I stand before Jacob with barely a meter of space to separate us. Despite the trust I have in him to not do me any lasting harm I'm suddenly nervous of what a fight with him might bring. Hopefully no more bruises.

Who knows how much hatred he's really harbouring under that smile for me. For all humans. In that sense, it's reassuring that he thinks I'm a weak runt because as he said, he doesn't hurt the weak.

I take in his stance; his shoulders are pulled back, feet apart with his dominant foot just slightly back and to the side. A powerful stance that will likely give him the advantage. I quickly try to copy his pose to pretend I know what I'm doing, but my knees feel uncomfortable and awkward, and my hips ache at the misalignment. Nonetheless I curl my fists at my sides, just like his.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide his amusement.

"I'm getting ready to fight."

"Are you sure?"

I quickly double check my form to make sure it's similar enough to his. "I'm fairly sure?"

He casually walks forward to close the space between us and instead of moving back, as I very much want to, I take a slow, confused swing at his face, stopping just before I hit his nose.

"Dead?"

His large hand envelopes my fist and brings it down from his face to his shoulder. A shudder runs through my body at the heated skin on skin contact.

"Not even close." He pushes my fist against his shoulder with a light amount of pressure until a small throb of pain begins to pulse around my thumb.

"Ow!" I yank my hand back and shake it out, tenderly rubbing the thumb joint to relieve the ache.

"Never enclose your thumb in your fist," he says. "If you were to have hit me you'd have broken your own hand."

He raises his hands up and with exaggerated movements makes a fist. Twiddling his thumbs out he curls them under his knuckles and punches the air a few times. "See. Nice and secure."

I copy him and he gives a sharp nod of approval.

"A feeble punch wouldn't have done any damage, so you can't call 'dead'. You have to get your enemy into a position that you know if it was real combat there's no coming back from."

"You're hardly my enemy–"

With a sudden drop he hooks his arm around the back of my knees and tugs just hard enough to throw me off balance. My feet fly out from under me and I only have time to release a gasp of surprise before his other hand is around my back. He slowly lowers me to the ground and then presses lightly on my windpipe.

"Dead," he says in a bored tone, stretched out over me. I desperately try to mimic that bored look to not let him know that being splayed out underneath him, with my knees at the side of his hips, is making my heart figuratively burst from my chest.

"I wasn't ready," I say breathlessly. He stands back into his original position and I quickly follow.

"Your opponent won't give you time to be ready."

Determined to do better I don't waste any time before throwing another punch, with thumbs out, at Jacob's face. He doesn't blink as my fist again hovers just in front of his nose. Unsure about what to do now, mostly because I simply refuse to hit him in the face, I poke out my index finger to lightly tap his nose.

"Boop."

He jerks his head back in confusion as raucous laughter from the others sound out.

"What are you doing?" I ask him. "Why aren't you blocking my attacks?"

"I'd block an attack if you ever made one. Stop restraining yourself and hit me."

"But I don't want to hurt you."

More laughter from the boys. I fix them with a steely glare that does nothing to silence them.

"Fight him or get out," Bastion yells. "You're wasting time."

They're getting impatient with my lack of entertainment value so I shrug at Jacob and pretend to stretch out my arms.

"Okay, if you're sure. Don't say I didn't warn you."

I bounce back to give myself some room and strike with medium force straight into his pec. His completely solid, rock hard pec that doesn't move at all under my attack. His shirt barely shifts with the effort and the impact runs up my arm in spasms. I strike out again with my other hand and clumsily try to kick his thigh when my punch does nothing.

He swats my leg away with an impatient hand. Like shooing away a fly that's on the verge of being annoying.

"You have to use your entire body weight in your attack. Center yourself. Use the ground for power and your core muscles to throw the punches."

"Using the ground for power doesn't make sense, and stop giving me advice on how to hurt you."

"You can't hurt me," he scoffs. "You're not even trying."

"I am trying. It's not my fault you're made of stone, you gargoyle."

