When everyone had finally left his place, Paul moved from his perch to sit down next to the still sleeping girl. The cessation of the thumping washing machine reminding him that she was still pant-less. Getting back up, he trotted down to the basement to throw them in the dryer. Lifting up the soggy slacks, Paul couldn't help but cringe. They didn't smell as bad as before, but the seams had loosened and they definitely wouldn't survive another cleaning. However, they were his urchin's. He couldn't take them away from her; not without her saying it was okay. Tossing them into the dryer, he turned it on low, hoping he could give her back her pants to wear until something else was found.
Walking back to the living room, Paul stared at his urchin. He had wrapped the bath sheet snug but not tight around her waist, eyeing her bare feet.
They looked cold.
He hadn't thought about having Leah throw her socks into the wash, but they were useless already. Darting back into his bedroom, Paul shifted through one of his drawers, wondering what would work best. He pulled out a few of his work socks, shaking his head before shoving them back in. On his urchin, they'd probably go half way to her knees and feel funny.
Ignoring the drawer for the time being, Paul went to his closet, searching for the box he kept useless shit in. Two Christmases ago, Seth had thought it would be funny to give Paul a pair of woman's red and green striped fuzzy socks to use for something other than keeping feet warm as he mockingly shared later in wolf form.
Paul had laughed right along with Seth, sharing a one-night stand he had participated in earlier in the month. Even in wolf form, the guys and their bodies were not immune to porn fantasies and as Seth panted over what Paul's fuck buddy had been doing, Paul had found a thorn bush and shoved it between Seth's legs, telling the pup to keep his sick sock ideas to himself.
He had kept the socks, thinking he could make better use of them for other more intimate festive activities. He wasn't thinking anything of the sort right now as he searched for the one thing he had that he knew his urchin not only needed, but that would fit her.
They were still in the box with the tags. He grabbed them and rushed back out to check on his urchin. Carefully easing into the far end of the couch, Paul picked up her legs, setting them in his lap to stare at her toes. They were clean, but he could still see sores, calluses, and light bruising. Wrapping his hands around them, her pulse beat steadily through, lowering the anxiety of his wolf.
When her feet were finally warm, Paul yanked the tags off of the socks with his teeth before carefully placing them on her feet. The wolf in him wasn't as impressed, wanting to continue warming her tiny appendages but Paul had another idea.
In the car, he hadn't been able to hold her for fear of not being able to let go. Here, in the surroundings of his home, holding just a part of her, Paul decided he needed to hold her properly; just for a little bit. To make the transition as motionless as possible, he set her feet back down to stand up and move to where her head was lying. Using both hands, for stability, he slid them under her shoulders to lift, sitting down again and then pulling her into a cradling position with her torso pressed against his chest and her legs still touching the couch even though he had placed one hand underneath them.
He mused over the events of the past eight hours. If anyone had said he'd be imprinted by today's date, he would've laughed, called 'em a stupid-shit and then, depending on if they were a girl or a guy, punched them in the face for bringing up a sore subject. Actually, since Leah was the only girl with balls big enough to approach Paul about imprinting directly, he probably would've sucker punched her, too.
He ghosted his fingers over the contours of her face: the fine lines of hair that made up her eyebrows; the nearly translucent skin covering her eyes that were moving beneath; the slim nose where Paul could feel her tiny exhalations; and down to her lips, cracked and chapped.
Damn but he wanted her to wake up! He had so many questions to ask her, Paul thought as he traced her lips. Did she have a favorite food; a favorite color? Did she like to get up early or sleep in? What kind of things did she like to do…
A visible jerk tore through Paul causing his imprint to shift. What kind of moron was he, asking her if she had a favorite anything? She probably didn't care what kind of food she ate as long as it was edible, and sleep? His urchin definitely had shadows under her eyes telling people she was malnourished but she also had the rings of receiving too little rest.
Disgusted with himself, Paul got back up again to pace. He needed to know had happened to her; why she was living on the street. Then he could…do what? Say it was okay and wouldn't happen again? He'd sure as hell wouldn't let her live on the streets again, but he couldn't do anything about what had happened to her. Was it important?
The questions just kept coming. Obviously her past would determine what made her who she was, but it didn't matter to Paul. He really liked her, or at least his wolf did and that worked. His wolf usually hated everyone, his Alpha, too, on many occasions. When he looked at his urchin some weird peace feeling entered his body even with the anxiety of her being hurt. If he could tote her along like a dog with its bone, Paul would be the happiest man alive.
