Why that was more shocking to him, than the past hour, was nearly enough to make him laugh. This woman, his woman, was strong. She trusted the right things, and presented the quiet expectation of the same to those around her to as well. He remembered the peace that he felt from her. Is that where she drew if from, her faith? He remembered her prayer from before, grant me peace. Bran swore to himself in that moment that he would protect her from anything that would try to destroy such a beautiful thing; even himself. Had he not been so selfish, he would have run from her there and then, but he didn't. Instead he found himself briskly walking down the hallway to the spare bedroom she was sleeping in. As he neared her door, he waited listening to her. She was fast asleep; at least he thought so from the steady sound of her breathing. When he opened the door, he saw that he was correct. Tucked up on the far side of the bed, was his Jessica, her back to him wrapped around a full body pillow. To his joy, the bed covers on the empty side were drawn back in invitation. Bran entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. He removed his clothing, sparing his boxers. He preferred to be nude, but thought it would scare her to wake up with him that way.
Her scent wrapped around him like the warmth of the blanket as he crawled into the bed. He lay there, keeping enough space between them as to not disturb her, and drifted off to sleep. At some point in the night, Jessica had wrapped herself around Bran as though he were the pillow she clung too before. He woke up as the sun peeked around the edges of curtains, with the soft tickle of her breathing under his chin. He didn't remember her moving in the night, and hoped she didn't panic when she woke. Her scent changed suddenly, and the distinct essence of arousal filled the air. Bran found himself responding to her, and wondered exactly what she was dreaming about. He cleared his throat and moved a little. It was just enough to wake her. In a flash she was bolt upright in the bed blinking down at him.
"Hello," she said huskily. He watched as the reality of the situation set in, and to his immense pleasure, that beautiful crimson color filled her face. She had on a pair of pajama shorts and the same cotton tee as before, with the exception of the lack of a bra, she was the picture of modesty. It was the fact that she had used this man as a human body pillow that had her reeling.
"Sorry," she squeaked. She opened her mouth to say something else, and shut it again, too tired to really gather any real thoughts to express her embarrassment. Chuckling to himself, he sat up, leaned in and kissed her mouth. It was a soft kiss, meant to be tender. He hadn't forgotten his angry words last night, even if she seemed to have. Thankfully, after the brief surprise of his actions had passed, she kissed him back. When he pulled away from her, her eyes were soft, and a gentle smile played across her face.
"I am going to go get ready for the service. I will be back for you in an hour and a half, to take you to the church." He kissed her again, so she wouldn't forget she was his. He took his time dressing himself, cognizant of his audience. He found the wolf preening, as did he, in her admiration. Before he shut the door to her bedroom, he let her see how he felt for her in his eyes. The wolf was satisfied when they caught her breath, and her heart skipped a beat.
I watched Bran shut the door, and tried very hard to feel guilty about what just happened, but couldn't. That little fact was enough to get me through the next hour and a half with mild sense of calm versus the alternative; shaky panic, especially because he had kissed me right after I woke up. I was trying to convince myself my breath wasn't gross, but I guess it didn't matter, he did it twice. When Bran got us to the church I realized instead of being there early, we were just on time. I felt the first zing of anxiety run through me, and realized it wasn't only mine. I glanced at Bran, and wasn't surprised to see his boyish game face on. He looked at me and smiled a calm almost goofy smile, which didn't fit the situation. We were going to a funeral of sorts. Then I heard my Gramps voice in my head, "Jesse, we don't die, only the shells that hold our soul. I am thankful for my life, and am more thankful that I can return to our Father in Heaven when my time is done here. I expect you to be happy for me, and play good music at my funeral. I mean it, no sad stuff." I smiled at this, because he was serious. I had his letter to me in my pocketbook, a means of comfort, and realized he was right. He had peace, and we should celebrate it that coupled with a long happy life, my Gramps was where he should be, Heaven. I let out a small breath, and sucked it back in when the cold air blasted me from the car door Bran had just opened. I hissed, and wished I had had time to think of something smart to say to Bran for that, but before I could my door was open, him standing there waiting to help me out of the car. I am a war veteran, have taken the lives of my enemies, survived abuse, death and loneliness and this man, aka werewolf desired to help me out of the car? I snorted at the humor in this, and let him, enjoying the confused look plastered on his face. He continued with his gentlemanly ways when he offered me his arm as we walked towards the church. I took it, finding that this peek into manners was fantastic. I had spent so much of my life rejecting that type of behavior from men or the occasional confused woman, that to receive it coupled with his demanding nature, was almost enough to distract me from my anxiety.
