We were at his place playing some damn video game or other. I couldn't tell you which one, even if I tried; I couldn't concentrate. It had been over two weeks since this whole mess had opened up, since that first kiss in the forest. I was tired of being confused, tired of being scared.

I couldn't focus on the game at all, I kept thinking over everything. I could feel him watching me and knew, if I gave in and looked back at him, that something was going to happen. I could just feel it in the air, the way we hadn't been talking much all day, just looking and touching.

I finally turned slowly and stared at him. It was clear instantly that he felt it too. The whole thing became suddenly real to me; I wanted to let go of all the boundaries.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his eyes flicking over my face.

I felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. "No, not really," my voice wavered.

He was too fucking close and not nearly close enough. I leaned forward just slightly—wanting him to kiss me without being too forceful about it; asking for it but trying to let him know I wasn't pushing him. He got the message loud and clear.

He reached his hand behind my neck and drew me closer. He searched my eyes for a split-second before taking my mouth with his in a soft, wet kiss.

I couldn't stop the gasp that that first contact tore out of me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could do was focus on the surge of...of whatever the fuck it was coming from him. Need was too simple to describe it. It was too hot and too fucking cold, frenzied and intensely calm, fast and painfully slow, everything and absolutely nothing all at the same time.

All of the other times we had kissed had been hard and driven by some form of desperation, and I had felt like I had been begging for every single one of them. This one was different. He hesitated only a second before deepening the kiss as we turned in toward each other. His fingers on the back of my neck made my skin burn, and his mouth against mine made it feel like my brain was short-circuiting. I could feel the panic begin to rise up in me and I fought hard to keep it in check. I wanted to stay there and give in but my flight instinct was scratching for attention. It was suddenly way too fucking intense in there.

I pulled back, changed my mind and kissed him again then broke away a second time. I didn't pull myself completely away from him though—I couldn't—leaving one of my hands still gripping his forearm and the other resting on his thigh.

I knew I wanted him. I was just too fucking terrified to take the leap. Forever is a long fucking time to be tied to someone when you've basically been alone your whole life.

"I have to go," I breathed, leaning in to take his mouth with mine again a second later. He let me.

"Okay," he agreed, sliding his hand around my side and pulling me closer still. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, and felt my breath hitch in my throat. He ran his tongue over my bottom lip before plunging it into my mouth.

I needed to get out of there before this led to something I wasn't ready for, but I didn't want to stop kissing him—I didn't feel like I could stop. It had happened so naturally; it wasn't forced or desperate. Every part of me buzzed and ached for more, despite being fucking terrified.

I shifted on the couch, ready to stand and leave, but not able to drag myself away. If I stayed things were going to get serious—fast—and I hadn't made that decision—not yet. His hand on my neck tightened, wanting to keep me there, but I knew he'd let me go if I pulled away and actually meant it.

Finally, I broke away and stood up, repeating to him that I had to go. Then, like I hadn't even spoken, I bent and kissed him again. He sighed and pulled me back toward him with just enough force to let me know I could still leave if that's what I wanted, but that he'd rather I stayed. He wasn't demanding; his hands hardly touching me, but every touch said so much. Fuck, it was torture; delicious, agonizing, mind-fucking torture.

I had one knee back on the couch between his legs, his hands on my hip and the back of my leg as he stretched up and I bent to meet his mouth again.

"I'm gonna go," I gasped as he lowered his mouth to my neck. The scratch of his stubble sent a chill down my spine.

"You keep saying that," he chuckled against my skin, running his hand up the back of my thigh and stopping just under the curve of my ass.

Fuck, that felt too good.

He stretched up to claim my mouth again with a hard, biting kiss. I pulled his hands away slowly, took a tiny step back to stand on both feet again, and pulled my mouth reluctantly from his.

I turned and walked away, and it was one of the hardest fucking things I have ever done in my life.

I hadn't made it two houses down the block before I cracked. A rage so pure it felt like acid ran through me and I swung out at the nearest thing in my path, my fist connecting with a telephone pole. The wood splintered and tore into my knuckles.

"Fuck!" I shouted. I scrubbed my hands over my face roughly and stopped to turn back toward Embry's house. I wanted to go back.

I wanted to run as far away as I could. I wanted to fucking kill him for imprinting even though I knew it wasn't his fault. I wanted things to go back to normal—I couldn't even remember what normal felt like. But mostly, I wanted him; all of him.

I couldn't pretend even to myself anymore that what I felt was just because of the imprint. I wanted him and I didn't need a fucking reason to justify it. It was like craving something specific, but not being able to identify what it was. I turned back around and kept walking.