As it was, he was still in shock over this new phenomenon. When he had been sixteen and first learned he was a wolf, the idea of imprinting had seemed like a death sentence. He was a young, handsome and often sought after male. There was no reason whatsoever to be content and settle down with just one female.
Sam had been first to imprint and the transition couldn't have gone smoother than if it had been planned.
In ninth grade, a freshman Leah had practically panted after Sam, who was a sophomore. Like most upper classmen, he ignored all freshmen and Leah never stood a chance. Then summer came and suddenly Leah developed into a sex goddess. Sam spent the next two years trying to make it up to her and their relationship became somewhat of a celebrity thing.
When Sam had phased for the first time, he had hidden for awhile, unsure of what was happening and why. Leah did not take the disappearance kindly and she literally hunted him down; not expecting for him to be a wolf. When the massive creature suddenly materialized in front of her at a lake they often held picnics at, gently butting his head against her torso, Leah froze.
Wolves, bears, wolverines, enraged Elk…any type of wildlife that could be found out here, she had seen, but this was a new creature that startled her. Leah knew not to be fooled by endearing behavior; this creature—whatever it was -was not domesticated.
Slowly and cautiously, she reached inside of her jacket, taking small steps away and relieved that the animal let her. Whether Sam knew what she was reaching for or if he was too caught up in the imprint feeling still remained a mystery.
Not even ten feet away and Leah whipped out a can of pepper spray, emptying the whole can into Sam's startled face. Bellowing in pain, Sam's legs buckled as he tried to get closer to the lake to rinse his wolf face off.
While said wolf face was washing away the debilitating spray, Leah armed her cross bow, shot Sam in the flank and took off running for safer grounds. It was love at first sight as far the rest of pack joked about, saying that by Leah shooting her cupid's arrow into Sam's ass, she had sealed the imprint.
Presently, Leah and Sam were the only two who knew about werewolves and didn't think that particular rub was funny as shit.
Despite later learning how Sam was a wolf, Leah had a mouth on her like nobody's business and she could care less who heard her railing at Sam when he pissed her off. Imprinting didn't change a thing between them and even now gossip spread like wildfire whenever Sam was seen buying flowers.
Hearing the dryer beep, Paul went back downstairs to get his urchin's pants. They had survived the tumbling, much to Paul's relief and disappointment. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried to place the warm garments back on her.
Unfolding the bath sheet from her waist, Paul let it slide to either side of his little urchin, once again looking at her underclothing and biting his lip. They weren't female clothing; instead a pair of ratty boxers covered her waist, just as ragged as the rest of her belongings and in such shitty condition they couldn't even be considered sexy to him!
Kneeling by her feet, Paul placed first one leg then the other into the pants, drawing them up her legs until he had to tilt her slightly to cover her ass and those god-awful boxers. As his fingers once again traced over her ravaged flesh and scars, Paul admired the soft feel that wasn't marred. His urchin had probably never shaved in her life and in not doing so, the body hair had remained pale -almost translucent in its whiteness- and very thin, reminding Paul of a peach.
He got up to retrieve her belt and safety pin, noticing her discarded shoes as well. Picking up the items, he returned to his urchin to finish fastening her clothing together before leaning back to study her shoes.
God, they were just as fugly as the rest of the shit his urchin had, but her feet were small; too small to be able to wear any of the other imprints' shoes if they offered. With his keen eyesight, Paul would have no trouble picking her up a new pair to bring home tomorrow, but that meant taking a detour and adding time to his arrival. He'd be better off to fix what she had for now and then take his little urchin into a store with him so she could pick out whatever she wanted.
Paul kept the usual handy-man toolbox in his house and he went to find the box, pulling out a bottle of superglue. A few dabs and the soles were once again firmly attached to the canvas part of the shoes. It wouldn't last long, but then again, Paul only needed them to last long enough to go to the store with her. Trailing back to his sleeping imprint, Paul resumed thinking about the wolves and their imprint incidents.
Jared had been next to imprint shortly after Sam. Good grades, good looks and overall good kid, he hadn't spent much time worrying over what type of girl to date, or even what type of girl he'd consider marrying in the future. When Kim, a fellow high-school senior was accidentally pushed at a rally and had quite literally fallen into his lap, Jared accepted it with the ease of a diplomat. His mind and soul said he loved her and that was it for him.
