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Playing With Fire
Chapter Nineteen: Guests

I escaped into my dreams.

Filled with red eyes and howling, this new dream frightened me more than usual. The howling itself sounded sorrowful, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. I was in a space in which I couldn't escape, tied up and bound and gagged, with no other person that could help me. The darkness overtook everything - I couldn't even make out my own nose in front of my face.

As I was locked up wherever I was, I could only see a pair of eyes staring down at me, hateful and vengeful and so wanting my blood to spill.

I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. The gag over my mouth was too strong.

At some point, the eyes started getting closer and the darkness started to lighten. I was faced with the one who craved my death, the one who was adamant in what she wanted, always, and that certainly wasn't going to change now.

The howling intensified as she approached me, as if wanting to stop whatever was going to happen, but unable to. The howls became snarls of anger, ripping through the darkness and settling deep in my bones, giving me chills.

Soon, I was able to see the figure's face, so inhumanly beautiful and framed by a tangle of red hair. Of course, it couldn't be anyone but her. If I had ever thought otherwise, I was fooling myself.

The snarls became a cacophony, drowning out whatever she was saying - her lips moved and yet I could hear no sound. I struggled in my bonds, wanting to go to the sound of the howling, wanting to embrace whatever it was that wanted to save me so. I couldn't move, though, the bonds were too strong, there was nothing else I could do but wait.

In slow movements, Victoria descended on me, laughing maniacally as she sank her teeth into my neck.

As the blood began to flow and I started to feel my life leave me, I thought one name, and that name shocked me almost as much as my own death.

Paul.

I jolted out of my nightmare, panting and grabbing at my chest before moving my hands to touch my neck. I felt for the tell-tale bite mark, the row of punctures that resembled the wickedest of teeth, and sighed in relief when I found none. My throat was unmarred by Victoria's assault, as if nothing happened.

Which it hadn't, of course.

I blinked a few times, wondering where exactly I was. It was an odd sensation, knowing that I was in my bed but yet not believing it. I felt a scorching hot hand on my shoulder and jumped, almost banging my head against the person near me.

My eyes met with those of the werewolf assigned to me.

"You okay?" His eyes were strangely concerned. "You called my name."

"I…" My head was foggy. "I did?"

I remembered thinking his name in my dream, but I didn't remember saying it. But then again…

"I talked in my sleep, didn't I?" I felt a blush coat my cheeks with that realization just as Paul started to nod as he put the pieces together. What all had Paul heard, other than his name?

"Yeah," he said, his voice strangely rough. "Yeah."

I looked down at my hands only to realize that they were trembling. I pretended to be fascinated by them, by the long fingers and the pale flesh of the backs of my hands, but in reality, I was slightly - okay, more than slightly - mortified. I inhaled several shaky breaths before daring to look at Paul again.

His demeanor had changed completely. Before he had seemed worried, oddly so, and now he looked almost smug. Playful, even.

"I should be flattered, I guess," he started, "that the great Bella Swan was having a dream about me of all people."

My cheeks were on fire and my voice trembled when I spoke, which probably didn't help my case at all, "I…ah…you…"

Paul rose from his position kneeling at my bedside. I hadn't realized that we had been so close until then. The smile on his face was equally jarring, and I found that I couldn't look away.

"Just kidding," he said, smiling as he lightly punched my shoulder. As if I were a kid. Which I found that I wasn't a fan of, for some reason.

"Victoria killed me," I blurted out. "I was…thinking I wanted you near…and you were howling…"

Paul had paused as soon as the first words were out of my mouth. The set of his body was almost frightening in its tautness, like an arrow ready to be fired out of a bow. He stared down at me with dark, fathomless eyes, and for a moment he did nothing. I was surprised at his reaction, that he didn't just laugh it off like everything else, but I guessed it was my tone that got him. I supposed that I was more shaken up by the dream than I had admitted to myself.

There was a moment of silence that felt like it was slicing through my skin.

"That," he said, his words clipped and curt, "is not going to happen."

The intensity of his words brought chills down my spine.

I felt the traitorous blood rise to my cheeks.

I spoke the only words that I could, the only ones that made any sense.

"Thank you."

