Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except the creeptastic moves I play on these characters. Muahaha!

The steady gallop of the horses' hooves was the only sound that broke the quiet of the night, keeping Isabella company as she drove her carriage back to the Masen manor.

It was a late hour; she knew a tad too much about commuting alone on deserted paths after dark. Regardless, she made the journey, for she wanted answers.

Driven by apprehension, she had to take this step. She wanted to put to rest the grievances of her husband, and eventually her own.

An opportunity presented itself in the evening, and she couldn't resist. After all, it opened an avenue for her to pay a visit to the local church without having to explain it to anyone.

The Webbers had returned suddenly, owing to Mr. Webber's deteriorating health. Angela, who had returned to the manor wearing a stunning ring and an irrepressible smile, had to head back home with her parents.

Isabella was thrilled for Angela, as Ben had finally promised marriage to her. The way he had promised it seemed similar to Edward's proposal: independent and decisive. Isabella wondered if Angela had shared with Ben the intimate details of her sudden betrothal to Edward.

Nevertheless, it was a forgone conclusion that the Webbers would approve of their union. They adored and always spoke highly of Ben.

Angela's departure had given Isabella the time to deliberate over certain issues without being worried about disregarding her friend. She had been ignoring these concerns up until now, but lately, her need to seek answers rang louder than her need to suppress the unpleasant.

Thus, with an urge to understand the things that made no sense to her, she set out to seek the pastor on her own.

She was tempted to ask her uncle to accompany her, but somehow, she felt it would only serve to disrupt everything. Charles's dislike for Edward was not hidden from her, even though he tried his best to appear indifferent.

"I would have told you had I known anything, Issy. There is nothing to tell but a lot to sense," he had said in reply to her probing while they sat together at the dining table after having their lunch. "Yet, I'd say that he is not an ordinary man. He is intimidating, and he acts as though he knows everything.

"Truth be told, I have seen him catch the smoothest of deceivers, on more than one occasion. He always maintained a distance from others, keeping his interaction with others to a bare minimum; well, until he married. Surprisingly, no one dared to approach him either, not even I. I knew not to keep anything from him, always. And see what happened when I tried to keep you from him."

Regret, hurt, and resentment were evident in his voice.

Isabella remembered the frisson that had passed through her when she saw Edward from her uncle's perspective. He was ruthless in his ways and had little compassion for anyone, as Charles recalled.

Charles believed that his honesty and integrity were the only reasons why Edward was even remotely benign towards him. However, whatever help Edward had given to Charles, he had taken his pound of flesh from him eventually.

"Me… I was the price Uncle had to pay," Isabella muttered into the night, to no one but herself.

A part of her still resented the manner in which Edward had proposed to her. He didn't even have the courtesy to court her first. His approach was blunt and cold, almost as though he were acquiring a possession.

Though, when she remembered the loving touches of her husband, the way he fondly looked into her eyes before he kissed her… she couldn't find a single speck of hatred within herself.

Why she was so susceptible to his charms, she did not know. Were they mere charms only? Was there no true affection in those amber eyes of his?

Isabella found herself dreading the answers to her questions.

Thankfully, she could suppress these questions for another day, for these questions weren't to be dealt with by the priest. He, however, did have something to say regarding her other queries…

Isabella had slipped away from the manor quietly after Charles had left for his residence. She had to dismiss the house staff as well, fearing that they might start tattling behind her back.

The church had been empty except for the priest, for which she had been glad. It gave her the liberty to have a more detailed conversation with him. Alas, she gained nothing of much significance from this conversation.

Exhaling a weary sigh, Isabella took the carriage to its shed and consigned the horses to their respective shelters inside the horse stable. Once finished, she headed towards the manor.

A wry smile ghosted across her lips as she tried to imagine Edward's reaction if he somehow happened to know about her late night travels. He certainly would not be sardonically amused, as she was.