He studies me for a moment, and a look that I can only describe as calculating passes over him. "Let's try this: if you manage to land any attack, one single attack, on me that makes me move at least an inch you can consider it a win."

"Move you an inch. That's it?"

"That's it."

I glance over him from head to toe, trying to determine whether he's serious or not. Surely a kick into the back of his knees would send him to the ground. And if all else fails I can try to tackle him down. I know I'm not a betting sort of girl but the opportunity is too good to pass up.

"Are there any stakes? A reward if I win?"

"No."

"How about a favour. If I win I get to clean your cage-area, and if you win I'll owe you."

It really sounds like a win-win for him to me.

Jacob mulls it over before he gives a curt nod and the next second I race forward to collide into his body with a solid thud. A few sympathetic oohs from behind makes my ears burn. I push back from him and use my shoulder to try to shove him back. Nothing. I push at him with all my unsubstantial might, pressing my feet hard into the ground until I'm moving myself back from the pressure.

"Hut! Hut!" someone calls, which elicits several more laughs.

Dropping down to my knees I tug at those thick, tree-trunk ankles of his with both hands a few times.

"As much as I enjoy the sight of a female human bowing at my feet I don't think you'll accomplish much down there. I can't imagine an enemy would allow it, either."

I bounce up and slap his chest lightly with an open palm. Then slap it again a bit harder when he does nothing but smile down at me from that impossible height.

He's. Just. So. Arrogant, I think in between the pectoral hits. I don't hit him hard enough to hurt or even sting, but the feel of his muscle tensing under my palm is strangely addicting that it takes a few more hits for me to stop.

"Giving up already?" he says as I slide around him to his back.

"You wish," I huff and drop down to push at the back of his knees. They're as solid as his cage bars. "Even your knees?"

He chuckles softly to himself and although I love the sound I don't want to lose. The thought of faking an injury to throw him off guard crosses my mind, but I tune it out. If I'm going to be sneaky I'm not going to be weak about it.

I come back around to face him and glance down just below his belly button, hoping he thinks I'm looking at his crotch. Jacob takes the bait, his eyes narrowing in understanding and I mutter a quick, "Sorry" before kicking out a leg in that general direction.

His hand snaps out and grabs the heel of my foot before it can make contact, not that it would have. He squeezes a harsh grip around my ankle and somehow - somehow - manages to get me off the ground and flip me onto my stomach through my foot alone.

My breasts flatten painfully on the hard arena mat but the pain disappears the second I feel Jacob's ragged breath on my neck and his harden torso flat against my back, pinning me down with his weight.

Using the heel of his palm he keeps me immobile under him and I don't dare to squirm. To breathe. This is far too close to a mating position for my liking and considering Jacob's sudden tension on top of me I think he's working that out, too.

"Don't try that again," he growls deeply into my ear. From the tension in his muscles alone I know he wants to move away. "I might want pups some day."

Pups... He's mentioned that before. Likely a canine species then. A wolf like Sam?

"You moved," I manage to cough out. "I win. I wasn't really going to kick you there, you know."

"If that's as far as your offensive abilities go make sure the only fights you pick are with small children and large men."

"This is a waste of time," I hear Margo say from the sidelines. She's not trying to keep quiet at all. "I thought it'd be entertaining but it's basically weird, boring foreplay."

"You didn't really think they'd fight, did you? She looks like she'd struggle to break a twig, and we both know what he can do," Bastion replies.

"I didn't think she'd be this pathetic."

A harsh rumble sounds out from Jacob's chest behind me, vibrating through my very bones and down to my toes. His fingers clench at the side of my head and I swear I can almost hear the harsh, gnashing grind of his teeth through closed lips. I still instantly, and let my body go limp to play dead.

"They call you pathetic when they would have no chance against me," Jacob breathes hard in my ear. "There's no shame in the fact that you are no match for me."

Damn it. I'm burning from head to toe in embarrassment but I just can't help myself, I don't want him to think that of me. I don't want him to think I'm entirely helpless, even if I am a terrible fighter. I want to be a match for him. More importantly, I want to win.