While waiting for Angela's impending arrival, I started to clean up around the house. Charlie was long gone to help with the funeral arrangements. He called the station and got out of going to work today, and I knew he was grateful for that, at least. Paul was able to roam freely about the house because of my father's absence, and somehow that felt comforting to me.

Paul was currently eating the breakfast I had fixed for him - the pile of eggs and the massive bowl of grits didn't stay separate for long, he quickly poured the grits all over the eggs and then added cheese and God knows what else. He looked to be enjoying himself, for which I was grateful. If I had to tear him away from his pack, his family, at a time of great need, I'd at least hoped to compensate for it by making him feel somewhat comfortable.

But, if he didn't feel comfortable now, after all the time he had spent with me, he probably wasn't ever going to be able to feel that way.

I ignored that thought, deeming it as a falsity, anyway. The Paul I knew was as comfortable as anyone, surprisingly, around me. I supposed that he would feel less-comfortable, being in the presence of a known leech-lover and all, but that didn't seem to bother him at all.

Though, there were moments when I would look in his eyes, when I would catch him staring at me, and they would be some of the most…strangely intense moments of my life. I wasn't sure how, but that was what it felt like. Almost as if he was trying to figure me out.

I think he had succeeded better than anyone else in that matter.

I flitted around the house, cleaning here and there. Wouldn't want Angela to think that I had totally been neglecting my Charlie-keeping duties. I smiled to myself as I fluffed the pillows and decided to dust.

It was odd, to partake in activities that were so mundane, when my life was anything but.

Paul's laugh stirred me from my work and my thoughts.

I spun around, fixing my stubborn glare into place. "What is it now, dear?"

That caused him to laugh even harder. "You. Being all…Martha Stewart."

"I don't understand."

Paul fixed me with a jovial smile, something I learned to not take for what it was. Paul was very good at masking things or hiding things or sheathing an insult within that irresistible smile of his.

I paused. Irresistible? Where had that come from?

"I just never pictured you being all…homemaker-y, is all."

"You - you - " I stumbled over my words as easily as if they were the steps leading up to my porch. "I…don't know whether to be insulted or…flattered…or…"

"You think by now you would have picked up my gift of using words to their proper effect."

I smiled. Oh, this was too easy. "Well, if I start using curse words as major adjectives, I'll let you know."

"Fuckin' A." He grinned at me.

I couldn't hide my own smile.

I continued to clean around the house. I didn't know how much I had been neglecting lately, and it was kind of comforting to be able to sink back into something so normal. I was so absorbed that I jumped slightly when Paul addressed me again, heading back into our former conversation.

"You just don't strike me as the wife type."

This hurt, I was afraid to admit. "I…you don't think I could be anyone's wife?"

Paul stared at me, his eyes suddenly recognizing the context his words could be taken in. They were wide, and his mouth gaped for a moment. For a minute, it looked as if he was actually sorry. I felt my anger spike. That was new, instead of racing away from the offending comment, I wanted to rush toward it and defend myself.

"That - that's…" I stumbled for words. "You suck."

I spun away and Paul said, "I didn't mean it like that. Geez, you can really jump to conclusions."

I stayed silent.

"I meant that I don't see you as traditional. I can see you as working. With a good job. Teaching, probably. Or as a writer. You like books." His sentences became choppy, something that I wasn't used to hearing from him. "Just not a stay-at-home wife-slash-mom. I couldn't see that. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

I paused in folding a blanket.

I heard him scratching his head, scared to even look at him, listened as he ran his fingers through his choppily styled hair.

"Anyone would be lucky…to have you as their…wife, you idiot."

My heart was racing. I wasn't sure why, but…the feeling was pleasant. So long I had gone without this occurring, the simplest of actions. So long my heart had gone without this…this feeling. So long I thought my heart did nothing but keep my life going, and now…

"Don't," he started as I turned around, "read too much into that."

I met his eyes, and was surprised that my thundering heart had time to stop beating for that one moment in time. Ridiculous, I told myself. Ridiculous.

"I know. I'd like to believe I'm not so pathetic anymore." I said to him, hating that my heart had started thudding yet again. I knew that he meant it when he said to not read into it, but a part of me wanted it to be true. Wanted to believe otherwise. That he actually had some semblance of…something. I wasn't sure what to call it. But a voice in the back of my head decided to pry, You can't. You can't.

