TWELVE

Paul sank into the anger, the rage, that was so familiar to him. He ran, following a scent he would recognize for his life: the burnt, acidic stench that all leeches emitted.

Then he found the vampire. The pack had only caught glimpses of her, but this must be Victoria, with long, red hair streaked with bark and dirt, a tattered dress, and bright red eyes.

The rest of the pack was still miles away; Paul could hear their voices beating in his head. He ignored them.

He knew, he knew he was being incredibly stupid. He was perfectly aware how fast the bitch was.

He caught up with her only because she stopped without warning, turning on her heels to face him, her stupid clown-red hair whipping around her.

Then she made an impossibly fast jump and was suddenly behind him. Paul turned, already leaping as he lunged for her, his teeth bared. He wanted to feel that awful taste in his mouth as he ripped her apart.

He didn't care if he had to die to kill the leech. That was fine. He would happily die to keep his imprint safe. Maybe that would finally make her happy, since it seemed like nothing else he could do was going to do it.

The pack mind roared in his ears, and Paul sensed Sam and Embry coming closer, running as fast as they could. They wouldn't get to him in time.

The leech blocked him midair, and suddenly she was holding him up by one arm, her hands like steel on the scruff of his neck. His hind legs dragged on the ground. He thought they might be broken.

"I know you," the leech said. She cocked her head curiously. "Your scent is all over the girl's house. You're not who I expected to be guarding her—"

She twisted her hand and threw him across the forest floor without moving any other bone in her body.

Her smile when he looked up was manic. "Luckily, I adjust."

Paul blinked, his vision blackening at the edges, and then Sam and Embry's wolves were standing in front of Paul. Paul hadn't heard them approach.

But the two of them wouldn't be enough to kill the leech. She knew that and they knew that, and she just laughed as she sprinted away.

Paul lifted his head enough to see her leap halfway up the nearest tree in the blink of an eye, jumping from branch to branch as easily as she could run across the ground.

He though he heard her laughter long after the wind stilled from her passing.

That could have been just in his mind, though. Maybe he was getting poetic now that he was dying. His vision blurred, and he felt the energy draining from him along with his blood on the forest floor.

Vaguely he noted he was human again, curled up to protect himself from the stabbing pain in his chest, radiating down into his abdomen. He wanted to curl up tighter, but he couldn't make his arms move.

For some reason, that was what frustrated him most of all.

He was being picked up, he noted. Four arms were under his back and knees now, and he opened his eyes to see Sam and Embry holding him upright, their arms straight and flat so he was jostled as little as possible.

"What, you don't want to carry me bridal style?" he croaked.

"Shut up, Paul," Sam said, and there was a tightness, a controlled panic in his voice Paul had never heard before. Paul wondered if he had damaged any of his internal organs. Sepsis, he knew, was a risk. He tried to think back to ninth grade bio. His right side, near his ribcage… what was that, the liver? How important could a fucking liver be, anyway?

He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a wheezing sound and another sickening jolt of pain that spread down his body from his scalp to his toes.

"Be still, Paul," Sam said grimly. "And don't move."

Paul fought down the automatic desire to rebel that arose from being told what to do, then he thought better of it and closed his eyes. He drifted in and out of consciousness, which he had a vague awareness of because every time he opened his eyes it was a little darker and cooler outside.

He closed his eyes tightly the next time it happened, fighting down another bolt of nausea, and when he was conscious again it was a mile later and they were close to Sam and Emily's.

Paul immediately felt his imprint's closeness. Knowing she was near, he couldn't keep himself from opening his eyes, lifting his head as much as he could without passing out, to look for her. He found her standing on the front porch, both hands wrapped tightly around one of the wooden support posts.

Her face went white as they approached. Paul had always thought she was pale like porcelain, but she had always had a little pink in her complexion. Now there was none.

Emily ran up behind her, supporting her as she staggered backward. "It's okay, Bella, it's okay, he's okay —"

Paul wondered whether Emily actually believed that.

A wordless cry ripped from Bella's throat, and she broke free of Emily's grip and sprinted toward Paul, her long hair streaming behind her. Her hands flew to his face, one of the only parts of his body not injured, and she traced his cheekbone, his lips, his forehead with quivering fingers.