"You're all talk," I manage to grunt out, my breathing shallow from the lack of lung space. "That's why you wait for others to make the first move."

"Is that so." His voice, dark, sensual, and just a little ominous, causes light goosebumps on my arms. He eases up off me and I wait until he's far enough away that my instincts lessen and my body is my own to command.

I push myself up and turn to face him properly. "Yeah. Maybe you're right and I'm not great on the offense, but maybe you're not either. Why don't you try to attack me?"

"You want me to hurt you? I won't," he grinds out. "I'm not allowed to, unless you're trying to trick me into being punished, which I won't fall for."

"No tricks. I want to prove I'm not pathetic."

A click in his jaw. "You're no more pathetic than any other human here. You don't have to prove that."

"Still, I want to try. If you… if you manage to knock me down within, let's say a minute, then you win. Otherwise I do. Agreed? Same as before."

"But you are so light." He seems almost confused. It's clear he just expects me to stand there and take his hits, just like he did.

Soft mumbling from the others replace the laughter. Do they think it's a crazy idea? Maybe. But as I jump lightly on the balls of my feet I know I've made the right choice.

It's hard for Jane and I to connect mentally on command. It's impossible to do when I'm afraid and she's only really taken notice of our communication when I'm in doe form, but her instincts can still ring through me when I'm human. Her "deer in the headlights" trick has caught me off guard at wrong times in the past and her instincts to run is nearly always on full blast. It's never served me any purpose as a human before, but now, standing in front of a man who can only be described as a predator and never as prey, that instinct to run might be my lucky break.

I pull down deep inside me and grasp onto that feeling; the paranoia and heightened sense of smell and sound that only fear can produce. I grasp onto it and I don't let go.

Faint tremors course my body and if I could see myself I'd guess my pupils are dilated to take in more of my surroundings; to help me escape. The hair on my arms stands up.

"Agreed?" I repeat. He's taking too long and I'm beginning to burn out.

"Agreed. I will try not to hurt you."

"Thanks."

He walks forward and I counter with a quick jump back. Another step forward and I take three quick ones away.

"It's not wise to run from a Fera," he says darkly. "Too many of us enjoy the chase."

"Then chase," I tease, my voice a mere whisper.

His steps aren't slow any more as he leaps towards me in a fluid bound but I've already anticipated it and I'm well away from where he hits. He lands with his knuckles pressed firmly against the mat and turns to look at me in surprise.

"Alright," is all he says.

Run left! my instincts all but scream at me and I take a dive just in time to feel Jacob's body rush past in a blur of heat and skin. He's fast. Scrambling up I jump over his hand that reaches for me and race to the other side of the mat.

Cheers begin to ring out and while I know they should be encouraging or motivating, it simply makes me more aware of all the threats around me. Their movement is being calculated swiftly in my mind before I can filter them out.

Too many possibilities.

It almost costs me as I duck and roll a second too late; quickly enough to not be caught but not fast enough to avoid the fingers that grab onto my hair for just a fraction of a second before letting go just as fast.

"Having trouble?" I say panting as he stops to reassess our positions. "Your minute's almost up."

I feint a right and he falls for it, lunging at the now empty space, his muscles rippling deliciously as he hits the floor heavily. Pride is a foreign feeling, but one I shamelessly embrace as I watch him rub his jaw while his eyes scan me in what I hope is appreciation.

He pretends to crouch down to leap but takes a running slide at me at the last second and I almost trip up over my feet as I jump clumsily over his feet to the side. We both hit the mat at the same time.

He's down, run. Run! The longer I stay in the arena the less and less useful Jane's instincts are becoming. She doesn't understand why I'm not bolting far away at every opportunity.

No, no, run!

I try to reign in her fears a little to concentrate on avoiding the massive body that keeps coming my way but it's hard. It's too hard.