I didn't know why, but the voice sounded like Edward's.

Our eyes were locked - I hadn't realized that we had been staring at each other for so long until he suddenly looked away, toward the door. I wondered why, but then jumped as someone knocked on the door. The knocks were timid, but they sounded like gunshots in the silence of the house.

Paul sniffed the air, "Angela."

The veil of seriousness lifted, I felt the need to joke, "I find it odd that you know her scent."

"I know yours, too, if that's any consolation."

My pulse thudded, but I kept my voice steady enough to deadpan, "No."

I walked to the door, stretching my arms as I walked. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and came face to face with the kind eyes of Angela Weber. She smiled at me and said a hello before looking down at the dish she carried. "Um…I made brownies."

"Hell yeah," Paul rose from the couch and sauntered over. "That's what I'm talking about."

"Your dad here?"

I shook my head, "He went to go help with the arrangements. He wanted to see how everyone was dealing, as well. Probably won't be back until late."

"Ah," she said. "Well, I hope some of them get to him, at least."

"She's funny," Paul said, taking the tray off her hands. "Better company than some company you've kept before, I suppose."

Oh, how I wanted to punch him.

Paul walked to the kitchen and placed the brownies on the table. I watched him go before I realized Angela was still trapped outside. I scooted over and let her in the house, a blush creeping on my features.

"I'm about to start cooking," I told her. "Want anything in particular?"

Angela gave me a smile, "Whatever you feel like, Bella."

"I want lasagna, if that's any help."

"Shut up, Paul."

I heard Angela start to laugh. Something about this situation felt natural. Kind of like putting on an old shirt that I had owned for ages. However, I knew that I had never owned this particular shirt before. A strange kind of situation, indeed.

I started making the noodles for the lasagna, smiling as I worked. There was something calming about the atmosphere, despite the tragedy surrounding us and the looming threat of a murderous vampire. I felt calm as I worked, listening to the idle chatter between Angela and Paul. Or, rather, it was Paul dominating the conversation, with Angela smiling and laughing and making shy comments.

"I could see you being a chef, too," he called in my direction.

I turned, feeling my face heat - and not just from the hot stove in front of me. I saw Angela smile, though her face looked confused. She hadn't heard our conversation from before, and I opened my mouth to explain to her when Paul tensed, his head tilted lightly as if sniffing the air. His eyes narrowed, lips pulling over his teeth in a very wolfish gesture.

"Paul?" I asked, stopping my actions. "Something - "

He was out of his chair in a flash, moving over to the front door with barely contained supernatural speed. I gave him credit for that, being able to keep up the semblance of a front even while a clueless human was in the room. I was behind Paul in a flash, wiping my hands off on a towel as I went. My heart was speeding away in my chest, pounding against the cage of bone that contained it.

Angela was behind me, taking careful steps. This was bad, I felt, and Angela was ignorant of what mine and Paul's world consisted of. She wouldn't know what happened if…

I shook my head, banishing the thought before it even formed.

That's when the shouting started.

"What the hell are you doing here, leech?" Growls, guttural ones, assaulted my ears through the door. Strangely animalistic. Joined by yet another sound - snarls that sounded eerily familiar. Snarls that recalled images of a predatory James, of a protective Edward, of a possessed Jasper…

"Embry!" Paul shouted as he opened the door. His voice was deep, angry, feral. I felt chills go down my spine. Words seemed to be strangling him as something washed over his body full force - a vampire's scent. What he had smelled before, no doubt.

"Paul! This bloodsucker was on her doorstep! I don't know what he was doing, but it wasn't good! I had to phase back - too big of a risk to be out in the open as a wol - "

Paul's growls had drowned out Embry's explanation. I was suddenly very conscious of Angela standing behind me.

It was then that I looked at the cause of the problem. The sweet smell had made its way over to me, and as if drugged, I stepped forward. I made my way towards Paul, his tall frame blocking the doorway. I had an odd feeling, like needles being pressed against my skin.

I finally got a glimpse of the uninvited guest, standing nonchalantly with his arms crossed and Embry's fist twisted in his expensive-looking shirt.

"Ah, Bella," Riley began, smiling like a venomous snake, "it has been far too long."

End Chapter Nineteen.