The church wasn't huge, and was beautiful in its simplicity, reaching out I found that Bran thought so too. When the doors to the church opened we were immediately in the sanctuary, which was full to the point of some people standing on either side of us. It touched my heart, and yet made me very aware that these people all knew each other, and I was the only stranger. But this wasn't about me or my anxiety; I had a job to do. I set my feelings aside, drew up my shields and put my game face on. This time however, I felt a sharp sting that made me wince, followed by Bran's hold on my arm tightening ever so slightly. I glanced at him in the corner of my eye, and released my hold on my shields a little to get a read on him. Relief flooded from him instantly; had my shields hurt him too? That scared me a little bit, why would that be happening? I let them loose a little more in hopes of getting a little more info, and felt his possessiveness like a freight train to the gut. He was broadcasting it to me, but I knew to look. His outward appearance seemed normal, calm even, but I felt certain he believed they would all know it. I looked at them then, and saw the other in their eyes. Some of these people were human, and were oblivious, but the ones like Bran, they had eyes for only him. He demanded it, hell I looked too. He found my eyes, and I searched for a moment. I found nothing threatening to me, nothing that reflected the desperation from last night that threatened us all. I smiled at him, a real smile, and asked him which pew was ours, wondering how much of a show we just put on. He smiled back at me, and it reached his eyes, but I reached out to him regardless. He was bottling himself up now, so that these werewolves would see their leader, not the man. We started to walk forward, cognizant the whole church was watching us, I tried to focus on not falling in these ridiculous heals I had chosen to wear instead of my new discovery. When we neared the first row, I saw Samuel. Surprisingly the fear and trepidation from last night was nowhere to be found. Was he trying to intimidate me on purpose? A little zing of shock ran through me, Bran had played me. Oh well, It wasn't anything to worry over. I couldn't help the smile on my face though.
"Hello Samuel, it's good to see you this morning." I said giving his shoulder a little pat. He smiled and rose from his seat, smirked at his father, then gave me a kiss on my cheek, its good to see you well this morning. He knew, I knew, I could tell from the look on his face, and of course I reached out to him. I wanted to be mad, but couldn't, then I felt the sneakiness flood from him. "Jessica," he said, "This is my younger brother, Charles and his mate Anna." He stepped back and indicated with his hand a very large man of Native American descent and a small woman of perhaps Irish decent. The man was oppressive, and when I reached out to him, my shields took a little jolt. I stiffened at that, as did Bran. Again, he felt what I did. I wasn't able to read this Charles at all, and in fact I felt a force almost vicious push me out. That would be a puzzle to solve later; I forced my face into polite interest so as not to look confused. When I saw Anna, I couldn't help but smile, because she was not hard to read at all, even though that oppressive force was trickling out of Charles into her, but I was able to work around it this time. I would have to ask Bran later what mate meant to werewolves, because I felt Samuels humorous dig at his father with that statement.
"Hello, Charles, Anna, it's a pleasure to meet you" I said with honesty, "thank you for being here today." I could feel, at least from Anna, that she had a desire to comfort Bran, as did Charles. She looked me over for the briefest of seconds, when a smile as bright as the sun spread across her face. I could feel her genuine happiness when she said, "It's a pleasure to meet you as well." I shook her hand, and gave Charles a simple nod of acknowledgment. From Anna I was able to pick up her anxiousness of how he might act if I tried to touch him. She was also worried about what he would think of me, because he was protective of his father, and my presence was making him cranky. A little wisp of shock ran through my stomach, how could they know what happened last night? Did anything that note worthy happen at all? Why would I make anyone cranky? I felt a slight pressure on the small of my back, Bran nudging me forward down the pew. We found a place on the end nearest the pulpit, and an older man dressed in the traditional garb of a pastor was waiting to begin the service. Bran took my coat and draped it over the pew, then removed his in similar fashion. When he sat, he was close enough to me, that his legs touched mine, and I found that I liked it. Bran leaned back into the pew and rested his hand lightly over mine, which I had folded neatly in my lap. I twisted my hand and held his, then muttered a little prayer for peace. When had this happened, were we cuddling now? My heart was currently beating faster than it should, because I knew that it was almost my turn to get up and speak and Bran was confusing the hell out of me. First he dosnt trust me, then he turns into a wolf, then he yelled at me, now he is holding my hand at my Gramps funeral. My head was spinning. I could hear the preacher speaking, but for the life of me, I couldn't force myself to pay attention.
