I don't know how long it went on for; time, like everything, slipped away from me, but I think it was a long time. We were both exhausted and sweaty by the time we were finished, and collapsed onto the soft forest floor, the dirt sticking to our naked bodies as Paul pulled me toward him. I rested my head on his arm and curled into his chest, listening to his breathing. I could see multiple bite marks in his skin, which were healing rapidly, a bit of dried blood here and there the only indication that my teeth had sunk in deeply. I knew I had similar marks on my own body, as well a dark bruises which were quickly fading to nothing on my wrists and hips where he'd held me so tightly I thought my bones would snap.

I could still feel in my back where the bark of trees and the sharp jabs of rocks and twigs had stabbed into me as we had moved and rolled and tumbled in our passion, but they too would be gone before I ever got any kind of look. It was a strange thing to have your body repair an injury before you even had the chance to really notice it. Somewhere inside, I was shocked by our behaviour, and what was more, how much I had enjoyed that physicality, that violence, something that I had never before found sexy or appealing in any way. Certainly Sam had never hurt me, and without a doubt I had never wanted him to, but with Paul it was different. I didn't know if it was him, or me, or some combination of the two of us, but the intensity of how our bodies had reacted to one another was now, in retrospect, overwhelming.

But I was too exhausted to really give it all much thought, and I soon fell into a sleep so deep that I didn't dream. I felt like I had run a marathon, and it made me feel deliciously tired and devoid of thought or purpose. I didn't have to do anything or think anything or be anyone other than this girl lying naked in the arms of someone I trusted and loved but didn't particularly like. There was nothing but this, and that feeling was something I desperately needed in that moment. Had Paul seen my need for withdrawal from the world, my frantic desire to cut myself off from everything and rest for a moment beyond myself, and taken advantage? No, I didn't believe that. I had needed him and he was there: an uncomplicated shared experience, no love or expectation clouding his ability to see, plainly, the stark reality of my need. To have denied me would have been the selfish thing.

Only it wasn't uncomplicated, I slowly realized as sleep lifted itself off my consciousness. Even without clothing, under a rapidly darkening sky in the middle of a forest, I wasn't cold. But my hands trembled just a little as I got to my feet and found the torn remnants of the shirt he'd given me, and the boxers I hadn't been able to get rid of fast enough. I heard him moving around behind me as I dressed, my face flaming even though I was certain he wasn't looking. Even though I was no longer naked I found it hard to turn and look at him, so he came to me instead and raised his hand, where it hung in the air for a moment behind my back. I felt it hovering there, close enough to raise the tiny hairs on my skin, before he planted it in a place he deemed appropriate: the small of my back. I turned around to him and raised my eyes to his apprehensively, but I found no scorn or smug look there, no gloating expression to show that he considered this a conquest, something to brag about in the locker room.

But there was no locker room. Just the minds of six other boys, who would know about this the instant one of us shifted next. And I would know their feelings about it; I would know how they looked at me and what they thought behind my back.

Sam would know. For the first time, he would see me in the arms of another man as I had been forced to see him in union with Emily's in so many different places that it seemed I couldn't step foot anywhere without being reminded of their writing bodies. What would he feel when he saw this? Would he feel a pang, finally, for what we once shared together, some dim cellular memory of his former life? Or would he be disappointed, or annoyed, that I hadn't thought ahead to how this would affect the whole? Was I now expected to live my life constantly mindful of their individual comfort levels?

Then I thought of the one person whose comfort level did matter to me, and my heart froze. If Seth had seen Sam's memories of making love to me, or my own memories of the same events, he had taken great pains not to inform me of this. But this was fresh- not a memory, but an event that had happened here and now. How would he handle this? What could I do to soften this for him, to make him understand? All at once I saw my act with Paul through his eyes, his innocent, caring eyes that believed I was a good person who loved him more than anyone, and I felt sick. I did love him more than anyone, but I felt as terribly as if he had stood at the edge of that clearing and witnessed our carnality. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I must have known that he would see this. But had I cared?