He lost consciousness for a second, and he thought he'd started bleeding from his scalp, but when he opened his eyes again, he realized Bella's tears were falling on him. She was making quiet gasping sounds, and he wanted to raise his hand and brush her tears away. He was tired of making his imprint cry.

But he didn't have functioning hands right now. He didn't have functioning anything.

"Please move, Bella," Sam said from above him. "The sooner we can get him in a bed, the sooner he can heal."

That wasn't exactly true, Paul knew. What Sam actually meant was that the sooner they got him bed, the sooner they could start breaking his bones so they would re-heal straight. And the sooner they could see if he was going to die anyway.

"Emily will need your help, Bella," Embry said more gently.

Bella finally drew her gaze from Paul's to look at Embry. "Okay," she said mechanically. "I should get bandages."

"Yes," Sam said, sounding relieved that he wouldn't have to force her to move. Which was good, because Paul would attacked him if he had tried to make Bella do anything, even in the condition Paul was in. Even if it would have killed him. "Please do."

Paul couldn't keep his eyes open anymore when they carried him inside the house, but he could still feel Bella's eyes on him. He hoped she would forgive him.

Paul woke up slowly, trying to remember where he was. His last memory was a blurry Bella entering the living room, pushing past Embry just as Sam pressed his hands against Paul's chest, feeling for which ribs were out of alignment. Sam had said something to her, but Paul couldn't remember what.

Then she had pressed a handful of white pills into Paul's mouth with shaking hands and held a glass of water up to his lips until he'd swallowed painfully, because that was clearly what she'd wanted him to do, and he'd been long past caring about his own health.

He didn't know what she had given him, but he'd lost consciousness not long after that.

Paul finally opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to recognize the ceiling fan in Sam and Emily's guest bedroom. The rest of the pack must have moved him here after they'd finished re-aligning his bones.

He shifted, wincing at the soreness that centered in his abdomen but spread all the way to his fingertips and toes. Someone had put athletic shorts on him at some point. He thought they might actually be his.

Then he froze, realizing there was another heartbeat in the room with him. Shifting just enough to look to his right, he saw Bella curled up on her side, watching him with an expression he couldn't read.

"How long have you been here?" he asked her. He wasn't sure why that was the first thing out of his mouth. His throat hurt from crying out in agony the night before.

"As soon as Sam would let me come back in," she said, still watching him. "You needed me. Even when you were…" She swallowed, pain in her expression showing for the first time. "In pain. And then unconscious."

"Well, I'm sorry I inconvenienced you," he said acerbically.

He immediately felt bad for speaking to her like that, but at the same time he'd only ever been honest with her. Why change now?

"Don't talk like that," she said sharply, sitting up straight and twisting to face him. "You're not an inconvenience. You dying is not a fucking inconvenience."

Was it wrong to get a little thrill, even in the midst of all this, out of her swearing?

"Isn't it, though?" he asked her.

She flinched. "No," she said softly, her anger abruptly gone. She drew her knees up to her chest. "Paul, I'm sorry for how I reacted. I pretty much haven't thought about anything else since it happened. I wish I could take it all back."

"You meant it, though," he said.

She closed her eyes for a second. "Paul, we don't need to talk about this right now. You're still healing…"

"You meant it," he repeated.

Looking resigned to having this conversation, she shook her head. "Yes and no. And probably not the way you think."

"How many ways are there possibly to take it?"

She reached out like she was going to touch him, then pulled her hand back, grimacing at the bruises Paul knew covered his chest. He wished she would touch him anyway, and he hated himself for that thought. "Paul, you have to understand…you've turned my world upside down in less than two weeks."

"Like it hasn't been the same for me?" he demanded. He knew she was right, that this was the worst possible time to have this argument, him lying on the bed too weak to move and her too tired to.

But he wondered if maybe, with their defenses down, they could at least be open with each other. The worst had basically already happened, right? He'd lost his imprint, and he'd almost lost his life. What was left for him to lose?

"Yeah, well, maybe you've got your shit together better than I do," she said.

He couldn't help it; he snorted, and then winced at the way it made his ribs rub against each other. The idea of anyone being more together than him was funny.

"I went after a leech by myself because I was pissed off," he said. "I'm not sure how much less together I could be."

She frowned. "Why did you do it? Sam didn't know, either. And Jared said Victoria wasn't close enough for me to be in immediate danger. You didn't have to go after her on your own."

