"I will let you down...
I will make you hurt..."
-Trent Reznor
...
The hours passed, unnoticed by Quil as he sat on the sands of Third Beach, staring at the quiet lap of the waves. His thoughts were scattered - jumping from his imprint to Claire to the leech lover he marked to his lost, grief stricken best friend. Quil was angry, destroyed, and no longer the carefree pack member he once was.
He wanted to hurt someone... something...
The candied-bleach smell clung heavily to the breeze. Instinct drove him, and he relished in losing control as he bolted in the direction of the scent. The forest disappeared behind the mountain of a man. No leaves crunched, no branches moved, as though the gods themselves knew to give this predator a wide berth.
Deliberately breathing in the nauseating aroma, he calculated the distance left before he caught his prey.
She looked like the redhead... a teenager lay in her arms, limp, lifeless... her grotesque face smeared with bright, bloody gore...
He should have phased... he should have called for the pack... however, he simply could not. He needed this act of brutality almost as much as the oxygen in his lungs.
A loud, terrifying roar startled the vampire into dropping the youth in her grasp. She bared her stained teeth, snapping in all directions at the oncoming attack. Quil hurled his massive body through the air, and knocked his enemy to the ground. His large hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing until he heard the crack of marble flesh.
He lithely stood, continuing to hold the vampire off her feet, and fed the raging inferno within. He spat on her face, disgusted by the abomination in his grasp. He took her arm and ripped it off her body, slowly, painfully...
Then the sweet torture began...
…
Elder Quil rocked in his chair, never moving, seemingly always waiting. He was concerned about his grandson. The worry and anxiousness was normal when having a warrior to look after. It simply built upon itself when his only grandson imprinted on a child. On the outside, the older Quil forced a congratulatory facade. He knew if he did not remain positive, the younger Quil would panic. Inside, he was confused and angered.
How was this imprint the best for Junior?
This last week the distress became damn near unbearable. He did not recognize the person Quil evolved into after Jacob's death. They were all lost in their own forms of grief, the Council and the pack. Chief Black was an empty shell, and banned them all from his home. The only one who dared ignore the order was Lahote.
"Elder Ateara!" Sam bellowed as he ripped the front door off its hinges.
"Boy, what in the world-"
The Alpha snarled at him, making the Elder stand and clench his fists. "Explain yourself, Son."
"Where is he?!"
"Who?"
Sam took the door and snapped it in half, "Don't give me that shit! Quil! Where the hell is he?!"
"You had better calm yourself down, Samuel. Disrespecting me, and acting crazed in my home isn't going to make Junior appear out of thin air."
Sam swallowed down a minuscule amount of his rancor, his entire body shook from the effort of keeping the phase at bay. "I just came from Jared's... your... Quil marked Bella."
The Elder refused to believe what was being said. "You must be mistaken. He is imprinted-"
"I know, better than most, what an imprint is supposed to mean. Don't patronize me. I smelled him. She reeks of him, and the fucking bite mark is our temperature. I know what he did, and I want to know what the fuck he was thinking!" The Alpha punched a hole through the wall, quaking the entire cottage.
Old Quil was speechless... stunned... and infuriated. He looked at the - still so young - man before him, "I expect you to repair any and all damages. Now, if you will excuse me."
He ignored the ranting of the spirit warrior, grabbed his raincoat, and made his way to his truck. He needed to gain some clarity and seek guidance from the spirits.
…
Side Note:
Apologies for the delay. Still with me? Consider this a bridge chapter.
…
(Lyric from Hurt, by Nine Inch Nails)