"Leah," Paul said softly, removing his hand from the small of my back and walking around to face me and look into my eyes. He had gotten dressed too, wearing his suit pants again. There was no way he was going to be able to return his rental now, after how we'd destroyed it. I saw with relief that there was still no triumph in his eyes, no pride or superiority. He looked concerned and nothing more.

"I'm fine," I told him. "It's fine."

"Leah," he said, letting out a quick breath of frustration. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I answered, turning from him and starting back towards home.

He followed me, which was irritating; I had gotten what I needed from him, and his continued presence only multiplied my shame. "Leah," he said my name again, and there was something changed in the way he said it, so subtle it couldn't really be pinpointed, but I could hear it. I had wanted to use his body as a shield against the rest of the world, and it had worked, but I'd forgotten about afterward: he was not some stranger in a bar that I could pick up and discard at will. He was someone I knew very well, someone who loved me, who I loved, but how I wished in that moment that he was some nameless face I could shut away in my mind and never think of again.

"What?" I asked, turning back to him abruptly. He looked taken aback, and I felt an immediate stab of guilt. My mind was on Seth, but Paul deserved something, too. I owed him as much. "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't want this to be a big thing."

"It doesn't have to be," he agreed with a small shrug. I gazed at him for a moment, trying to decide if I believed his words. Yes, it was true- I had chosen well. Of all the boys in the pack, Paul was probably the only one capable of really letting this mean nothing.

I found it immensely relaxing to know that I could tell him the whole truth, to know that even if I held something back for the sake of embarrassment or privacy, he would know it later anyway, so there was no use in hiding. "Please don't shift back until I've talked to Seth," I told him. "I don't want him to find out about this like that."

Slowly, he nodded; I knew he understood. Paul was an only child by blood, but by the pack he had enough brothers to know where I was coming from. I didn't know if it was my own thoughts that had infected the others or if it was just due to Seth's youthful purity, but I noticed that all of them naturally took special protective measures over him, and I appreciated that. If Paul had shifted and Seth happened to have been in wolf form right now, it probably wouldn't have been terrible- but he was my brother, and I felt this was my responsibility. I think Paul understood that.

"Do you want me to drive you home?" he asked me. "I parked near where I hid my clothes."

It would have been faster to drive, but with his guarantee that he wouldn't shift until I'd given the okay, I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

"I'm okay to walk," I told him.

"This doesn't have to be weird," he answered me.

"I know," I said. "It won't be. This was just a one-time thing… it happened. It's not like we planned it."

He smiled a little at me, and for the first time I thought I saw a hint of smug satisfaction, but it wasn't malicious. I'd had enough exposure to male minds by now to know how they operated: crowing like a rooster because you just got laid doesn't necessarily equate to objectifying the girl you got laid by. In fact, I don't even think those kinds of connections occur to them sometimes. It's easy for women to give the male mind much more credit than it deserves. In a way I admire their ability to function off such simple thought processes, rarely obsessing or overanalyzing, almost always taking things at face value… in contrast, I knew they found my mind exhausting, and were truly shocked at some of the connections I made when people spoke to me or acted in certain subtle ways that they never noticed. The pack mind had become an exceptional learning curve for everyone, now that I'd joined it.

Paul didn't try to touch me again, or kiss me; he just left me alone, and I was grateful for it. Maybe a tiny part of me missed him once he was gone, but mostly I was relieved. I walked home in silence, trying not to think, as though that might be possible.

For the briefest moment, I thought of my father, and had a fleeting curiosity about whether he might have been looking down on me, disappointed that I had chosen the day of his funeral to become sexually active after over a year of celibacy. But the thought passed almost as soon as it arrived. I didn't really believe that the dead watched us. I didn't even know if I believed in any kind of afterlife, but rather that we all just stopped existing at death, like a single light going off in a multitude of lights. Who would notice, really? One individual seems so insignificant in the face of a world. Only to me, he was significant… the only father Seth and I would ever have.