After that, the wolf spirits had gone quiet and no other wolves had imprinted. For the next few months, Sam tended to believe that they would be the only two; after all, the legends said imprinting wasn't a given. Then, nearly a year later, new high school junior Brady imprinted on a girl who had recently moved to the area.
Jacob, Quil, Embry, Seth and even Collin had found themselves imprinted within days of each other. Only Paul had been left unattached. The guys had teased him, saying he was too much of a dick to fall from some crappy imprint connection and he had agreed. But as the wolves settled with their mates fulfilling their lives, Paul had felt detached. The spirits hadn't given him someone he could come home to and cherish. Had it been for an ulterior motive?
He had snuck over to Quil Sr.'s place, waiting until everyone was asleep, so he could read for himself what information the Council had on their legends. It spoke of the beauty of an imprint; the wolf's mate designed perfectly to center a warrior and give him a reason to come home.
After that night, Paul had changed. Since he obviously wasn't meant to be imprinted, that meant the Spirits must know he wouldn't survive long enough to fulfill that purpose. Any time a vamp was scented near their lands, Paul took off full force, unleashing a rage only those who had no reason to live, could. If his ass was going to die, he was going to take out as many of the fucking bloodsuckers he could; consequences of his survival be damned!
A groan caused Paul to stand up straighter. With a few strides he was back on the couch, waiting for the girl to awaken. She was starting to struggle and twitch, her head shifting positions. He moved a bit closer to her, reaching out to cease the movements, slight as they were.
"Can you hear me?" Paul asked, watching her eyes blink open.
Wide awake at being spoken to, the girl sat up, wincing slightly and clutching her head, her body curling away from him. Paul had to clench his fists so as not to grab her. He really wanted to hold her again, but she was obviously frightened and shit! Who wouldn't be after waking up in a strange location with a massive headache?
"Does your head hurt? I think I have some aspirin somewhere if you want me to go get it," Paul asked, his heart thumping rapidly at his imprint's distress. Of course her fucking head hurt! She had slammed it into his cinderblock wall of a chest. Could he give her aspirin, though? Sue hadn't said anything about it, but he also hadn't directly asked her. She would've said not to if it was important right?
Still huddled into herself and wincing, the girl squinted towards the man before her, not immediately recognizing the figure from earlier in the day. If he knew her head hurt then he must have been the one to hit her. With confusing thoughts, the girl wrongfully assumed that if this person wanted to give her aspirin, then she had yet to perform whatever task he felt he deserved.
Despite the pain, she forced her eyes wide open, trying not gasp as his identity came into focus. Oh, she was in for it now. Street riff-raff did not get caught while attempting to steal and the fact that she had, meant very bad things for her. Scanning the room, she tried to see if there was a quick escape, her lungs beating rapidly in shallow breaths.
Panic was not an emotion that Paul liked, nor one that he ever allowed himself to willingly feel. With his imprint sitting not a foot away and her emotion a direct shot towards him, the werewolf felt scared; another emotion not welcomed.
"My name is Paul," he said slowly, hoping she'd relax if he talked completely forgetting about any type of pain reliever. "You ran into me and passed out after you stole my friend's wallet and we tried to get it back. Can you tell me your name?"
Those same eyes that Paul had fallen into earlier when he imprinted grew wider, if possible. Paul could tell she was scared; her heart rate had picked up and every muscle in her body was tense, either for flight to fight.
Paul had removed his hand from her earlier when she sat up and now he slowly slid it back towards her in a comforting gesture.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going-" He stopped his forward movement as she started to rapidly tremble, her eyes locked on his sprawled out fingers.
"-not going to hurt you," he finished softly, pulling back.
While Paul had issues with remaining perfectly silent, he was well versed in remaining perfectly still and did so, waiting until his little urchin stopped trembling and brought her eyes back up to look at him.
He frowned when her eyes met his again, a pleading desperation screaming out to him. The frown deepened further as both the silent pleading and desperation bled away until nothing could be discerned from her eyes. She looked like a damn mannequin to Paul and it unnerved him.
"Can you tell me your name?" He asked, desperate to give his little urchin an identity. He wanted to call her by her name; listen as she shared whatever information she wished with him and then explain: she was free to stay here for as long as she wished—forever even—with no strings attached. However, presently she failed to respond.