Isabella removed her cloak and threw it on her bed in a huff. She was tired and frustrated. Looking back at her visit to the Church, she hadn't gotten much information from the priest.

He had given her holy water and asked her to pray. His obscure explanations hardly did her any good.

Pray she would, pray she did… everyday. Nevertheless, what Jessica had narrated to her was awfully terrifying, and Isabella wanted reassurance. Her meeting with the priest was not able to accomplish that.

She shook her head in dejection and proceeded to change her clothes in preparation for the night. The first layer of her clothing met with the same fate as her cloak: tossed carelessly on her bed.

As her hands stretched back to untie her corset, the familiar chime of piano keys reached her ears.

Immediately, she froze in place.

Part of her was afraid, but part of her felt hopeful, which appalled her.

Without wasting another moment, she seized the taper stick from her bedside and lit it from one of her bedroom lamps. Then, hurrying down the hallway, she stopped at the doorstep of the piano room; her eyes alight with curiosity and trepidation.

There, standing next to the piano, with his hand caressing the keys, was her husband, whose angelic face was shrouded in a scowl.

"Edward?" she gasped in surprise, the taper stick holder shaking in her hands. "When did you… return?"

"Where were you?" He turned towards her, aiming his steely gaze upon her. "Who were you visiting at such a late hour?"

"I…" she hesitated, deliberating what to say, for she knew the truth might bring upon an unwanted reaction. His actual response incited no humour within her, as opposed to her prior musings outside the stable.

"I asked you something," he demanded, closing the distance between them in fast strides. "Where the bloody hell had you gone to? Who were you seeing?"

His eyes bored into hers, glowing like seething embers in the candlelight. She cowered away from the intensity of his glare, fearing the attack of a supposed demon.

She wondered briefly if she should start praying.

"Bella, I am asking you something," he roared, clutching her shoulders in his unyielding grip.

When nothing escaped her lips, Edward moved forward still, pressing his body flush against hers. She exhaled sharply as the bare skin of her back came in contact with the cold wall behind her, shocking her senses. It reminded her that she was partly undressed still.

"Answer me," he whispered, closing his eyes as he lowered his face to hers, theirs lips merely a hairsbreadth apart.

Even in apprehension, her body seemed to align itself to his, arching into him. It scared her to be so stirred and defenceless to his proximity. She felt helpless to stop her reactions.

"You… are not the one to ask," she managed to utter, holding a faltering grip on her wits, "When you tell me close to nothing about your own jaunts through day and night."

It was Edward's turn to be surprised then, as she jutted her chin out in defiance, meeting his gaze with her own determined one.

"I can hardly see any reason in your frequent trips to your various properties, when there's always Uncle to do it for you. I thought that was the nature of his job."

Edward pushed away from her, his brows knitting together in obvious unease. Isabella was satisfied with the reaction, but it didn't make her happy, for it meant that Edward was up to something.

Anger and dread surged within her, causing her to charge towards him.

"You lied, didn't you!" How many things he lied about, she wasn't even aware.

"Bella—" he began in his defensive voice, but she didn't let him talk any further.

She pushed against his hard, unmoving chest, wishing to shove him as far away from her as possible.

"Tell me… tell me, how many of those athanasian wenches do you go to?!" It was the first thought that escaped her lips, and she was glad that she had finally presented it to him as a question. "Tell me!"

Isabella was surprised by the intensity of her own rage. It came forth suddenly, unexpectedly; and yet, it felt very apt in that moment.

Bafflement… amazement… or simply enchantment, Edward didn't know how he exactly felt, but it was a heady amalgamation of emotions.

Gone was the fury that had enveloped his every bone. He felt utterly defenceless now, with little to give back to his wife as truth.

Isabella was still pushing at his chest, her petite form shaking with the effort. He was afraid that she might lose her grip on the taper stick, which was swaying along with her.

Knowing nothing else to do, he let her push him against the piano, hoping that it would serve to alleviate her anger. If he wasn't concerned about his deceit, her rage would have actually amused him.