But I didn't believe he was frowning down on me from any kind of afterlife, either; and if he was, then he wasn't worth my time. Besides, from what I knew, being a female werewolf was probably disappointment enough. If my father were watching over anyone, it would be my mother or Seth. Knowing that made me feel immensely lonely, but I shook it away. I had other things to worry about now. The dead, if they still existed, had endless time, a concept I was only still getting used to as it related to myself. Immortality seemed a pointless thing to comprehend in the face of all the menial tasks and profound moments of a single lifetime. If I ever figured out how to live with my mistakes and the injustices of this one lifetime, then I would start thinking about another; meanwhile, I had the here and now to worry about. I had Seth.

One wish was granted to me: he was home when I got there, not out running around in wolf form, which would have given me ample time to pace my bedroom and stress and worry about what I would say to him when he finally got back. But I didn't have to subject myself to any of that; he wasn't even in his bedroom anymore. I could see him through the window of the kitchen instead, making a giant pot of spaghetti. I crept into the house and hurried to my room, where I got dressed properly and brushed my hair.

I examined myself in the mirror for a long moment, trying to decide if I looked different. Would he know what I had done? Would he read it on my face, or smell it on my skin, or see it in my eyes? But I wasn't just looking for what he might see… I was looking for what I thought, too. Who was Leah Clearwater? What kind of girl was she? Up to now I had been a girl who had lost her virginity to a boy she was in love with, at the reasonable age of sixteen. Now I was a girl who had sudden, meaningless, almost violent sex with a boy I wasn't in love with in the middle of a forest on the day of my father's funeral. I had never seen this Leah coming: she was as startling to me as I knew she would be for my brother. I hated to imagine what he would think of me; but I knew I couldn't stall forever. Finally, I left the safety of the bathroom and went to him.

"Is that dinner?" I asked as I walked into the kitchen, grateful for the opportunity of a neutral conversation to ease me into what I had planned.

"Yeah," he said, a little glumly. "Mom went to work."

I let out a soft sigh; I was relieved that she wasn't around right now, but I knew Seth resented how she clung to work to keep her mind occupied. He wanted her to prioritize us, but though I knew she loved us fiercely, her work had always been her focus, while we had been her joy. I touched his hair, relieved that he didn't shy away from my hand or try to make a show of bravery that he didn't really feel. For my mother, he would have; that was the paradox: she thought he didn't need her so much, and he pretended it was true. But I knew what was really true.

"Seth," I said. "I need to talk to you… it's kind of important."

"Okay," he answered. "It has to boil for a bit." He followed me into the living room, where I sat us down on the couch, giving him a good amount of space for the awkwardness I was sure he'd soon feel.

"Seth…" I started, but his apprehensive expression cut me off. "What?"

"I don't want to talk about Dad."

I smiled gently at him. "Neither do I," I promised.

He looked genuinely confused, even a little suspicious. "Then what's up?"

I couldn't hold eye contact with him after that, so I grabbed one of my mother's throw pillows that had a little bit of fringe on it and played with its edges as I spoke, my face flaming. "This is not something I'd normally talk to you about, Seth," I told him. "But with the mind link and all, I know it's going to come up, and I want me to be the one you hear it from."

I paused so he could say something, but he didn't.

After a deep breath, I managed to say, without sugarcoating or euphemisms, "Paul and I just had sex." After all, he was fifteen, not ten, and even if he had still thought babies came from flower petals, he had six older boys in his head much of the time now. Besides, our mother was a nurse- we had both learned about the birds and the bees as children. Still, we certainly hadn't ever discussed it with one another, and one glance at his bright red face showed me that he had no interest in this line of dialogue.

"Um… Leah…" he stammered. "I really didn't need to know that…"

"I know," I said gently, still not quite bringing myself to look at his eyes. I settled on his forehead instead, his hairline, the dimple in his brow. "I just don't want the… images… to scare you."