"Are you hurt?" Paul tried again, wondering if her stillness was a technique to mask bodily injury. He had seen that before—never in a girl—men at sporting events or at the construction sites who injured themselves and rather than scream, they grit their teeth and shoved the feeling away.
If that was the case with his urchin, Paul was terrified and freely admitted that to his subconscious, his wolf prowling in search of a way to ease the pain. Still, she failed to vocally communicate with him.
"Is there someone I can call for you?"
-nothing
"Would you like to call someone? I can give you the phone if you want." Without breaking eye contact, Paul stood up and walked backwards to the doorway table where he had thrown his keys, phone and wallet previously in the evening.
Paul really didn't want to give her the phone but obviously she wasn't going to say anything to him at the moment. If she had a phone maybe she'd talk to someone she trusted and he could gather some type of information on her. Hell, even if she dialed 911, the dispatch would call Brady's dad who was a Reservation officer. Once dispatch gave him Paul's address, he'd talk to Brady and know exactly what was going on, but still arrive and maybe make the girl feel better at seeing someone in uniform.
Blindly picking up the phone, Paul approached her as non-threateningly as he knew how. His urchin didn't move when he offered the phone to her. Eventually he sat it down next to her, hoping she'd take the initiative and pick it up on her own
She didn't. In fact she never once stopped staring at him with those dead eyes, even when he resumed his seat to continue asking questions.
"I don't know, little urchin, you aren't talking to me and I'm getting kind of angry here," Paul said, not realizing his words could be taken differently than he meant. He wasn't angry at her; he was angry that he couldn't figure out how to communicate with her. "Do you speak something other than English?"
Something did flash in the girl's eyes just then, but Paul missed it as he bowed his head into his hands to think out loud.
"Shit! Was Leah fucking right and the girl's terrified of me? She doesn't answer me and I can't even tell if she knows what I'm saying. Damn, what if she speaks French or Russian or some shit? The only time she responded was when I reached out and-"
Inspiration struck and Paul snapped his head back up to look at her. She had been watching his face the whole time, but maybe she was deaf and needed to read lips. Paul tried again, purposely slowing his speech.
"Can. You. Understand. Me?" Paul spoke slowly and precisely, enunciating every syllable of his speech.
It took a minute, but slowly his urchin's head bobbed once in consent.
"Thank fucking god," Paul mumbled to himself again. "At least I don't have to worry that you hit your head hard enough to forget stuff and shit. I'd never live it down if I caused my imprint to forget who the fuck she was."
He continued to ramble to himself, forgetting that he was supposed to be communicating with his urchin and figure out life altering facts: What could he do to make her stay; her name; and above all else, how old she really was?
"I can at least ask her how old she is and she can hold up the right amount of fingers. I feel like drinking a beer just knowing I don't have to take you to the cops or anything," Paul explained to himself with the little urchin listening avidly.
Looking at her again, Paul realized she was shaking her head anxiously, even though he hadn't been directly facing her while speaking.
"I'm sorry. It might take me a few times to remember I need to look at you when speaking. You're deaf, right?" Paul asked for clarification, his irritation returning when the girl kept shaking her head.
"Can you stop shaking your head for one damn minute!" He yelled, wincing as the girl stopped not only moving, but breathing, her dead eyes locked just over his shoulder at some invisible spot.
Shit, what the fuck was he doing? She was obviously trying to tell him something, he was just too dumb to understand what it was. He needed go back into wolf mode, snuggle with his urchin until she felt safe enough to communicate and then start over.
Yeah, like morphing into a bear sized hairball wouldn't freak her the fuck out!
Looking at her again, Paul felt really shitty. She was so damn pathetic and needy and all he was doing was screaming at her because he couldn't remember to speak slower.
"Hey look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell," Paul finally spoke, hoping she wasn't mad at him. "I'm just frustrated and shit. Don't go all zombie on me again, please."
He might as well have been speaking to the wall, for as much of a reaction his little urchin gave in response. He watched her watching the wall, even turning around a few times himself to see if there was something he had missed like a spider or some shit. Girls hated spiders.
There weren't any spiders, though. There weren't any shadows, or cracks, or anything that could possibly hold her attention for this long.