In retrospect, what Paul had done sounded kind of dramatic. "I just wanted to do something that would actually help you for once," he said. He was abruptly bone tired again, and he let his eyes fall shut. "Something that might make you happy."

He could feel his words slowing down from drowsiness, and he thought she might let him fall asleep again. But a second later, she nudged his ankle, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him open his eyes again.

"What?"

"Nothing on the planet would make me less happy than you going after a vampire," she said, glaring down at him. "Do you think I'm here right now because I feel like I'm obligated to? All I could think about was that I'd never be able to tell you that I was sorry, that you would think I hated you."

"It's okay if you do," he said. "I'd understand." He really would; who the fuck would want to be matched to him?

Her eyes filled up with tears. "I was panicking, Paul. I could never hate you. But you've been tearing everything I thought I knew away, and in that moment I realized that he —Edward, god, I should be able to say his goddamn name — was gone. For real. Forever." She ran a hand through her hair. "From the day we met, you've been pushing me to accept… what's happened to me. And I finally realized that I have a new life now. I couldn't ignore it anymore. I can't ignore it anymore. And losing that control, admitting the truth… it just sucked, okay?"

It wasn't really funny, but Paul felt the beginnings of a smile cross his face at the blunt stream-of-consciousness way she talked sometimes that was already becoming so familiar to him. "Yeah, okay, I kind of get that," he said finally.

She sniffed, turning on her side again, closer to him this time. "You stripped away everything," she whispered. Paul remembered for the first time that there were probably at least a few supernatural ears in the house. She had probably just remembered too, but this was a close to privacy as they were going to get while at Sam's house.

"It was like I had to face reality, really face it, for the first time," she told him. "I wanted to be dead, before. Dead people don't hurt. But living people do."

"Yeah," Paul said, turning his head as much as he could to meet her eyes. "Sometimes we do."

"Yeah," she repeated, so softly he could barely hear her. She raised one hand tentatively, reaching for him. "Can I…"

He wasn't sure what she meant until she rested her hand on his bicep, clasping it gently when he didn't flinch away. Somehow his right arm had made it through the fight with nothing more than cuts and bruises.

Her touch was warm and perfect and right, even more so than usual. He wondered if he would heal any faster than usual with her so close to him. He hoped so, if for no other reason than it would give him tangible proof of their connection.

"I'm just… Let's just sleep, okay? I can feel how tired you are." She met his eyes, looking at him pleadingly. As if he would ever deny her anything.

"Okay," he said, already feeling sleep calling for him again.

To his surprise, she edged even closer, releasing his bicep to rest her head against his arm instead. He ached with the desire to touch her hair, stupid as that thought was, but his left wrist still throbbed, and he needed to hold it flat while the bones finished healing.

"Sleep, Paul," Bella said, like she could tell he was trying to stay awake.

"Fine," he muttered. She was so bossy.

Then he did.

The next time Paul woke up, it was to the smell of Italian herbs and tomatoes. Emily was stepping into the guest room, holding a tray with three plates piled high with lasagna.

Beside him, Bella stirred, turning over. Paul felt her movement and looked at his feet. One of his now-unbroken ankles was over Bella's calf, like he was holding her with him even while he was asleep.

Emily's eyes were sparkling as she smiled at him, but Paul remembered — vaguely — the way she had looked when she had held Bella back from running toward him. He never wanted to make her look like that again.

"Are you up for dinner?" she asked him.

Paul nodded. He didn't think anything was broken anymore, just bruised and aching. "Thanks, Em," he said quietly as she set the tray down in front of him. "And, um. Sorry."

He saw the understanding in her eyes. "All I care about is that you're okay." She leaned down and kissed his forehead, and he let himself feel like people cared about him, for just a second.

Bella sat up beside him, drawing up her knees so she wasn't touching his leg anymore, but she was so close to him where they were leaning against the headboard that her shoulder brushed his. "Thanks," she murmured to Emily as she accepted the third plate. "Do you need any help in the kitchen?"

Emily shook her head, biting her lip as she looked like she might start crying again. "No, stay here," she said. "Please. Just stay together, okay?"

Paul looked at her in confusion as she just gave them another long look and turned around, softly closing the door behind her as she left.

"What was that about?" Paul asked Bella.

She didn't respond for a second, grabbing one of the forks Emily had rolled into a napkin and pressing it into Paul's hand so that he didn't have to unroll it himself. "I think it was a traumatic night for Emily," she said finally.