He made a face at me. "I'm not going to get scared. What are you-" He broke off, and I was startled by the open shock that suddenly flashed across his face. "Wait, he didn't, like, hurt you or something, did he?"

"No," I said quickly, and then I hesitated. He caught it immediately.

"But?" he asked. I couldn't read his voice, if it was disbelief or incredulity or fear.

I looked at my brother, the baby I carried in my arms, the little boy whose scraped knees I kissed and the teenager who had been my companion through a terrible, frightening change that no one should have to endure. I wanted to choose my words carefully, not only to preserve my image in his eyes, but also to teach him that there are better ways to handle grief and confusion and loneliness. He was not a child, but he had never even kissed a girl, and I wanted him to make his own mistakes and live his own life, not have vicarious experiences through his friends, and certainly not through his sister. I didn't want him to be confused, so that by the time he was interested enough in a girl to want to be with her, he knew which feelings were his own. I wanted to give him a gift that I never had, a collection of mistakes that he could place on the map of his own life as landmarks to avoid.

With great difficulty, I told him the entire truth. He would hear it anyway, I knew, through the link, from both Paul and me. But that wasn't the same, and I wanted my words to be his first impression of what I'd done. So I told him, "I went running after the funeral and he was out in the woods already… we ran around together for a bit and I was feeling sad. It wasn't something I planned, but it was what I wanted. It was very different than it was with Sam. It was rough." We lost eye contact again as we both looked at our hands instinctively, each wanting to make this conversation less uncomfortable than it had to be. But I forced myself to continue, "We hurt each other, and we liked it better that way, in the moment. He made me forget everything I was feeling and he let me feel like nothing else mattered for a little while… I was so upset and overwhelmed, and I needed to feel that. But it was really irresponsible of me to use sex to find that kind of comfort. It might have seemed great in the short term, but now I feel embarrassed and ashamed of what I did, and that all of you have to know about it."

After I was finished, I fell silent. Part of me couldn't believe I had really said all that to him, and I'm sure he couldn't believe it either. But what choice did I have? He would know it all soon enough, and as awkward as this was it would allow him to take in the knowledge of what I'd done without the interference of other feelings and minds. I think it was the right thing, even if it was incredibly difficult for us both.

He didn't say anything for a long time. Finally he said simply, "Okay."

I gazed at him. I could see from the creases in his forehead and the look in his eyes that his mind was trying to make sense of everything I'd told him. Gently I said, "Seth... if you want to ask me anything, I'll tell you the truth."

Again, he was silent for a long time, but I knew he'd heard me. I waited patiently. Eventually, he stood up and hurried into the kitchen, pulling the pasta from the stove and draining it before adding sauce and meatballs and simmering it on the stove again. Tentatively I followed him into the kitchen, but I hung back against the far counter, giving him space as he busied himself with dishing up a heaping bowl for each of us. I got the jug of water from the fridge and two glasses, and we went and sat at the dining room table and ate in silence. It made me nervous, but even still I could feel that something had shifted; the silence wasn't uncomfortable, and Seth wasn't angry or upset.

When we were both nearly finished our huge bowls of pasta, he said softly, "I'm sad for you, Leah."

I couldn't help but smile at him when he said that. It was just the kind of thing he would say. Neutrally I answered, "Why?"

He let out a heavy sigh, a breath that seemed to go on forever. "Because you used to be so happy." He really looked a time for the first time in an hour. "Are you ever going to be happy again?"

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach, and I had to push away the rest of my food. "I don't know," I whispered finally.

"Are you and Paul going to do that again?"

"I'm not planning on it," I answered immediately, but then I realized how useless those words were in the face of the fact that I hadn't planned it the first time. So I revised my answered and said, "I don't know. I don't think so."

"I don't want you to feel ashamed," he said. "Not because of me."

"I don't feel ashamed because of you," I promised. "I feel ashamed because I did something without thinking and now I have to live with the consequences."

"But if it wasn't for the link, would you feel as bad?" he challenged me.