Real fear is beginning to curl its icy talons in me and I can't work out why. It's suddenly not a game anymore. I scan the room left to right, shaking my head as I back away.

"Stop," I whisper. Jacob must understand my change as he stands up out of his lunging crouch and just stares in confusion. Just like the rest of them.

He straightens up and walks straight to me to place a hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong? We can stop."

At his contact Jane, and all her fear-filled thoughts and instincts, disappear from my mind. I send him a timid smile and rub my temple. "Sorry, just a headache."

Instead of replying he whirls me around and puts me behind him so fast I cling to his shirt to steady myself.

Not two seconds later I hear a cold voice, quiet and yet thunderous at the same time, say, "Who has authorised this?"

Edward.

I peek from around Jacob's shoulder to watch as Edward and more of his guardsmen enter the training room.

Doesn't he have work to do?

I clutch pathetically at Jacob's back, as Jane's instincts flare to life again. She knows who would win in a fight between the two males. Although she doesn't trust either she's placing her chips down on Jacob's side and I hide my head against his shoulder.

Unfortunately she doesn't seem to realise that human life isn't as black and white as hers and the physically weakest man can sometimes be the most powerful.

"Isabella," Edward calls out. "Get out of that thing and away from that thing."

Jacob's stance becomes wider and more threatening. He must be running on instincts himself because I know there's no way he'd risk an electrocution for a human girl.

"Don't," I tell him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder before moving out from behind him. I quickly exit the ring, almost tripping over Nicholas still propped up on the ring's edge in my haste.

Margo and Bastion are locked in one of their military salutes. I stand off to the side, behind Margo a little just in case siding with the males in the room somehow threatens Edward and his invisible power hierarchy.

"Well?" Edward spits at them. "Which one of you authorised my servant to get into a fight with the animal?"

The armed guards at Edward's back shuffle nervously. One subtly flicks the safety off his gun and a few others follow suit. Surely that's not necessary.

"I did, sir," Bastion states. His face is calm but the sweat dripping from his brow gives away his nervousness. "I thought it may be a good lesson for her. She seemed sympathetic to them."

"Did I tell you to give her a lesson through physical combat?"

"No, sir."

"No."

The Fera men are wisely staying as far away as possible and from my peripherals I can see one of them is helping Nicholas up to his feet.

"Did this man tell you to get into a fight with a feral?" Edward asks me and I quickly snap my attention back to him. His eyes slide over to Margo where they narrow in distaste. "Or is he covering up for his sister?"

"He did," I reply slowly, hoping I'm not making some mistake or failing some loyalty test. Bastion did confess after all.

"Ah, that's right." He clicks his fingers. "His sister said something different to you, didn't she?"

Margo's posture stiffens even further and the hand that holds her military gesture so perfectly starts to falter. Something eerily similar to fear passes over her face and I know it passes over mine at the same time.

He has eyes everywhere.

"I suppose so," I say, looking down to my clasped hands.

"What did she say to you? What poison did she whisper into your ear before her brother forced you to fight like a barbarian? What were the words?"

He's too calm. He knows exactly what she's said: loser, pathetic, and Margo and I both know it, but she hasn't confessed so neither will I.

"I don't remember, I'm really sorry."

"I find that hard to believe, Isabella."

"There was so much happening and I was nervous about the fighting going on. It was all so overwhelming that I couldn't concentrate. Everything said to me just went in one ear and out the other."

"Now that I do believe." He turns to Margo. "I don't suppose you remember what your traitorous tongue whispered?"

"No, sir," Margo says.

"Every single man and woman in this room is replaceable. All of them. You know this."

Margo nods.

He saunters over to whisper some harsh words into Bastion's ear and then heads towards the exit. A handful of guards follow like lost puppies and he engages one of them in conversation.

A quick visit then, probably to show everyone his power. I close my eyes briefly in gratitude.

"Marge," Bastion whispers.