For a moment, he considered laughing at her, just to distract her away from her current frenzy. He didn't. He was wise enough, after knowing her for all these months, to be aware that it would only serve to hurt her and aggravate her more.

"Why, all men have mistresses, don't they?" she cried aloud, her voice resounding off the walls. "Because their wives aren't enough! No, I should perhaps rephrase it… because wives are only meant to rot at home, waiting for their husbands to return from their prurient outings with their mistresses."

Her actions were swirling her scent all around him like a thick cloud, making his throat ache. However, that wasn't his concern at the moment, even though his insides felt scorched from thirst.

Isabella was pounding at his chest now, with so much force that he feared it might break her wrist. So he took hold of her hand and tried to stop her violent thrashing, but she fought against him, attempting to pull her hand out of his grasp.

"Bella, stop, there is no need for this hostility." He tried to speak in a soothing voice in order to calm her down.

She stopped for once and stared at him with watery eyes, her cheeks flaring red in anger.

He was glad for a moment of peace, but it didn't last long. Isabella was not about to give up, as was obvious by her renewed efforts to wrench her hand free.

"No need for this hostility," she muttered as she struggled against him, "because it is not my place to question you or your authority… over me and everything you own. I'm just another acquisition, am I not? Which makes me wonder why you even insisted on marrying me, when some submissive, prettier girl would have sufficed you, who would know not to complain about her husband's philandering."

The spite in her voice was cutting like a lance through his chest. Yet, a part of him was pleasantly surprised at her indignation, for it meant that she couldn't bear the thought of him with another woman. Her fierce response stirred something within him… her jealousy fed his excitement.

"Bella, I married you because I desired you, is that not apparent enough?" he asked, grasping her face and pulling her to him. "My mistresses are only a part of your imagination."

How could she not know his affection for her? Had he been lacking in his efforts to show her?

Her hand clawed at his dress shirt, pushing him again. This time he conceded and slumped towards the floor, pulling her along with him.

She yelped in surprise, finding herself splayed atop him. He let go of her, assuming she'd want to move away from their uncomfortable tangle, but she didn't.

To his sheer astonishment, she still hadn't dropped the taper stick. Perhaps it provided her with a sense of clarity in keeping her away from darkness. The flame flickered and danced, creating odd shadows across the room.

Isabella glared at him, and he couldn't help but utter a low chuckle.

When she spoke again, her voice seemed rougher, weaker in its resolve. "Then why am I having trouble believing you? Then what was the reason behind your aloofness of the past week…?"

"And you assumed I was visiting a mistress or two?" He arched an eyebrow at her in challenge, interlacing his fingers with hers.

She didn't reply. Instead, she stared at their conjoined hands and then back at him, confusion replacing the anger on her beautiful face.

"Bella, contrary to your twisted beliefs, I'm actually yearning for you. No other woman can compare, Bella, I only desire you…" Every word that he uttered was laced with sincerity, and he hoped she could hear it.

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, but then her face softened, flooding him with relief.

"I'm still wondering why you treated me like a pariah," she said softly, a hint of resentment in her voice. "What was I to think then, if not of mistresses?"

"I was unwell," he replied simply, keeping his face impassive.

"You were well enough to travel all day long and visit your properties," she argued, looking accusingly at him again.

Edward knew he was cornered. He would have to distract her, or she'd keep asking the most unanswerable questions.

"Some illnesses are indefinable," he stated smoothly, holding her waist tightly in his hands as he pressed himself against her most unashamedly. "You have to trust me when I say that I'm unwell."

She gaped at him and hurried to get up, but he stopped her, pulling her back against his chest. He held onto her delicate neck as he brought her lips to him, drowning himself in the sweetness of her mouth. Heaven and hell both merged for Edward, to give him the experience that couldn't be replicated anywhere else.

He relished it even, welcoming the fire in his throat, for its burn was the price he paid in order to be with Isabella. It was a part of their union, and he couldn't detest any aspect of their connubial relationship.