He couldn't help snorting out a laugh. "Who wasn't it a traumatic night for?" he asked. He started to take a bite, but realized his imprint was leaning back on headboard now, just watching him. "There are three plates on this tray," he told her. "Eat."

"But you're healing—"

"So are you," he said, and he meant it in more ways than one. "You're going to feel hungrier now." She damn well better. "So eat."

He looked at her evenly, meeting her pretty brown eyes until she finally looked away and reached for one of the plates and the other fork. "Are you happy?"

"So happy," he said dryly, finally taking a bite of the meal that was as delicious as anything Emily had ever made. But he kicked Bella's calf gently, and she scooted a little closer so that she was pressed fully into his side, and Paul realized that he maybe kind of was happy.

After they'd eaten, the rest of the pack seemed to stream in one-by-one.

Jared was first, and for once there was no levity in Paul's packmate's eyes. "Do you — you fucking — don't fucking ever… And I couldn't even help you," he finished, as if all that made a coherent sentence.

But Paul thought he understood. Jared had stayed with Bella, because he had promised Paul he would. And that had meant he couldn't help with Victoria. Jared would have felt helpless, and there were few things Paul understood more than how much that feeling sucked.

"I won't do it again," Paul promised. "I'm sorry you couldn't fight her, too."

Jared looked at him incredulously. "Is he being like this on purpose?" he demanded, looking past Paul to Bella.

"No," she said. "He doesn't get it. At all."

Paul raised his eyebrows at Jared, baffled.

"I don't care about the fucking leeches," Jared said. "You don't get a death wish. You don't get to die, dipshit."

"I'll try not to," Paul said finally, once it seemed like Jared was done. He still wasn't sure exactly what Jared's issue was, but he was pretty sure he was the cause of it. "Seriously. No more solo missions against leeches."

Jared nodded slowly. "I guess that's a good start."

Sam stepped inside before Jared could say anything else. The alpha looked exhausted, and Paul wondered if he'd slept since he'd gone after the leech.

"Paul," he said. He looked at Jared, who took his cue to leave. "Bella."

She shook her head. "I'm here," she said. "Whatever you need to say, say to us."

Paul's heart twisted at her simple reply. She had no way of knowing the depth of what that meant to him, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that she did it.

Sam raised his eyebrows but didn't protest. "Do not ever do that again," he told Paul. His tone was so dark that Paul couldn't tell if he was saying it in his Alpha voice or if he was just that pissed off.

"I know, Jared took care of that speech," Paul said. Then he remembered Sam literally spending all night putting him back together. He owed his Alpha his life. "You… didn't have to. Thank you."

Sam took a breath, visibly changing what he'd been going to say. "'Didn't have to'?" he repeated. "Paul, you're my pack. I know you've never wanted that, but you are. I've never regretted that, and I'm always going to do everything in my power to save you. But I can't save you from yourself. And that's what fucking terrifies me."

"It's not going to happen again," Bella said suddenly from beside him. Both Paul and Sam looked at her. "It's not," she repeated, looking only at Paul. "You're not going to put yourself in danger like that again."

For a long moment, it was just the two of them in this rickety-ass bed, him bruised and her emotionally drained. Paul watched her for a long moment, wishing for the millionth time that he could know what she was thinking.

"It won't," he finally said, slowly. Dragging his eyes away, he turned to Sam. "It won't," he repeated.

Sam was looking between Paul and Bella, and Paul couldn't read his expression, but his Alpha had clearly seen something he thought was important.

"Fine," he said. "Get some more rest. We'll talk later."

Paul tried not to grimace. He had no doubt that they would. "Patrol tomorrow night?" he asked. He'd have tried tonight, but he was pretty sure he'd break a few bones again phasing right now.

Sam nodded, looking regretful. "I'm sorry I can't give you more of a break—"

Paul shook his head. "I get it. The leech is still around. Don't worry about it." He wouldn't forget the look in those blood-red eyes anytime soon. She had expected the Cullens, but she'd gotten him. He wondered if that would make her change her behavior now.

Maybe she'd be more wary, but then again, why the fuck would she? Paul had gotten his ass kicked.

He'd ask Sam tomorrow. For now, his imprint was as safe as she could possibly be, in the middle of the rez, surrounded by shifters.