"Thanks for not saying anything," Margo says, turning to me with a sigh of relief. Her arm comes down from the salute and she runs a shaky hand through her short, sweaty hair. "Jesus, I'm going to have to—" Bang! "—be…"

There's silence for just a moment but that single moment feels like a lifetime. The world is still, unmoving like a photograph, as I take in everything around me: the faint trail of smoke, Margo with her gaping mouth and bulging eyes. I don't understand why she's not speaking anymore — maybe because her head is split open.

The world speeds back up and I glance down at myself.

There's blood on my hands, up my arms, splattered on my shirt. I can taste it in my mouth and something squishy begins to slide down my face. Pieces of red, rubbery slime fall into my hand when I reach up to it. I squeeze it lightly.

Brain.

Someone's screaming in the distance but I can't hear it properly. All I can hear is a dull ringing in my ears. Automatically my hand comes up to cover my mouth and the screaming stops.

Chaos picks up around us and I can hear someone — a familiar demon — yelling about gossiping servants and order while a pair of hands pull me back from the woman who's only now just beginning to fall to the ground.

Someone needs to help her, my brain whispers calmly. For once my doe isn't scared about the mayhem happening around me. She's not here at all. I can't feel her. I'm too calm for her to be worried. I feel like I'm calm, at least. Maybe I'm panicking like the rest of them; there's too much fog in my head to think about it too much.

"She's in shock," I hear someone say before warm hands scoop me up off the ground.

Was I on the ground?

The demon that insisted I call him Master is shouting orders and before I know it I'm back up in the Fera's enclosure. All of them are locked back away and all of them are looking at me. I can feel it as vividly as I can feel the woman's blood still dripping from my body.

"Keep cleaning," a guard tells me and shoves my cleaning rag back into my limp hands. "And for fuck's sake, you didn't see anything. You don't say anything unless you want us both to end up with a bullet in the head, okay sweetness? We'll both be fine."

Cleaning. I'm good at that. Perhaps he won't want to kill me either if I do a good job at it. If I stop causing so much trouble for him.

I do cause so much trouble.

I scrub hard and I scrub furiously.

When he leaves I hear the groan of metal and something warm is draped over my shoulders. Large hands press the cloth into me and they rub at my skin in firm circles. It feels nice. Warm.

"Let's get you cleaned up," a husky voice says as the warm hand tips my head back.

Cold water drips on my face and a wet cloth glides over my dirty skin, removing the red stains and black clumps. When my face is clear it moves to my neck and arms.

"That looks to be it," the voice says. "Are you okay? You're still shivering."

The warm hand rests on my back and I dip my cleaning rag back into the bucket.

"I'm… good."

I am. I'm not a troublemaker.

I clean.

Days pass; maybe two, maybe three. It's hard to keep track when my body's running on autopilot and my mind sometimes wanders away while I work to play in my imagination world. The men in the cages try to talk to me every now and then and I know I reply but it's hard to remember what I say. Kind words, I think. Normal words, I hope.

Sometimes I stop cleaning the floors to wash them with plain water and they let me without saying a word.

On particularly cold moments of the day, when I find myself shivering unconsciously, a large warm furry body always finds its way to my side. Sometimes I pat it, sometimes I hug it, and sometimes I ignore it entirely. No matter what I choose the furry body never minds but simply lies there to keep me warm.

I give Jacob the food I find in the chute each day and he always takes it. Sometimes his fingers grasp my wrist before he takes the food and wildly I think he might do it on purpose, just to see if I still have a heartbeat.

"It's too early for you to quit like this," he said at one point. He was angry. He always seems angry or frustrated. I ignore him.

When I make my way to my room for the night I usually get a visit from Alice, who brings me a tray of food for dinner. It's usually a large, hearty meal, and it's the only thing I eat during the day. I simply forget to wake up or make it to the dining hall in time for regular meals. Time gets away from me.

Whether she's going against Edward's wishes to feed me I don't know but my stomach is always growling so fiercely that I don't care if she is. I scoff it down and listen as she makes polite conversation with me about everything going on in the house. Nothing stands out of any interest to me. The soldiers are never brought up.