"Jessica, my dear, would you please come forward, and share a few words with us about your dear Grandfather?" the preacher said gently. Well I am happy I heard that, otherwise I would look the fool. I gave Bran's hand a hard squeeze, and stood up. He rose with me, and stayed that way until I have left the pew and made my way about halfway to the pulpit. I laid out the crumpled papers I had scribbled my words out on down, smoothed out the shin length pencil skirt I was wearing, and looked out at my audience. I really looked at them, and as I did I reached out. I felt their grief, curiosity, confusion, anger, and weariness. It sang to me like the song of my life. So many lost, so alone, except for my faith, and I couldn't help the small tears that escaped down my face. I was so happy in the back of my mind that I had waterproof mascara on. Their weariness is what changed the course of my words, more than anything else. I let out a small sigh, folded the paper on the pulpit and set it in the little cubby underneath. I looked out at this group of people who came out to mourn and gawk and told them truth.
"Good day to all of you. I truly appreciate that you were able to be here, in honor of my Grandfather, a man who helped shape me into the woman I am today, a man that I looked upon as my father. I had prepared a small statement that I wished to read to you, a simple collection of words that would allow me to express to you, how valuable he was to me. However, each of you would know that already, because as you sit here, I can sense how much you value those around you." I felt a little jolt of shock come from Bran. I glanced at him, and he looked as he always did, but through everything else I could hear from this room, he was loud and clear. He wished I would be more cautious. I really needed to talk to him about this. Distance usually made this quieter, not louder. I ignored him, and pressed on.
"So I have chosen to share with you what I believe my Gramps always was trying to drive home to me. Gramps asked me all the time, Jesse what do you think? He truly wanted me to think, not so much hear what I thought." That earned me a few chuckles, because they would have known the tone he used. I was starting to be able to pick out the people who really knew him versus those that simply knew of him.
"I asked myself that question, as I walked in the doors of the church. The answer I came up with is that today should be a remembrance of a life spent doing honest work, earning an honest profit, providing for a family that brought my Gramps true joy; a family not bound by blood and flesh, but by love and trust. He learned, and taught, and loved, and he lost. He grieved, and he pulled himself back up out of darkness as many times as a human ever should have to. He lived." I let my words settle for a moment. I was speaking with real passion now, because I was caught up in the moment.
"What I think is that my Grandfather had an extra-ordinary, extraordinary life, because he invested himself in it, and the people in it. He held onto what was meaningful to him, and protected it as best he could for the eighty plus years he was alive. He understood that life is not flesh and bones, but rather what makes each heart beat. That is precious and worth so much more than we can trade for it. Today as you walk out of this church, back to your lives, I hope you ask yourself, what you think about your life. I hope you hold your loved ones, I hope you cherish every moment you have. I hope you protect what makes your heart beat; value each trial, and each joy. They will define you regardless of your desires, however there is no rule written that you cannot define what is around you. I loved him, so much, and I miss him terribly. But I know he is where he should be, whole and happy, a continuous example to us all. Thank you so much for being here today." I looked out at the room, some looked very board, others as though I had slapped them, and some as though they heard my words. I let them see me in my eyes, for those thought to look for it. There was no challenge, but an earnest desire for them to hear my words, and hopefully glean from them. I nodded, and started for my pew, when I saw that Bran was there waiting to escort me back. I smiled at him, a weary smile, yet no less sincere, and took his arm. A few more came forward to share stories that didn't surprise me at all. They were tales of generosity, wisdom, faith. My Gramps loved people. I was holding Bran's hand for the remainder of the service, not for tactile comfort, but because the connection I had with him was singing with tension. He was wounded, and I felt responsible. If I hadn't been so agitated I would have tried to send soothing thoughts, as it was, we were stuck being miserable. When all the stories had come to an end, it was time for Bran to sing. My Gramps had asked that he sing Oh Danny Boy, and he had told me he could. The preacher asked him to come forward, so he did, joined by Samuel who had a fiddle, and Charles who was headed for the piano. I watched curiously as they prepared to sing, and when the first few notes of Bran's rich alto voice with melodic fiddle mixed into the air, sprinkled with the dulcet tones of the piano my heart held still. All the hair on my neck stood up at attention, and I felt a chill run through me. I knew I had tears running down my face, but it didn't matter, because in this moment, I couldn't see or hear anything other than Bran and his sons.