When she pulled away from him, breathless, her expression had changed. If possible, she appeared more fierce than before, almost decidedly deadly.

Laying below her, Edward couldn't complain, for he was basking in the heat of her body and enjoying the view of her heaving, barely covered chest. Her tight corset was making her bosom appear even more delectable, presenting it to him as an offering.

Returning his lecherous gesture, she thrust herself against him, earning a groan from him. He was pleasantly surprised to see her sexual valour.

"I suggest that you shouldn't roam about the house half-dressed, looking as luscious as you do right now," he said, pulling at her corset. "I might get spoilt and want you to relinquish your clothes forever, for good."

The corset came away, as its strings were already untied. Matching him in his aggression, Isabella tugged at his dress shirt. He obliged her immediately, pulling his dress shirt apart to offer himself to her, welcoming the heat of her hand as it roamed his naked chest.

An impish smile broke across her face as she wrenched his cravat free. It only aroused him more.

Isabella lowered her lips to his chest, planting covetous kisses on his cold skin. The sensation of her hot mouth on him was immensely pleasurable, coupled with the tickle of her undulating tresses.

Then, in a shock-stirring sensation, he felt a burning heat upon his cold skin, much hotter than her mouth. He stole a glance towards his chest, searching for the source of such jolting heat.

It was the wretched taper stick again, leaving drop after drop of liquid fire on him. He hissed loudly in response, causing Isabella to take notice.

"Oh!" she breathed out in shock, then proceeded to ask an unexpected question. "Does it… hurt? You're so cold…"

He considered it for a moment and then shook his head. The heat was shocking, yes, but it wasn't hurting him.

"It doesn't?" she challenged, letting another drop fall off the taper stick, right on his throat. "It is making you wince…"

He would have said something to her, just to humour her, but her subsequent act rendered him speechless. She kissed him on the throat, where the wax droplet had solidified, and then she went on to suckle on his skin.

Edward's jaw slackened in amazement, but he remained silent. Words were lost on him.

Isabella didn't stop there, she proceeded to surprise him further by dropping more of the molten wax on his exposed body. Specks of searing heat marked his taut nipples, which she simply treated the same as his throat, causing him to groan in shock and unmistakable pleasure.

"Bella," he growled, grabbing her chemise and pulling it off her in haste. As a result, the taper stick finally dropped away from her hand, to aid him in undressing her. It rolled on the floor, held in place by its holder.

The wax dripped onto the flooring and began to create a puddle amongst the various forgotten items of clothing, surrounding the couple who couldn't care less about them.

Muffled sounds of pleasure erupted inside the room as Edward lost himself within her. The relief of being one with her enraptured him, so much, that it overwhelmed his senses.

Isabella hummed beneath him, her half-lidded eyes staring off vaguely into space. She was the epitome of lust, looking utterly drunk with it.

"Edward," she moaned, her naked chest shuddering against his, "I'm so… wanton, so… brazen. Why?"

"So am I," he replied, though it wasn't the answer to her question. He didn't know the answer, just that he felt the same.

"Only with you…" She clutched at his hair, pulling at it violently. "You make me so powerless."

"Bella," he grunted, catching a hold of her wrists, pulling them above her head as though she were a captive of his. "I'm glad for that, but you have the same influence over me."

"Hmmm?" she hummed again, a satisfied smirk forming on her lips.

Something in her smug expression called to his primal impulses, inciting him to be more forceful in his movements. He pressed deeper, quicker, less lenient than ever before.

Her resultant gasp pleased him as he drank in her expression of shock and helpless pleasure. As though in reply, she arched herself towards him.

"Tell me…" he rasped, palming her bosom, playing with her tightened flesh. "Where were you, and what have you been up to?"

She bit her lip and shook her head vigorously, denying him the answer. He growled in frustration, changing his movements to a leisurely pace, just to frustrate her.