I must be doing something right because Edward doesn't call for me, doesn't speak to me, and barely gives me a glance of recognition at the times I pass him on my way to the showers or laundry room.

Perhaps I'm the one with the obsession because I could swear that at night, in those moments when I wake up shaking from a deep sleep, his shadow stands in the corner of my bedroom — watching me as I slumber uneasily.

I pretend not to see it and hide under the quilt.

"Is shock supposed to last this long?" Sam asks one day while I'm scrubbing at the same point on the floor I have been for the last hour.

The blood's just not coming off. It's permanently etched into the steel flooring and I'm closer to scrubbing off my own fingerprints at this rate.

One of the men begins making idle conversation, as they tend to do. Some days they have to stop midway through talking to go somewhere with the guards, and when they come back hours later there's always more blood for me to clean up.

It's endless.

"Hey Bella, do you know the story about how we came to exist?" Paul asks.

"No," I say softly. My arms are itchy. The uniform I was given back from the seamstress is different: short and tighter the fabric rubs against my skin in an irritating way. Thankfully I haven't heard any sneers or mocking comments about it.

"Do you want to hear it?"

I nod once.

"It's been said that long ago humans angered the gods by having carnal relations with the animals the gods created. As punishment, every descendant of those humans that were with the animals would themselves turn into the beast their ancestors defiled."

"That's not the story I heard," I say as the others grumble about how disturbing and insulting Paul's one is. They've all heard it before, though.

I haven't. Charlie likely sheltered me from any mentions of bestiality but I did go to a public school and they would've been laughing themselves silly over that one. There's been no end to the speculation over how the shapeshifters came to be, from aliens to witchcraft, but most people chalk it down as a poor version of man's evolution and move on.

"Oh?" Jacob says. "What story have you heard about our beginnings?"

Damn it. Somehow the blood from the floor has made its way up my arms and over my hands. I let the conversation and Jacob's question fall into background noise and start to rub hard against my skin. It hurts.

"Bella," Jacob's voice drifts over to me. It's soft. Soothing. Like it has been for the past few days. He's not very intimidating when he doesn't want to be. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning. There's blood everywhere and it's hard to get off."

The sound of steel being pulled distracts me just enough to watch as Jacob leaves his cage to walk over. He kneels beside me and takes the rag from my hand. There's no blood on it. I must not be scrubbing hard enough.

"You won our fight," he says and helps me to my feet. "Surprised the hell out of me, I'll give you that."

"It wasn't a real fight. I'd never win in a real fight."

"You might if you moved the way you did. If you weren't human I'd peg you for a slippery eel that I wouldn't be able to get my hands on."

"Or a doe. They're kind of slippery when they want to be."

"Sure. A bunny, too." He pauses. "Do you want to cash in your win and clean my cage? I'll help guide you in the dark."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"I don't mind."

My hand tightens on his and I give him a curt nod. He helps me into his cage, through the broken bars, and guides me a little further into the darkness. He pushes the cleaning rag back into my hand and says, "You can sit here. It's clean enough and there's a little blood just in front of you on the ground."

I don't question how he can see that when I can't, I just sink to the ground and begin my routine again. Blocking out the others is usually easy when I get into my work but when Jacob sits down next to me it's hard to think of anything else but him.

"Pretty screwed up what happened to the female trainer, wasn't it," he says and my body stills.

Images of that day flash before my eyes: of Margo's face and her fear. My hand begins to shake again but Jacob curls his over it to help me scrub his floor. When I get back into the rhythm he removes it from mine.

"I don't feel sorry about it," he continues. "You only just met her but she was sadistic. Made us train against each other as a group with knives or guns. On the rare occasion she'd replace the rubber balls in our guns with bullets but we quickly learnt to miss our first few shots just to check."

"That's terrible," I whisper.

"Yeah and she loved her knife play. I think she got off on cutting us because she ordered us to be still while she used her knife. There was no training there. Said we needed to learn to handle pain, as if we haven't been learning that our whole lives. No, she liked to touch our blood and rub her fingers over it."