Except…

"You have to go home soon, don't you?" he asked Bella, his stomach dropping. Of course she would.

She sat up straighter. She looked at him for a long moment, and he felt like she was having an entire conversation in her head. So he just waited.

Finally, she shook her head. "I'm staying here. If, um," she looked at Sam. "If that's okay."

Sam nodded without hesitation. "Of course." Paul didn't think Bella knew Sam well enough to notice, but he was pretty sure Sam was pleased. "I'll get you the cordless phone."

"I… you don't have to stay," Paul said when Sam had left, still not daring to believe what she was offering.

She bit her lip and looked uncertain. "I mean… unless you don't want me to."

"Of course I want you to," he said, too tired to feel embarrassed about his response. He lay back on the bed, resting his head on the pillow again. "Don't be stupid."

Sam came back in and handed the phone to Bella. "I'll be in the living room with Emily if you need me," he murmured. Paul didn't know which of them he was talking to.

But his attention was immediately drawn to his imprint, who was staring down at the number pad. Paul bit off the urge to tell her she didn't have to again. He wanted her to do what she wanted to do.

Finally, she took a deep breath, glanced at him, and then dialed a number.

Paul heard her father's voice pick up the phone almost immediately.

"Dad, it's me," she said softly.

Paul could hear her father's response clearly. "Bells, what's wrong? Whose number is this?"

"It's Emily Young's. I'm at her house. I'm … I wanted to tell you I'm not coming home tonight. I didn't want you to worry if you couldn't get hold of me on the house phone. I'm staying on the rez."

She was choosing him.

"Why? What's wrong?" Her dad's voice sounded suspicious.

Bella hesitated, and Paul knew she was debating on whether to lie or not. "One of my friends got hurt, and I need to stay here."

"Not Jake? Who else do you know on the rez, Bells?" her dad asked.

Bella glanced over at Paul. Once again he felt like he was falling into her eyes, her inscrutable expression drawing him in. "Dad, I gotta go. I'll be home tomorrow. See you then?"

The suspicion in her father's voice increased. "Fine. But we will be talking about this when I get back, Bella."

Bella grimaced. "Okay, Dad. Bye."

She hung up the phone and turned her eyes toward Paul. "I've never told him I'm not coming home before. I don't know what he's going to do."

"You can call him back and apologize—" Paul started.

She kicked his calf. "Paul. No. I'm here."

They were such simple words, but the emotion they elicited in Paul was almost painful, and he let himself believe, just for a moment, that she meant it as something more. That whatever she wanted him to be to her, he wouldn't have to worry about her leaving ever.

Then she was rising, the phone in hand, and leaving to return the phone to the living room.

He was still so overwhelmed with the fact that Bella was here, that she wasn't leaving, that he barely even protested when she dragged him into the living room to watch a movie with Sam and Emily.

He only made it fifteen minutes into the comedy that Emily picked out before he was falling asleep. He knew his body was still healing, but it was still a little embarrassing.

At least until Bella shifted on the couch so his head was in her lap and she rested her hand in his hair. Then it was totally worth it.

When Paul woke again, he knew immediately he must still be at Emily's house, but he wasn't in a bed, even though from the chattering birds he could hear outside it must be well into the morning.

He blinked and tried to sit up, and as he was already moving he realized he was jostling Bella. She was slumped over the other end of the couch, her head on the arm of the couch, and his head was still in her lap.

As she shifted and opened her eyes, her hand squeezed his scalp gently before she withdrew it and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Sorry," Paul muttered, rising. "Why didn't you wake me up? You had to have slept like shit on the couch." He hated the thought of his imprint being in any type of discomfort because of him.

With her legs freed, Bella stretched them out in front of her. He'd never seen her just after waking up before, or her expression so unguarded. Her wild hair was pretty hot, too.

"I didn't," she said. "I always sleep well when you're there. And I didn't want to wake you up."

He couldn't really argue with that, considering how many times he'd told her to do what she wanted to do. Even if it inexplicably had to do with caring about his comfort.

Paul heard a hallway door open, and then Emily's light footsteps. She walked into the living room, smiling at the two of them. She was already dressed in jeans and a tank top, and she as always looked perfectly put-together.

"Sam got in half an hour ago," she said quietly. She assessed Paul critically, before nodding. "You look almost normal, sweetie."