"Edward!" she cried, shuddering under the slow, drawn out strokes of their joined flesh. "Please!"

A look of anguish crossed her breathtaking features as she realized what he was doing. She flailed against him, attempting to coax him into submission.

"No, tell me first." He glared at her, willing her to bare her secrets to him. She was weak in her resolve, as she herself admitted, and he couldn't help but take advantage of her powerlessness.

Still, she didn't concede. All he heard in response was her loud breathing, coupled with the pleading murmurs of his name.

"No… tell me."

"No… I cannot say it!" she cried in frustration. "Not like this, not now!"

"Why?" he muttered roughly, plunging to her chest to suckle on her sweet flesh.

She squirmed under him, caught in a limbo of sexual fulfilment. "It'll be utterly mortifying!"

"Please, Bella," he urged, his tongue flitting out to tease her further.

"Don't…mmmhh—" her pleading stopped midway as he unexpectedly moved within her, showing her the promise of his reward for the truth. "Oh! Fine! Ch-ch-uh-urch!"

"Pardon?" he asked, wondering if he heard correctly. The church seemed like a highly improbable answer, even though he most certainly heard her say its name only.

"Church! The church!" she literally screamed at him. "God, please forgive me…"

For a moment, Edward was left stunned, but he didn't hesitate in resuming his rhythm inside her. Of all the answers he had contemplated, the church hadn't even crossed his mind.

Relieved, he decided to worry about it later and concentrated on pleasing her instead. A part of him felt guilty for toying with her. Yet, the need to know the truth was burning him with an intensity that even his thirst couldn't rival.

Beneath him, Isabella threw her head back as she teetered towards the edge. Even though Edward's remorse prevented him from falling along with her, he made sure that she was contented.

He was quick to remove himself from her, worrying that his weight might crush her if he didn't.

"Wait!" she wheezed as she calmed down, seizing his neck as she moved towards him. Her hands nudged him, and he didn't resist, settling on his back once again.

Isabella crawled over him and tentatively sat down on his hips, effectively trapping him beneath her.

Apparently, the night of surprises wasn't over.

Edward stared at her in astonishment as he lay on the floor, once again enveloped in her heat.

"I'm not a fool, Edward," she said, appearing calm, though her once again ragged heartbeat gave her away. "I see the differences. Sometimes, they are so stark, they are literally flashing in my face."

A spasm of dread passed through him, and yet, he found himself incapable of reacting. She was caressing his chest with her hands by then, while she cautiously rocked atop him.

"Would you tell me?" she challenged, her voice lowering to a whisper. "The same way I told you?"

"I don't have any mistresses, Bella, trust me," he managed to gasp out; his eyes fixated on the mesmerizing wobble of her bosom.

A chuckle escaped her then, which vibrated all through his body.

"Did I mention the mistresses this time?"

Warring emotions of alarm and pleasure coursed through him. His mind alerted him to the fact that she was treating him in the same manner as he had treated her merely moments ago.

Edward was as powerless to stop her as she had been…

She was relishing her hold on him, as was apparent in her glowing expression.

"Bella… just trust me, please?" he prayed, bringing his hands to draw her onto him more forcefully.

They both moaned in mutual gratification.

"So cold, so… different… why are you so?" she prodded, clutching him tighter. "Ruby… black… gold… why do you change?"

She almost seemed incoherent now, but he knew better. His mind grappled for an excuse, for any viable answer, while his body gave itself over to the mounting pleasure. Isabella accompanied him, drowning in the rising surge of desire.

Unexpectedly, she collapsed against him, breathing heavily on his chest.

"Why won't you tell me the truth?" she asked softly, giving into exhaustion.

He lay there for a while, warmed by her body, frozen by her questions. Her fingers traced his shoulders in arbitrary designs.

She was waiting still…

"Some things, I cannot tell," he whispered dejectedly, "for I'm forbidden to tell."

"All of your family?"