"Jacob…"

"When I heard him order the guard to shoot, for a second I thought he meant you. In that second I was angry. Whatever game you might be playing with us, getting us to trust you or deceiving us for him, it didn't matter. You're the first to treat us with any sort of respect in a long while and I was angry he was about to ruin that. Seeing blondey die was a relief. I'm just sorry you had to witness it."

I bow my head and rub my stinging eyes with my arm. "He just shot her."

"He did."

"I saw her face. She was scared but she didn't know she was going to die. She was talking to me and then she was dead. I saw the bullet exit her head."

"That must've been scary for you. You haven't seen anyone die before, I take it?"

I shake my head and take a shuddering breath.

"I don't want to be here," I drop the cloth, pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them. "He just killed her. I can still see it all happening in my head. I had her brain in my hands… I had her blood in my mouth. I'm going to be next. He's always so mad at me. He's going to kill me."

"He's not." His voice is firm, unrelenting, and safe. I almost trust he's telling the truth. "Listen to me, Bella. He won't."

"You don't understand. He will. He will because I'm a liar. And if he can do that to a human and get away with it, what can he do to you? To the others?"

"I know," he states simply. "I know."

I start to cry and continue until there are physically no more tears left. I cry out my anger, my frustration, my fears and worries. I cry out my self-pity and trepidations until I have to lay down exhausted in Jacob's cold cell.

He must have a better sense of time in this underground prison because he says, "It's late. You can sleep here, if you like."

It's tempting, but I'm beyond cold, already freezing in this steel cage and short skirt, and I know the temperature will only get worse. I need to get back to my small bedroom with my thick quilt and shadows watch me sleep. My body doesn't agree with me, however, and when I try to get up I collapse back down with tired, heavy limbs.

I didn't realise how exhausted I was.

"I want to but I'll freeze to death."

"You won't," he says.

Before I can argue I hear the unmistakable sound of a shift; the bones snapping and flesh tearing as the human body becomes something larger than what it can contain.

I don't even have the energy to be surprised when a wet nose prods my cheek. It's too dark to see what he is but whatever it is he's large. Much larger than both a wolf and a bear, but with such warm fur that when he moves around my freezing body it feels like the sun is beating down. Warming me from the inside out. My own personal sun, curled up around me.

"You were my warm furry body before."

He prods my cheek again.

Through my tired mind I realise just how intimate our positions are. How vulnerable Jacob must be and just how trusting he is if he's willing to lie next to a human in his animal form that's likely running high on instincts.

I sniffle into his fur, not entirely sure what part of his body that is, and finally, for the first time in days, drift off into a peaceful sleep without any nightmares or shadows to watch out for.

The next morning comes around much too quickly and I'm roused awake by an insistent hand on my shoulder.

"You have to leave," Jacob tells me stiffly. "Go, before anyone notices you've been in here all night. I hope I don't need to threaten you to not speak a word about what you heard, saw, or felt last night."

There's a sliver of drool on my cheek that I wipe away hastily before I turn to face him. The ground underneath me is still warm from his body heat and I'm hesitant to leave it, but I get up anyway.

"Of course not."

Some part of me must've healed in Jacob's embrace last night because my mind is once again clear and although I'll never forget the moment that woman was shot in front of me, or forget the feeling of her blood and brain matter, it's something I think I can handle.

I won't break down again. I've had enough, I tell myself. Too many days have been spent on autopilot.

Jacob helps me exit the cage through the bars he never bothered closing up last night.

"I don't know what to say," I tell him as he releases my arm. "I don't know how to thank you for last night."

"Don't thank me," he says tight-lipped. "It didn't mean a thing."

Before I can stop myself my hands are around his waist, my cheek against his torso (he's just too tall for anything else) and I squeeze very lightly. My first genuine hug with someone other than my father.

I pull away just enough to crane my head up.

"It meant everything to me. More than you know."