Thanks to PTB; apologies, as always, to SMeyer.

Chapter 5

The distinctive snick-click of the lock snapped her floating consciousness back down to her body. As the light above her flickered on, her swirling thoughts pooled into her brain, forming tentative sentences. What will we learn today? What's going on? Her brain seemed excited, like a child returning to school after a dull vacation.

She was still running a systems check (All systems no go, captain) when she realized something was different. The footsteps circling the room seemed hesitant, and there were various clinks and clangs as things were picked up and put down. Her regular guests were silent, choosing to surprise her with their voices after they had her surrounded. This was different…

Focusing on keeping the action small, she sniffed tentatively. She'd avoided taking a full-on whiff of anything since the first time, but alarm bells were sounding at the edge of her senses and she needed to know what was going on now. The sensation of the air flowing into her nose felt funny, like inhaling an old French feather duster, and she held herself very still to avoid the sneeze that threatened at the back of her throat.

She smelled dirt and ashes, the coppery tang of her blood still powerful but not as heavy-handed as before. The freshest smell was rain, and the distinctive odor of wet dog. Yet the animals padding around the room had just two legs, and they were nowhere near as graceful as the mutts they smelled like as they made their way toward her.

The footfalls were giving her an impression of the surrounding space she'd lacked before. She was somewhere very big, but with a low ceiling. Recalling Rosalie's words about the garden, she mentally filled in the details of a greenhouse, imagining rows of planters stretching out around her. It was too bad there weren't flowers – the image of herself lying in the middle of a field of delicately waving blossoms that was filling her brain made her happy.

"Check the back. The seeds have to be in here somewhere." The voice was low and husky, a whisper that carried easily to her hyper-vigilant ears. Footsteps turned toward her, pinning her present location at "the back", wherever that was. A worktable in the back of an empty garden, she thought. I wonder if my insurance will cover that?

A sharp intake of breath echoed through the air behind her head. She almost turned to look, but then thought better of it. These weren't her voices. Whoever was coming, it wasn't her doctor.

The second pair of footsteps quick marched over to join the first. "What is that?" said a low whisper, the voice higher than the first, frightened.

"It's a body, you ignorant asshole. Like you've never seen one before. Are the seeds here?" The first voice was still whispering, but there was no mistaking the tone of command.

"I'm not going in there. You said she was an herbalist, not a mortician."

"She is, she is. Or she was. Doesn't matter. Get the seeds!" The voice was louder, insistent, and irritated.

"No way."

"You are just fucking useless," muttered Mr. In-Charge. "Watch the door." She assumed it was his footsteps that came closer, rummaging through drawers and boxes outside her field of vision, while Mr. Scaredy-Cat walked quickly back toward the front.

When a drawer directly beneath her jerked open, it was all she could do to stay still. She could feel her fingers itching to drum the tabletop, to communicate something to the stranger invading her space. She sniffed surreptitiously, getting a nose full of wet dog, cold rain, and leather.

The leather turned out to be a beautiful bomber jacket, visible as the intruder worked his way around the table and into her field of vision drawer by drawer. It was weathered, with a small tear at the elbow. Dark gloves covered the hands working the drawers, but she could appreciate the smooth, tan skin at the wrists where small gaps flickered open and shut.

He was efficient in his search, moving rapidly up and down. Her worktable must be full of drawers, and as it rolled slightly in response to a swiftly shut drawer, she realized it had casters as well.

He must have seen something he wanted in a bottom drawer, because he crouched suddenly, giving her a view of broad shoulders and dark hair. She liked dark hair, and the quick flash of his jaw as he'd dropped was not unattractive. Only the top of his head was visible to her as he rummaged through the drawer, which was a pity, because she really wanted to see his neck.

Well, that's weird. Since when do you like necks? Aren't you a leg girl? Her consciousness challenged her, puzzled at the neck thing. What she liked was legs, nice long legs with good muscles and thick veins she could sink her teeth into and –

A sound of disgust came out of her throat, involuntarily triggered by the end of her mental picture. Dark brown eyes locked into hers, whites showing all the way around. Shock was evident beneath thick black eyebrows that were reaching for the stars. "You can't be alive," whispered Mr. In-Charge, not sounding very sure about that at all.

She wanted to argue, but the lights went out.

When they flickered back on a moment later, Rosalie was standing in front of Mr. In-Charge, eying him slowly up and down. He would have probably rather been elsewhere, but a bear of a man was standing just behind him, looking like a Russian mobster waiting on a joyride to start.

"Jacob Black," Rosalie stated flatly, "You are a stupid, stupid dog."

"Where's Paul?" Jacob asked, his tone even.

