my personal effect of sarcastic glee, I followed after Paul. It didn't take very long before slamming doors were heard; a brief moment, and the truck was rearing its ugly head. I listened to it grow quieter in the distance. The sound made me scowl, so lost in thoughts of anger, that I nearly fell head-first into Paul's back. I stopped, staring at the soft, tan skin with admiration, before the back was whirling around to reveal a stomach, and I was affixing my gaze onto a pair of chocolate eyes a shade darker than mine, filled with… something I couldn't quite place.

There was anger, though. I could feel that the moment he started pacing. "What the hell were you thinking getting into a car with Jacob Black?"

I laced my fingers behind my back. "You know, I asked myself that same question the second they made me sit in the back," I told him truthfully, but he was shaking his head by the middle of my sentence, looking even more enraged. "What do you want me to say, Paul? That I'm an idiot? Okay. Fine. I'm an idiot. Happy now?"

"No, Alissa, I'm just—I don't understand." He looked at me instead of the trees, as he had been doing, seeming frustrated beyond belief. "I thought you hated him."

"I do."

"Then why?" Paul approached me as he said it. He gently reached his fingers forward, looking at me for permission, and only groping—with soft, thoughtful fingers—at the inflicted area when I sent him a nod. He looked pained just by looking at it, which confused me; if it were me in his situation, I'd be grimacing, disgusted by whatever gory gash I was seeing.

Whatever stupid, snarky remark I was planning to make as to why I let myself get in that truck… it became lost the moment I met Paul's eyes. I felt myself grow hot and unsteady, speechless without being speechless, and the look of anticipation—wait, anticipation? —was what snapped me out of my daze. I was breathless, tongue stripped of moisture, but I could speak. "I was…" How could I tell him I lied to everyone—that I was desperate for friends? I only had my father, and Kallie, and both were almost constantly busy. I had no one, and if I had to endure Jacob just for someone to actually talk to, I was going to risk it. I didn't expect any of this shit to happen.

"What? You were what?" Paul didn't look away from my eyes, which only made this harder. It was like he could see right through me, like I was nothing but thin, thin thread. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. Rather, I felt airy. Like I was floating. But I didn't want Paul Lahote, of all people, to be the one causing me to feel this way.

Jared combated any source of happiness that came my way, and though he called it protection, I knew what it really was: bullshit.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," I said finally. At Paul's outraged look, I elaborated—"Maybe I just felt like arguing with someone today. You know how I am—always talking. Blah, blah, blah; right? That's me. Loud-mouth Cameron." Even to me, I sounded half-broken. Was a circuit loose? Was I losing my mind? Maybe the hit I took did more than open a flesh wound.

Paul nearly snarled at the words, tearing his hand away from my head. I grew alarmed, watching him as he turned to face the trees, his body shaking like the anger was trying to escape him. I could see tremors wrack up and down his spine, going from one spinal cavity to the next, traveling up until they latched onto his neck. I stared, counting the tremors, for maybe a straight thirty-seconds before it was occurring to me; he needed something to calm him down.

Throwing a stick wouldn't catch his attention and keep it until the rage sputtered from his body. I needed to act fast.

"Paul," I called, walking hurriedly over to him. He held out a hand, silently telling me to back off. He had his other hand grasping at his face, like groping his temple would heal the aching and put a stapled soothing in its place. It wouldn't work. Self-sacrifice always required a bit of pain to scare the anger away, and he wasn't doing that; he needed a physical helping hand. I didn't know what I was doing before it was too late to back down.

I threw away any sense of self-survival—maybe he needed my sacrifice—and embraced the volatile, trembling Paul Lahote in a hug.

At first, it did nothing. Only flustered me to the point I felt like the world was spinning. He continued to shake, my own body falling into a steady rhythm alongside his. But then I felt a steady drop. Slow, and soft, like faltering footsteps, his body began to mollify, as though the feeling of flesh-against-flesh did more than add unwanted hindrances. Paul went from shuddering to still, his torso only moving as he breathed, and I heard his heartbeat through his tight, muscled chest. It went from rapid to human.

It was about this time that Paul decided it appropriate to hug me back.

"Okay, um," I said, after a nice, long moment of reveling in Paul's embrace, something I totally wasn't supposed to do, "you're good now, right?"

Paul didn't remove his arms, like I expected him to. He only tightened them around me. "Oh, very good."

This day just got even more ridiculous. "If you're good… you can unhand me now."

"Oh, so this wasn't just a ploy to get your hands on me?" Paul's voice was teasing. It made me want to throw a shoe at him. "Damn."

"Listen, buddy, I'm this close to shoving my shoe up your—"

Paul removed an arm, using the free hand to cup it around my mouth. Darn, he stopped me from finishing my threat. "You've got a mouth on you," he said, tilting his head down so he could actually see me. Gosh, he was so tall. "You know that, right?"

"And you don't?" I laughed. I remembered how brusque he was in speech against Jacob and Bella, and the irony of our situation nearly made me double over. "You're literally ten times worse than me."