Paul couldn't believe he'd slept through Sam leaving and returning to the house. "And everything was okay?" he asked. He knew it had to be or Sam would have woken him up, but he couldn't stop from worrying. He had a responsibility to the pack, and it was his own fault he couldn't fulfill it last night.

"Of course," she said. "Breakfast?" She turned to Bella. "Do you eat breakfast, Bella?"

Bella bit her lip. "She does," Paul said before she could speak.

Emily raised her eyebrows, and Bella just nodded to her, not fighting him on it.

They followed Emily to the kitchen, and she started frying bacon and eggs while Bella found napkins and utensils. She seemed more at ease with Emily than Paul had seen her with anyone else besides Jacob. "I can't believe no one else was hurt yesterday," Bella said.

Emily nodded, her back to Paul as she flipped the bacon. "Thank the gods." She sent Paul's imprint a sympathetic smile. "I know you were terrified yesterday, Bella, but you handled it so well. I would have been a wreck."

Bella looked at the floor. "I was a wreck, Emily."

They both seemed to have forgotten that Paul was there, and he felt like he was eavesdropping, but he desperately wanted to hear what his imprint thought.

"You knew you needed to come to where he was. Sam told me that you talked to Jared so he wouldn't phase. And you knew Billy might have painkillers."

Paul listened raptly, his heart clenching as he imagined Bella frantically trying to get to him, to distract Jared. He wasn't sure how the bond felt on her end when he got hurt, but he doubted it was pleasant.

"I wouldn't have been able to think, Bella," Emily said. "I couldn't stop crying last night after Sam and I went to bed. I made him talk about how beautiful our wedding is going to be to distract me." She smiled. "Very mature, I know."

Bella smiled a little, but her expression flickered for just a second. Paul watched, concerned, but she didn't seem unhappy, just thoughtful.

"It is going to be beautiful," she told Emily a moment later. "You didn't need Sam to tell you that."

Emily laughed, reaching for the plates to pile on the bacon and eggs, and handed them to Bella. "I know, but it's always nice to hear it."

Bella carried the plates over to Paul and pulled herself up on the barstool next to him, and the two of them ate quickly. Paul tried to assess what her mood was, through both her expression and the bond, but he kept coming up blank.

She wasn't emotionless exactly; he wondered if she didn't know how she felt yet. Women were complicated.

Bella handed the rest of her plate wordlessly to Paul when he'd finished. He raised his eyebrows at her. "I ate two pieces of bacon and two eggs," she said.

He nodded in satisfaction and started on what she hadn't finished. He heard a snort of amusement and looked up to see Emily's eyes sparking in laughter as she washed off the frying pan and spatula.

"She doesn't eat," he told Emily.

Bella gave him an indignant look. "I do. Now," she added, sighing as he just looked at her levelly.

Paul finished the last bite and rose to wash the plates off, but Emily took them from him. "You get a week off," she told him. "Don't abuse it."

Paul couldn't fight back a grin. "Thanks." Then he turned to Bella. She was leaning against the counter, trying to look casual, but he could tell her mood had expanded to include restlessness. "Come on, I know you want to get out of here."

She looked surprised, but she didn't try to deny it, and she returned to the living room to grab her truck keys. "Thank you," she told Emily when she returned to the kitchen.

Emily hugged her tightly, and Paul watched as his imprint froze, and then relaxed into the hug. "I'm so glad you're here," Emily said, and Paul could just make out her words.

Bella's response was so quiet that even Paul couldn't make it out, but it made Emily smile and squeeze her arms before stepping back.

Emily turned and hugged Paul tightly, and he squeezed her back gently. "I won't yell at you anymore," she promised. "But no more solo work, okay?"

"Got it," Paul said. He hoped the pack would let him forget what an idiot he'd been, but they had a bad habit of letting absolutely nothing go.

He followed Bella to her truck and pulled himself into the passenger seat. He could smell Jared's scent in the cab and figured his packmate must have driven for at least part of the ride.

"Eager to get back?" he asked Bella. He wondered if she was tired of being around him.

She shook her head as she pulled out of the driveway and onto the main road. "I just want to get talking to my dad over with as soon as possible. He'll feel better if he can see I'm calling from the house." She darted a look at Paul. "I don't regret staying," she said, reading his mind. "But my dad's going to be a pain about it. I'm just trying to think of a non-supernatural explanation for what happened."