"Somewhere in the garden, I imagine," said Rosalie, as if Paul had just wandered off somewhere and would be back soon. "Did you find what you came for?"

"Who says I came for anything? I was just stopping by for a visit." Jacob's tone was light, but she could see his fingers shaking slightly. "You were out and I wanted to leave a note. Had to find myself a pen and paper, that's all." He shrugged nonchalantly, his hand moving his jacket higher and coming to rest on a gun. Sneaky, sneaky, she thought. He hadn't been looking for paper at all.

"Really?" said Rosalie, crossing her arms. "Why don't I believe you?" Evidently his hand wasn't visible to her, and the bear-man was too close to be looking down. A waist-high view could come in handy sometimes.

The lights flickered again, and Jacob seemed to take it as a kind of signal. He went for his gun, stopping only because she already had his hand. "Holy fuck!" he yelled, jumping back. She went with him, unable to remember the mechanism for letting go of things. She hadn't consciously grabbed him, couldn't have told you how she'd made the muscles work, and lurching forward to keep up with his backward momentum she rather regretted it. Though she couldn't feel it, gravity was a known principle not likely to make her any exceptions.

She left the table behind in favor of the floor, her shoulder hitting hard. She heard rather than felt the impact and the accompanying slide as she and Jacob both headed for the far wall. She suspected he was being helped along by the bear man, though no obvious hand had gone out.

When they thumped into the wall shelves, Jacob had one aim. "Get this corpse off me!" His voice was shrill as he frantically tried to peel her clenched fingers off his wrist. She watched his panicked scrabbling, not entirely sure what she was supposed to be doing herself. Muscles? Are we supposed to try to move something?

By way of response, her arm just flopped lifelessly as he spun his wrist and kept picking at her fingers. Dimly, she was aware that this all should have been painful, that things had to be broken. She was more interested in the faded bruises and shallow scratches where her bite marks had been. The changes were truly fascinating, just as Carlisle had described. Jacob's terror at her grasp was like a sideshow to the wonder that was her body's own repair job.

When he hiked up a booted foot to kick at her shoulder, she snapped back to the problem at hand. He had very big feet, and his left shoe seemed to be coming at her in slow motion. She had no intention of letting it land and could tell that her body was planning something.

She never got a chance to find out what. Long arms came from nowhere to twist Jacob's kicking leg, the knee making a wicked pop as things went too far. His scream of agony was cut short by a backhand to the face, slamming his skull into the wall and knocking him out.

"Edward," chided Rosalie. "We're not supposed to lay a hand on members of the Pack." Oops, she thought, letting go of Jacob's wrist. The air felt cold in comparison to Jacob's warm skin against her palm. Rosalie noticed the move. "Not you, Thing 1. You didn't know any better."

She felt oddly pleased to be directly addressed. I am Thing 1, grabber of wrists, she thought, filing that into an otherwise empty file labeled "Identity." Progress!

The lights flickered out again. "Now what?" muttered Rosalie, and from her place on the floor she had a sensation of multiple parties leaving. There was a distant snick-click as the lock slid home, and then she was alone. At least, she thought she was alone.

But not really alone. Not truly.

She did have the unconscious thing called Jacob Black within reach …

She sniffed the air tentatively. She smelled wet dog, and fresh blood. The combination was a delicious tickle in her nostrils, and she breathed in deeply. Such a nice tickle …

She couldn't have explained how she came to be laying in his lap, nuzzling his hip. It was the same set of mystery mechanics that let her grab wrists and drum fingers, yet not remember how to let go of moving objects.

But none of that mattered. Up close, Jacob smelled more delicious than ever, and her nose tucked itself into the groove of muscle that ran just above his pelvis. Damn, baby, you've been working out! She thought, giggling. His skin was so warm that cuddling into it just seemed like the natural thing to do.

And even though really, truly, she could have sworn she was a leg girl, nibbling that warm bit of flesh felt pretty good, too. He was just so delicious, this Jacob Black, that she couldn't help herself. His skin beneath her teeth was firm and smooth, pressing back against her teeth as she nibbled slightly lower. A vein pulsed gently beneath the skin, the vibration sinking into her senses and prompting her teeth to dig in just a little deeper into his flesh.

The blood that burst forth shocked her.

It was hot … and wet … and it tasted like Christmas in her mouth.

She drank deeply, ignoring the part of her brain that was recoiling in disgust and just going with the instincts that screamed out for more, more, more.

After a long time, she pulled back and licked her lips, feeling strangely satisfied. She nuzzled back into Jacob's hip, cuddling the cooling flesh against her cheek and closing her eyes.

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