"Yes…" He couldn't deny it this time, that the Cullens belonged in the same stratum as he did. She knew, and lying further would not help his case.

"I cannot imagine you being afraid of anything… to the extent that it would inhibit you."

"Bella," he spoke with utmost affection, hoping she'd understand, "please trust me… trust me when I tell you that it's better not to ask. Is my love not enough for you? Is it not enough to keep us contented in this life?"

Her heart stuttered a beat, and he wondered if he had given away too much.

She rested her chin on his chest as she stared back at him with curious eyes. "Again, you sound as though your hands are tied."

"They are…" He didn't know what else to say to her.

"Will it cause you harm if you told me? I promise not to tattle." Her eyes were earnest and trusting, her words causing much anguish for him.

"Even if you don't, it could cause harm," he replied carefully, "to both you and me. I might be able to stand any harm to myself, but I will never forgive myself if you ever get hurt."

"You're trying to hedge, aren't you?" She smiled weakly.

"I will not deny that." He returned her smile, even though his dead heart ached. "I suppose you resent me for it, don't you?"

"Perhaps," she replied, closing her eyes, "but not enough to last me a lifetime. Though, I will resent you more if you treat me the way you did last week or if you decide to keep mistresses."

Edward had to chuckle at her quip. "I assure you, Bella, your hold is permanent and unbreakable… never doubt that."

He wished to say more, to tell her how profoundly she had affected him, but the steady pace of her breaths announced her escape into slumber. Disturbing her would be a sin, and he didn't want to add another one to his already extensive litany of transgressions.

The slow gurgling and spouting sounds coming from the river were somewhat relaxing. It at least served to calm the torrent of thoughts that whisked in inside Jacob's head.

Each morning, he came to this isolated segment of the Quillayute River and sat by himself, attempting to understand his future in his tribe. After all, he was to be their next leader.

Being the leader of any group would be a difficult task, and taking into consideration the unique nature of his tribe exponentially increased the responsibility he had to bear.

He had the added burden of leading a pack of volatile young men, much the same as himself. A lot was expected of him; he was to become the next Chief.

His father didn't have to face this twin burden of leadership since he didn't transform into a wolf. Neither did any of his fellow men. Somehow, Jacob's generation was destined to transform, thereby signifying that a threat was imminent, lurking somewhere beyond his reach for the time being.

This left him worried and agitated, often overwhelmed with the encumbrance of his duty towards his tribe—his people.

He grimaced at the flowing water, mindlessly jabbing a piece of wood into the pebbles. There was movement behind him somewhere in the bushes. Someone was watching him, trying to keep as quiet as possible so that he wouldn't hear. Alas, he could. It would have made for a good pursuit had he been like a normal human being.

Instead of confronting, he decided to wait to see what this person might want from him. Moments later, he heard the odd stretching sound of a string, followed by the sharp whoosh of something piercing the air, coming towards him.

An instinct to jump aside and away from the sound was prevalent, but he stayed put, allowing himself to be the target.

"Ah!" he mock-snarled as a small stone hit the back of his head.

A loud chortle erupted from behind him. He turned around to see his assailant; despite himself, he smiled.

"Leah!" he cried incredulously, trying to keep his smile hidden behind a look of surprise and horror.

"Don't I know you have a hard head? I know you're not hurt, so stop acting as if you are." She stood a few feet away from him, one hand on her hip and one brandishing her slingshot.

Her nonchalant stance challenged him, showing him that she wasn't intimidated by his look of disapproval.

"Leah, you cannot sneak up on me like this. I was trying to practice my calming ritual. You disturbed me," he accused, stepping closer to her.

"Ha!" She snorted loudly. "Liar!"

Without giving her another chance at mocking him, he grabbed her hands and spun her around. She shrieked and grumbled at him, struggling to break free, but he constricted her movement by bending her arms behind her back.

"You must stop trying to provoke me constantly, Leilei," he whispered in her ear, enjoying her resultant shiver when he uttered his favourite term of endearment for her: a special epithet he'd given her over the years.

