Chapter 2
"It's creepy," Jacob complained.
"But it's not romantic," protested Sam. "It's almost sweet."
"No! He spends every flicking second with that little kid." He peered down the hallway, making sure Quil wasn't in hearing range. No, Quil was too preoccupied with tending to Claire's every want and need. Ever since she'd arrived, only a week ago, he'd barely ever let go of her. Every free second he had, he spent with her—giving her juice boxes, teaching her to chew gum and not swallowing it, being her tutor, and doing anything for her.
"It's a little weird, yes. But we can't do anything about it." Sam sighed, hearing the cry of Quil's delight. Claire must have spoken another word.
"I wish he wouldn't obsess over her so much when he's with us, though. 'Claire did this' and 'Claire did that."
"I was like that with Emily! Did you say anything about me behind my back?"
"Uh, I wasn't there," replied Jacob awkwardly. There was a curt silence, and then Sam refilled it.
"Right. Well, anyways, it wasn't weird with me and Emily! It was 'nice' we were such a good couple." He surveyed the kitchen absently, as if looking at traces of Emily. As if he could see her fingerprints. "But with Claire? It's 'weird.' Be nice, Jacob, we can't help who we're imprinted with."
Jacob grumbled, but soon forgot the entire conversation as he dove into a batch of Emily's oatmeal cookies.
Down the hallway, Quil was sitting with Claire. He'd never realized the wonders of little kids. Or maybe it was just the wonders of Claire.
Every step she took and every word she said was like a blessing to Quil's heart. He cherished her every breath. The feeling made him feel light and fluttery inside; he was the big brother he'd always wanted to be. Oftentimes, as he set Claire down for her nap or bedtime, he'd whisper in her ear, "Who's your brother?" And, even if it had only been seven days, he'd taught her to respond.
"You," she say in her stifling-adorable little kid voice.
"Right."
Quil had immediately put her on a child-safe schedule. He'd compiled it just two days after Emily had given him the news that Claire was coming to visit.
10:00- wake Claire up
10-11- Go on a walk
11-12- Sit down for lunch with the guys, Claire, and Emily. (Preferably made-by-Emily food—but only if Claire likes it.)
12-1- Naptime for Emily, and maybe for me, if I'm tired
1-3- Playing in the play den or going somewhere fun
3-4- Going for another walk
4-7- Leaving Claire with Emily, going out with the guys or doing something non-Claire to keep a balanced schedule for myself and for her
7-8- Dinner with the guys, Emily, and Claire
8-9- Watch TV with Claire (only kid-appropriate)
9- Claire's bedtime
Of course, Quil's day didn't end there, but Claire's did. Emily, who had warmed up to the whole idea of Quil being Claire's big brother, had approved this schedule. She figured, if a kid was going to have a big brother, a big brother that was imprinted was the best choice.
Quil, however, had forgotten that his brotherly love for Claire was wolf-magic and not just real compassion. He loved the way he felt around her—protective, loved, and safe.
And the best part was: Claire had warmed up to him. She loved the way he taught her words and let her roam free, as long as she was safe. Every morning, she would wake up to his gigantic body softly singing her awake, and she would squeal with delight. Even in seven days, she'd learned their bedtime goodbye and "Quilllllllllllllll!"
Quil's buddies weren't so fond of the fact he worshipped a two-year-old. Of course, nothing could be done: Quil was madly in (brotherly) love with her.
Jacob and Sam's conversation had been one of the many spoken about Quil and Claire.
"What if she turns out to be a crook?" they would often worry aloud.
"I'll teach her otherwise," Quil would stubbornly respond, and nobody could reply to that because they knew he was right. Although Bridgette lived two hours away, they all knew Quil would visit Claire at least every three days when Claire had to leave.
Finally, it was bedtime. Quil reluctantly glanced at the watch and saw the dreaded time blaring back at him—9:00.
"Claire," he whispered gently, having to shake her fragile, tiny body awake a bit. "Let's get you into bed." Hannah Montana played on the screen, but Claire was too tired to notice. Her eyes were but mere slits as she slipped her hand into Quil's and let him lead her into her room: the guest-room. Quil had refused to let her sleep anywhere else but a comfortable, warm room. Ivy slept in Emily's room, because Emily was the one who had to keep Ivy from being jealous of her sister. If Emily didn't pay close and loving to Ivy many hours of the day, Ivy would wonder why Claire got the special treatment. Emily had begun to like this fact; Ivy was a lovely little girl.
"Goodnight, Claire," whispered Quil after he'd set her into bed. "Who's your big brother?"
"You," she muttered sleepily before her breathing became even and she fell asleep.
Quil emerged from the room, refreshed—as usual—from his productive day with Claire. He was beaming as he entered Emily's kitchen.
"Hey, guys," he greeted, seeing Jacob, Sam, and the rest of the pack at the table.
"Hey," growled Jacob. "We've got a problem."
Quil looked back, suddenly alarmed. "What?"
"We've got some leech trouble," muttered Sam.
Quil's eyes flew open, and he let a small gasp escape from his lips. "Oh, god. The Cullens?" He spit the word out like it was something venomous.
"No, worse," Sam replied. "It's a new-blood. Some wild vampire on the loose. From some outside information we got, he's from California but ran away because he was scared he'd kill family and friends. Instead, he's living in some desolate place—a cave on a beach somewhere in La Push—and preying on any innocent passers-by."