Paul rolled his eyes, taking away his other arm. It gave me room to finally breathe, my body immediately taking about five steps back to experience freedom from Paul's insufferable body-heat. Seriously, though—why was he so hot? And I meant that in both contexts. There was literally no reason for someone to be so feverishly hot and physically attractive. Especially not at the same time.

That was just downright unfair—and probably illegal.

The asshole gave me a long, unreadable look. "I guess we both have shit we need to work on."

I rolled my eyes. "Your list of problems is much bigger than mine, bucko. Now, c'mon—tell me where we're heading. Before you get into another one of your monologues on why I'm an idiot."

Paul scoffed. "We're going to Sue's. She's a nurse. She can fix your head."

"Sue… as in… Sue Clearwater?" At Paul's expression, I pursed my lips. "I thought you were going to take me to my Dad's."

"That was your suggestion. Not mine."

"Well, I like mine better."

Paul laughed. Like there was something funny. At the look of annoyance I shot him, his laugh crumbled, until it cut off completely. "Your dad works in the archives. What the fuck does he know about head trauma?"

I smiled. "Exactly! He'd just slap a band-aid on it and send me on my way. That way I don't have to go through all that social mumbo-jumbo that goes along with… well, Sue and her family." I knew that I sounded stupid, but honestly—I didn't feel like going near anyone else today. Paul was enough of a nuisance for my nerves—and I meant that in the best way possible, because good lord, that boy was built by the gods—and from all the times Dad dragged me out to eat with Sue and her family, I learned a few things.

Harry was the ultimate Cool Dad, and I felt a bit jealous that I was given the Nerd Dad.

Seth was a bundle of jitters, and didn't know what calming down was. He never sat still.

Leah was brash, and too much talking made her get this look on her face, like she wanted to carve out your jugular and stretch it around her neck like a trophy.

And Sue. Well, Sue was a happy bowl of sunshine, and could brighten anyone's day.

And all four, in one tiny package… It was a wonder how their family dinners didn't end in constant disaster.

"Can I please go home, Paul?"

"No."

"Pleaaaaase?"

"Stop giving me that look," Paul said, scowling at me. The scowl was a lot more half-hearted than what it looked like directed towards his greatest enemies. "It…"

"Does it make you want to give in?" I said excitedly.

"Yes."

"Great! I'll keep doing it then."

Paul rolled his eyes, then started walking towards me. When I saw his hand turn into grabby-grabby gestures, I grew wide-eyed—and started backing up.

"Paul, wait, Paul—ack!" Without any sort of warning—aside from him walking towards me like a fucking serial killer—he picked me up, and threw me over his shoulder. My hair was falling all around my head like a halo. It made me feel a bit nauseous, and I wished for a weaker immune system so I could either pass out or throw up all over Paul's back. "This is harassment, I hope you know. Put me down! I'll sick Kallie on you."

Paul didn't listen. He started walking in the direction we were already going in the first place. He perked up at the last sentence, though. "About that—Embry wanted me to ask if you had her number."

Asshole! Of course he'd ignore the more important part of my whines in favor of his little buddy's crush. Wait—crush. This was wonderful news! Embry—with Kallie? Kallie's greatest dream… Wait, Paul was trying to distract me, wasn't he? The greatest ploy of an evil genius.

"I refuse to give you anything until you put me down!"

"Not gonna happen, sweetheart," Paul said in reply, and the way his body vibrated really made me want to throttle him. "In the meantime—let's talk about how your ass looks from this angle. Almost as good as mine back there, right?"

What a dick. Using every little thing I did against me! This was going to be a long walk.

At least I didn't have to use my feet.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFF

A/N: OMG, so sorry if this is rushed. But ayeeeee—lots of Paul in this chapter. I'm so excited to dive into his and Alissa's relationship since they're so alike; it's gonna make for interesting character development in both.

On another note, there's just one more vote counted towards Alissa shifting then there is for her NOT shifting. I was honestly thinking about this, and I wondered how you guys felt about the idea of Alissa becoming the pack's emissary? I'm already planning on her father being the emissary for the ancient members of the tribe, and if she remains human, I want her to still have an essential role in the story's impact; I don't want her to just be an imprint.

If you wonder how I'd like to incorporate this idea (again, it's only if you all would like to see it; if it sounds stupid or bizarre, just state it as so. I listen to you all!) I'd want for there to be a link between the Cameron family and late aids to the Quileute tribe, and in each generation, the spirit of the ancient aids takes form in one or more descendants. And for whoever carries the spirit, they're granted certain abilities; a connection to the Other World, where they can communicate with the souls of deceased warriors, and maybe can even bring the souls of these warriors alive and use their spirits to fight when in danger. It can bring Alissa into the story without having her to shift, but also being enough of a badass that she's not the weak-link.

Tell me if you guys are into this idea, but if not; just say! I always consider the comments you guys make.

As a side note, I'll be coming out with a Teen Wolf story and a Jacob Black story soon. Stay on the lookout!

I'll be back next week. :D