"Let go, Jacob," she whined, turning her face towards his. He could feel her ragged breaths on his face, which distracted him from keeping her immobilized.

Her eyes pleaded with him, and just like that, he let go.

Leah's expression changed from pleading to triumphant in mere seconds, much to his amazement.

"Why are you wearing my clothes?" he asked, suddenly noticing her odd attire. He was so captivated by her that he had failed to recognise his own clothes on her.

"Because I like them," she replied without so much as a crease on her forehead. "I don't like my clothes. They are so… restrictive, I can hardly move around in them, let alone run through the forest."

He sighed and shook his head at her reasoning. It was nothing new; Leah had always felt more at home doing things that boys did. She shied away from her designated chores and was always found loitering around in the woods.

In a way, it had brought her closer to him, as a friend, as a constant companion. Even though her family lived at a distance in Mora, they faced little difficulty in finding each in the middle of the woods. Leah never feared the woods, nor did he; it was their playground.

Later, when he started showing signs of transformation, he had to distance himself from her. Yet, she somehow always found a way to seek him out.

He regarded her from head to toe as she stood a safe distance from him. She squirmed under his scrutiny, much to his amusement.

"Why not wear your brother's clothes? They might fit you better than mine."

She smirked at him and then looked pointedly at the clothes she was wearing, specifically to show him how she had adjusted them to her liking. The long shirtsleeves and pant bottoms had been turned over in order to keep her feet and hands out.

"Where had you gotten a hold of them?" he asked, slightly annoyed at her audacity, though, already knowing the answer. "You stole them from the back of my house, didn't you? While they were drying."

"I can't steal something that belongs to you," she stated, still unfazed. "I always borrow from you."

"You have to ask for my permission before you do so."

"Your permission?" she scoffed. "Jacob, have I ever taken permission from you for anything?"

It was true, and even though he hadn't expressly told her so, she instinctively knew that he'd never deny her anything. After all, she had stolen his heart just as effortlessly as his clothes.

"Leilei, I'll get you new ones if you want to wear boys' clothes," he offered, walking towards her, "but you know Ma; she won't like it when she gets to know what you've done. You've soiled the clothes she washed with so much care."

Leah's face scrunched up at the mention of his mother, probably remembering the scoldings she'd received from her in the past for all her antics. But then she brightened as she realized what he had just offered her.

"You promise?"

He nodded, gaining a wide grin from her in return. "Now give my clothes back."

A mischievous glint entered her eyes then as he reached for her shoulder. She pranced away from him, almost dancing, her feet bouncing on the wild grass.

"You have to catch me first!" she giggled and took off into the denser portion of the forest, vanishing into the thicket like a wood spirit.

Needless to say, Jacob was after her within seconds, knowing how easily he'd gain on her and then catch hold of her. The legacy of transformation gave him the physical supremacy to do so.

He let her meander here and there about the trees, tricking her into thinking that she was evading him successfully. Unexpected attack was how he planned to catch her, just to see her subsequent reaction. He presumed it would be entertaining.

Yet, all his plans came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the green maze, as he caught an eerily familiar nose-burning scent. It was so strong that it stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Leah!" he hollered at the top of his lungs, suddenly worried for her safety. He knew she was a few yards away, still running farther into the now foreboding coppice. "LEAH!"

A giggle was all he heard in return. It was still an amusement for her, and she was most likely thinking him annoyed at being unable to catch her.

Feeling a surge of dread, Jacob dashed across the thicket, tearing past nettles and bushes to reach her as fast as he could.

Raise your hand if you want to kill me for the cliffy! *Nervous giggle*

A word of thanks to my PTB betas, Bailey and Mistyfate. They are both fast and awesome, and are very encouraging.

Notes -

Athaniasian Wench is an archaic expression used for a woman with easy virtue.

Mora is extension of the La Push settlement.