"Hey, everything all right in there?" Snapping his fingers, Paul waited to see if the girl would ever move or blink. And like before, with each crack of his fingers against the pad of another, she flinched; clearly she wasn't deaf.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Paul tried not to assume the worst as he allowed his hand to drop back uselessly into his lap, her eyes following the movement. He had no idea what kind of life she had been living other than it was pretty shitty and obviously a homeless one. But he wasn't a complete moron. He knew the stories; people, especially women and small young ones like his urchin, being abused by sorry ass excuses of men. He prayed to fucking god that if that was the case, she'd never want to go back to the person and that she didn't tell him who it had been.
"Can you write?" Paul asked. Looking about he continued, "I have some paper or something…"
Trailing off, Paul realized that his little urchin wasn't fully paying attention. Or maybe she was paying too much attention as her eyes stayed locked on his movements. She apparently didn't respond well to certain motions he made, especially with his hands.
Trying not to sigh like a bitch, Paul just sat there waiting for her to respond, the deadness eventually fading, leaving a heavy dose of anxiety and fear. When he felt enough time had passed he tried to talk to her again.
"Can you write?" He repeated, hoping to finally get some answers. His own disappointment was concealed when his little urchin shook her head.
"I don't know how to communicate with you, if you can't speak or write. Do you sign?"
Her brows furrowed in thought, obviously unsure of what signing was, telling Paul that, no, she didn't sign either. She didn't directly answer him, though, leaving Paul to wonder about that as well. Why wasn't she speaking? Would Sue have been able to tell that the girl was mute? Sighing again, Paul just stared at her, trying to think of anything he could do to get answers from her.
Bella, too, stared at the man before her, waiting for him to start yelling, or hitting, or worse. She knew it would probably be worse since the man hadn't turned her over to the police; why else would he have hit her in the head and brought her to his home? Her eyes felt heavy and she closed them briefly before jerking them open again to wait.
The pain was dull but incessant and all Bella wanted to do was find a corner to sleep in, preferably after this Paul man punished her for stealing, or whatever his intentions were. She had to admit she was a bit surprised he hadn't been on her the moment she woke up; most men were like that.
Bella didn't want to relax, but she felt so tired…and somewhat comfortable in her spot. It was cold in the house, although a lot warmer than any other place she had been and her body really liked the heat the walls provided as protection against the outside elements. The softness of the cushions lulled Bella's eyes to drift closed again, this time staying firmly shut in exhaustion.
When his bedside clock chimed, indicating it was eleven in the evening, Paul got up from the couch, well aware that his little urchin had finally drifted to sleep again. Still upright, she had hunched herself into a ball, obviously cold.
Grabbing a fleece blanket from his room, he returned to cover her up, shifting her slowly and carefully so as not to wake her. He left a small unused lamp on, illuminating the area so that she could see if she woke up, but the light wasn't strong enough to disturb her otherwise.
Staring at his mate, Paul internally argued with his wolf who whined like a bitch to just pick up his urchin and take her to bed with him where he could snuggle with her skin to skin. Slapping his face a few times in agitation, Paul wondered where the fuck his wolf got such ideas! Paul did not snuggle anyone, even little urchins who looked tiny, adorable and in need of a good cuddle session.
Several times he tried to walk to his room, making a few feet of progress before abruptly turning back and taking the steps back to the couch. Paul couldn't stop looking at her, readjusting the blanket, listening to her breath even going so far as to lay his hand against her cheek or forehead to make sure she was of a normal temperature. Her skin felt sort of cold to him and that worried Paul. Sue had only talked about a fever; what if his little urchin was really sick with something weird and it caused hypothermia instead of a fever?
Both Paul and the wolf whined over that idea for a few minutes.
When the clock chimed midnight, Paul knew he had to get a fucking grip on his wolf. His urchin was here, in his house, safe and sound. She wasn't going anywhere and even if she tried, Paul would awaken to the effort. He felt really shitty that he'd have to leave her alone for a bit tomorrow when he went to work, but he had a plan for that. Finally the desire to sleep was too much of a temptation and Paul was able to haul his sorry—but happily imprinted—wolf ass to bed.
Stripping naked, he flopped on his bed, not bothering to even cover himself with a sheet. It was early October and even though most people would be shivering, Paul's heat kept him more than warm. Next month, he'd use a light blanket, more for comfort than warmth. As a kid, he had loved when the weather turned cold and he could lounge under the blankets in a warm cocoon.
When he finally drifted off to sleep it was with visions of his little urchin, huddled under a blanket and sharing his cocoon of warmth with a smile on her lips and look of happiness in her eyes.