It took Quil a moment to digest this information, and when he had, he leapt up. "Let's go!"
"Yeah." Jacob's face was a shocking crimson; it looked as dark as blood compared to his normal-colored chest. "Let's."
Emily stared at all of the pack members' faces, and then she gave a little squeal. Everybody looked towards her, confused.
"Sorry," she said quickly. "But could you all leave?" She glanced down the hallway. "Ivy and Claire are here, and if they come in to see wolves in the kitchen…"
Sam nodded. "Let's go." Everybody flooded out… except for him. He lingered and caught Emily in an embrace, kissing her neck before her lips, and then he broke the kiss and was out.
Outside, the crisp nighttime air hit them in the face. Of course, they weren't cold—no, in fact, the whole lot of them was blistering hot. Their body temperatures were rising rapidly as they got closer and closer to becoming… wolf.
"To the woods," commanded Sam, and they all ran after him into the dark forest. There, they let their anger envelop them, freely bursting from their cut-off jeans.
Quil was anxious as he transformed; he hoped Claire wouldn't hear their mighty growls and howls as they stampeded.
Sam sensed them, looked at him pointedly, and then continued with the changing.
Finally, six full-grown wolves sat by the light of the moon. Quil surveyed them—an odd-looking bunch—and then growled.
Sam's thoughts explained to them that they must spread out, cover all ground in La Push. The newborn bloodsucker would probably be awake by now, terrorizing La Push.
Quil set off triumphantly, his wolfish mindset completely taking over his humane one. He barely remembered Claire or Emily, or the human life he had behind. Instead, he was running through the forest, merely a blur to a pedestrian's eyes. Quil broke through the bushes, headed up the deserted road that winded to one of La Push's many deserted beaches. There, it was rumored a cave sat carved into the mountain.
At any hint of a footstep or signal of a nearing human, Quil would dart into the trees. This was barely necessary—it was the nighttime in a lonely, desolate area. The odor of sea began to strengthen, and sure enough, Quil found himself peering down at a beach. Below, it was only blackness—to reach the beach, he'd have to dive—but he thought he saw a flicker of movement. He composed himself, trying to breath evenly through his wolf's snout. Finally, he came to the edge of the cliff and prepared himself for a dive. Although he was a wolf, he wasn't a normal wolf. What his fellow pack-members weren't aware of was Quil's cliff-diving skills, even while he was a werewolf.
He leapt off with a great tumble, hitting the black, waving waters with ease. His sensitive nose warned him of storm, but he'd swam through the water and landed on the beach before it could be hazardous. His eyes scanned the beach tentatively; he had to be alert to any movement.
Were his ears deceiving him, or had that been a crackle? There was only one way to find out. He broke from his frozen stance and neared the sound, his paws barely making a sound on the wet sand.
Finally, there was a definite crunch of foot against sand. Had the newborn not emerged from his cave yet?
"Show yourself!" a voice demanded suddenly, and Quil felt his heart drop into his chest. His wolf instincts took over his human ones, for if he'd stuck with his human side, he would have been too scared to move. Suddenly, he was overpowered with that wolf passion that had enveloped him so many times.
Quil growled several times, showing his voice—for you couldn't show yourself in this pitch-black light. Quil's ragged breathing became more heavy and animal as he shuffled towards the newborn. The newborn seemed to be frozen still.
Finally, Quil leapt. The sheer speed of it! He loved this feeling, this exhileration, this overpowerment. Within a second, he had the newborn tackled to the ground. There was no light to see by, which made the attack easier. Quil hated to see his victims' faces.
"Gah!" the newborn yelled, and his strength was unbelievable. With surprising force, the newborn had Quil off of him and his icy-cold, rock-hard hands were shoving against Quil's furry body.
Quil's growls only became louder, and he sensed his fellow pack members rushing for him. It was only a matter of time. But, for the few minutes that remained until they arrived on the scene, Quil had to fend for himself. He threw himself back at the newborn, and because it wasn't a surprise, Quil couldn't get him to the ground this time.
"Dog! Pup! Little puppy dog, how are you today?" taunted the newborn, which was the wrong choice.
The growls were fierce and booming now; Quil's teeth were latching onto the vampire's cold leg and he was ramming himself against the newborn. The newborn suddenly fell silent, aware that he was being brutally attacked. He attempted at struggling, pushing Quil off, but it was impossible for a newborn with no experience in fighting werewolves.
Suddenly, with a few great thuds, Quil's friends had arrived. Their growls chorused, leaping and attacking the newborn several times. The newborn attempted to fight back—and was good, for a first-timer—but the pack was too strong.
"Noo," wailed the newborn. "Stop …"
This was the part Quil hated most. He felt his human emotions pouring inside of him, and he longed to back off and leave the poor vampire alone. But this wasn't a possibility.
Within thirty minutes, the vampire was dead.
"Dispose of him," commanded Sam, his voice low and crackling.
Together, the pack dumped the vampire into the sea—never to be seen again.
"Good job, Quil."
The boys were slowly changing, their legs becoming pale and muscled again, and their paws being replaced by their gigantic hands.
"Thanks," muttered Quil back to Sam. But secretly, inside of him, he felt awful.