By the time I'd made it home I knew there was no hope of sleeping. I skipped going in the house, heading straight for the backyard stripping my clothes as I went, and phased as soon as I hit the tree line.

Quil was on shift. He wisely decided against any sort of greeting once he took stock of my mood, instead letting me know he was there if I wanted to talk. Then he proceeded to run through episodes of South Park as he went about his business and left me to mine.

I ran.

I ran as fast and as fucking hard as my legs would carry me. I didn't have a destination. I wasn't even really paying attention to where I was going. I just needed to get away: away from the fucking confusion that plagued me at every turn; away from the noise and the longing that haunted me whenever I was around Embry; just away. I ran until my muscles burned and screamed for me to stop, and then I ran further, pushing until the pain of exhaustion was the only thing I could feel.

It was probably hours before I stopped—crashed was more like it. I couldn't physically go any further. I stood in an unfamiliar stream, the cool water soothing my burning, tired feet. I wasn't in our territory anymore, that much was clear. I drank from the stream, cooling my parched mouth, before climbing to the bank and lying down.

It was quiet too; I couldn't hear Quil or anyone else. I was alone for the first time in more months than I cared to remember.

Thinking a problem through was sometimes easier in wolf form. Animal instinct played a key role in decisions for the wolf. Maybe easier wasn't the right way to say it, but it was simpler—more instinctual; but even my wolf couldn't reconcile this dilemma.

Embry wanted me. Why? Because the Great Spirits had deemed it right somehow.

The tribal elders thought of imprinting as the wolf's way of choosing a compatible mate for breeding, but both Sam and Jared had argued that there was way more than just pups involved. It couldn't be about breeding future wolves in mine and Embry's case anyway, so there had to be more to it. None of the Elders had bothered to come up with any sort of explanation for our case. Mostly they preferred not to deal with it, I think. Billy was the only one that even acknowledged it as a true imprint; he didn't condemn the situation, but he hadn't condoned it either.

Embry and I were similar in many ways but completely different in others. We'd both grown up with only one parent around, and only in the minimum capacity at that. We'd both faced hardships because of it, too. Emb was an outsider and a bastard who didn't know who his father was. My mother had been the town whore before she left Dad and me, and as it turned out this apple hadn't fallen far from that tree. My old man wasn't an angel either and had only managed to stay out of jail on luck. That wasn't enough to warrant linking us together for-fucking-ever, was it?

Other than the whole broken home shit, and both having the misfortune of turning into vampire-hunting wolves—seriously, this is my fucking life?!—there was very little that we had in common. I'm a fucking volatile asshole, even I know that. I use people to get what I want and don't give a shit about what it costs them.

Okay, so that's not entirely fucking true. I used people but only those that wanted to be used. I'm selfish as fuck, but I'm not going to fuck somebody else's life up for them. People seem pretty good at fucking their own lives up, really.

Embry? Fuck, Embry's a saint compared to me. I'm sure he's gotten into his share of shit, but I'd never heard anything about it. He's crazy fucking smart and genuinely a nice guy. He really got the short end of the stick getting pegged with me for the rest of his life. Until recently he'd been even tempered and calm, but that went out the fucking window as soon as I opened this shit wide open by kissing him. He was almost as fucking moody as me these days.

That was part of the struggle I had been facing. How the fuck some mystical force had determined we were a good fit was beyond me. Sure, Embry had already made a positive impact on me—it was hard to notice that I had way less of a hair trigger the last couple of weeks; the only person I'd fought with in over a month was Emb. But what the fuck was a guy like me supposed to add to his life? So far I'd only managed to fuck it up and piss him off, and that didn't even include the war I seemed to be causing between him and his Mom.

If I thought there was a chance that either of us would survive it, I would have fucking left La Push already. But after what we'd gone through when we had spent the better part of a week simply avoiding each other, I wasn't about to attempt it until I had more knowledge of what might happen.

If I were honest, really truly, fucking honest about the whole thing. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be away from him. I wanted to soak up the attention he lavished on me for no good reason. It made me feel complete somehow; like I had been empty my whole life just waiting for him to fill that void. And that scared the shit out of me. I had spent as far back as I could remember being as independent as I could manage, and now I could hardly go a day without him.

Jesus, I know I sound like some fucking romance novel chick, but that's the truth of it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn't just want Embry, I needed him. Maybe, if I was a lucky asshole—and I couldn't even hope to dream that I was—but just maybe, he needed me too, in a way that wasn't dictated by the fucking imprint.