I had to think about it, but I already knew the answer. "Not as much," I admitted. "But I still would."

"I used to hear you and Sam sometimes," he told me suddenly, his face going bright red again. "It was totally gross, but I knew you were happy. I don't think Paul can make you happy like that, Leah."

"He can't," I agreed. "And I don't want him to."

"Then you shouldn't do it," he concluded aloud, as if that would settle everything.

"I know," I answered with a small smile.

After a short silence he said, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Okay," I said, not wanting to push the issue any further than it had already been pushed. "But if you ever want to talk about it again, that's fine."

"I think I'm going to go over to Embry's," he answered tactfully. "He has an Xbox."

"Alright," I said with a laugh. "But only if you swear you're not mad."

He looked surprised. "I'm not mad," he said honestly.

"You know I love you, right?" I asked him. "You know I would never do anything on purpose to hurt you?" Without realizing it, my eyes had filled with tears, but they didn't fall.

Seth gazed at me for a long moment, and then he came around the table and wrapped his arms around my neck. I held him close to me as he said softly into my hair, "I don't want you to censor your life because of me."

"Okay," I answered, equally soft. "And I don't want you to skip yours because of all of us."

He pulled back and gave me his sweet, warm smile. "I'll be home in a couple of hours," he told me gently.

"Call if you decide to sleep over," I answered, and he hurried off to his room to get ready as I cleared away the dishes.

I scraped the food from the plates and started to rinse them, but they fell from my shaking hands, clattering together and coming to rest in the basin of the sink. I stood there, taking deep breaths as my body flooded with relief from all the pent-up worry I had been carrying. I had shown him a very ugly side of myself, and he hadn't broken, hadn't recoiled from me or thought less of me. I hadn't realized until how just how much his judgment mattered to me, but it did- so much. If Seth ever stopped looking up to me and started looking down on me, I didn't know what I would do. It seemed that if that happened, then all the hope from the world would be gone.

Finally, I tended to the dishes and put the leftover spaghetti in the fridge, knowing it would be eaten soon enough- since the shift, we were both irreconcilably hungry all the time. A shadow passed over the doorway and I turned to smile at Seth, who had changed his clothes, combed his hair, and had a bag slung over his shoulder and his runners in his hand. It was pretty likely that he would stay the night, but it was Saturday and he deserved some downtime after everything we'd been through.

"I almost forgot," he said. "Mom's officially taking her place on the tribal council tomorrow. They're going to tell her everything."

I knew it was coming, but I hadn't counted on it being so soon. I forced a smile. "Okay," I said. "Thanks for letting me know."

"It'll be nice when she knows everything, don't you think?" he said, hopping from one foot to the other as he pulled on his shoes. Without waiting for a response, he waved a goodbye to me and hurried from the house, leaving me alone.

I understood what he was saying; lying and sneaking around behind our mother's back was neither pleasant nor easy. But in a flash from Sam's mind, one he'd tried and failed to hide from me, I had seen this:

My father had come to my room after I made the shift. He had seen his daughter transformed into a small gray wolf, and he had not survived it. But it had been neither the distress of realizing that people were capable of shapeshifting, which he already believed, nor the fact that his own blood carried the gene, which he already knew, that had killed him. What had caused him to collapse outside my bedroom, dead of shock at fifty-seven, was this truth and nothing else: that I was a girl, and in making the shift, I had violated a boundary so sacred I wasn't even aware it existed. My abomination had been so repulsive to him that it had been incompatible with his life: his body had chosen to die rather than exist as the father of a female werewolf. And as he lay dying in Sam's arms, he had managed not even a single word to let me or anyone else believe it could possibly have been something different.

Author's Note: Aw, I think I lost a few readers when I went back to school and started updating less frequently! If you're still out there, please review this chapter so I know you're still enjoying the story... if not, then thanks to all of you still sticking with me even though I'm not updating as often as I want! I really, REALLY appreciate it and look very much forward to your reviews. :)