"You can just say one of Jacob's friends got hurt in the woods and you panicked," Paul suggested. The thought of bringing his own name up to Charlie Swan was still laughable. And terrifying. He wondered if Bella would accept being grounded if her dad was angry enough to try it.

She nodded. "We'll think of something. He shouldn't be home until this evening, anyway, so you can stay until then. If you want," she added.

He rolled his eyes. "Just like always, yes." He really should stop at some point at his house. His dad would never know that his son almost died, but as messed up as Paul's father was, he probably would prefer to know that his son was alive at least every few days.

Bella nodded, and her attention was focused on the road, but Paul could still feel that intent, curious energy emanating from her. She didn't seem upset, so he let her work through it on her own. He watched the forest rush by — or crawl by, at the speed his imprint drove — remembering what it had felt like to see the trees as Sam carried him back, wondering if fucking evergreens were going to be the last thing he ever saw.

It wasn't until Bella was pulling beside the curb at her house that she finally looked over at him again. The driveway was empty, and her dad clearly wasn't back yet.

She didn't reach for the door handle, so he just watched her, waiting for her to speak.

"Paul…" She cut off, looking uncomfortable.

"Yeah?"

"Emily and Sam... they're imprinted. And Kim and Jared, too."

He blinked, concerned that she'd somehow forgotten that. "Yeah, you knew that, remember?"

She shook her head. "No, I mean, they're imprinted and they're together. Emily and Sam are getting married."

"Are you surprised? I told you imprinting meant my wolf claimed you as his mate–"

"But you are the wolf, Paul. I just didn't…I didn't get what that meant. 'Cause you didn't act like that was what it meant." She took a deep breath, and her cheeks turned pink. "Does that mean… you feel like Sam does about Emily…with me?"

"What did you think it meant?" he asked her, deflecting as he tried to figure out what she wanted to hear.

"I thought it meant that we were…compatible. Like a personality test or something. Not that I really believed that, in the beginning," she added with a scowl.

"I didn't really, either," he said. "But you know you don't have to feel pressured or whatever. I'll be whatever you need."

She persisted. "But do you feel–"

"Yes," Paul said in exasperation. "Yes, I think you know this already, but if you need to hear me say it, then yes, you are pretty much literally the center of my world. I would do anything, give up anything, to be with you forever."

"Romantically," she clarified, half a question.

"Jesus Christ, Bella, of course romantically–"

He was cut off by Bella moving faster than would have guessed she could, and suddenly her scent was all around him and her lips were moving against his, soft and warm and basically the greatest thing in the world.

She gasped against his mouth as he responded hungrily, barely believing this was happening. She curled soft hands around the base of his neck, and he flicked his tongue across her bottom lip. Then he completely lost himself in her as she let him taste her fully. She responded timidly at first, but soon she was gasping and pulling him closer, her fingernails digging into his skin, and he hoped she left marks.

After an eternity, he pulled away reluctantly to give her a chance to breathe.

He rested his forehead against hers as she took deep breaths. "Was that a test?" he asked, only it sort of came out sounding like a growl.

"Maybe?" she said breathlessly. "I wanted to know what it would feel like."

He raised his hand to her neck and softly traced the exposed skin over her collarbone and watched, fascinated, as goosebumps broke out where his fingers trailed.

"And did I pass?" he asked her, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to the path his fingers had made.

She let out a shaky sigh, and he grinned.

"Yes."

"So we'll do that again?" he asked her. He didn't want to get his hopes up if the answer was no. But something deep inside him was crying out that this was perfection.

She bit her lip. "I mean, only if you want to, I told you I want you to do whatever you want."

Instead of replying, he slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt to press his hand against her lower back, skin-to-skin. It was an intimate, familiar gesture that he'd never done before with any girl, but it came effortlessly.

Bella's eyes shot to his. "Paul…" she breathed, her eyes darkening with the simple contact.

He was just about to show her what was going to happen every time she looked at him like that, but just then her eyes slid off him, behind him. An expression of horror crossed her face.

Paul twisted around, throwing the door open. He didn't know how the leech could have gotten so close without him smelling her, but she must have —

But it wasn't Victoria, Paul realized, his heart sinking. It was worse.

Because Bella's father was stomping out of his patrol car and toward them with a glower on his face.

Fuck, Paul thought.