That as it turned out proved to be a very bad thing. One moment I was lost in the magic of their song, the next I was moving very fast through the air. I heard a No very loud in my ear, most likely Anna who had scooted down the pew closer to me when the men had gotten up. I got a glimpse of Bran's eyes turning very gold. Instinctively I ducked my head down to my chest; the pain of impact was delayed for a moment. I was aware that all the wind was gone from my lungs, and somehow I had retrieved my pocket knife from my bra, but the world was spinning. Did someone just throw me? I was coughing a lot, and trying to get air. I threw my back against the pew I had landed on, and forced myself to see what was happening. Charles hovering over a blond woman, who was making such a face, one of hate, at me! "Mine! I'll kill you whore!" she was screeching. I didn't know her from Adam, yet could feel the savage rage licking at me like thousands of snakes with acid for tongues. If her words weren't enough, I could hear it from her so loud that I didn't even have to reach out. I managed to stand, but my left arm was limp at my side, I think it was dislocated although the pain was worse than the last time that had happened to me. In a moment that would be important, for now I couldn't be here so vulnerable. I kicked off the only one of my high heeled shoes I still had on, and made my way back to the other side of the church, towards the pulpit. There were no threats there, and I needed to focus. I know I made no noise, save for a few grunts, but the whole congregation was focused on me. I felt something warm running down my spine, blood most likely. Hunger wafted through the room, and fear. Was that a werewolf thing? Did they want to eat me? I couldn't take them all on, so I focused on the only one so far who had hurt me, while I frantically searched for the safest exit. She wasn't moving, and was sitting on all fours panting, throat bared like an animal. She was like Bran, so maybe this was an instinct thing. In my peripheral I could sense a shadow. I adjusted my stance to deal with the new threat, and realized it was Samuel. He was moving very slowly, hands up, talking to me. What was he saying?
"What?" I croaked? He stopped and looked at me with sympathy. All I could hear was white noise, my instincts were telling me to focus, but I must have hit my head. This was dangerous. I blinked a few times, and forced myself to focus. This time I heard him.
"Jessica, you are bleeding from the side of your head. It's important for you to sit down. Leah won't hurt you anymore." I heard Samuel, but Bran is what allowed me to trust. I could feel him strong as ever through our connection, and he was reeling. He was so upset, he could not move for fear of what he might do. He was in hot debate about just killing the woman, Leah who had hurt me, to making sure I was alright, to ripping the whole pack to shreds for not stopping Leah in the first place when she moved to hurt me.
"Bran?" I said quietly as I plopped down to my butt. I don't know if I did it for his sake, or because I was unable to stand any longer. He turned and looked at me, his eyes a deep pale gold. It was sheer rage and power in his eyes. I felt so safe in the gaze of that other, that I simply let the knife go.
"Ok," I said eyes still locked on Bran's, "Samuel I won't try to stab you, could you put my arm back?" I chuckled a little, or least I tried. Samuel was fast, and picked through my hair and moved my head all which ways. I wanted my arm back in socket, and I was too dizzy to do it myself. Once Samuel wasn't moving as urgently, I asked him to please fix it. He paused, telling me it would hurt that my scapula was broken. I glared at him, and quietly reminded he had nothing to fear, I had already dropped the knife. He nodded at me, reached over and put it back. I wish I could have screamed, but there was no air left in my lungs to do so. I slumped forward and tried to catch myself with my good arm, but it was jello. I waited for the floor and I to reacquaint but Bran was there. He pulled me close and held me while Samuel continued to poke at me. Suddenly, I was in the air again, but this time I was moving because I was being carried. I rested my head against Bran, because it was really heavy all of the sudden. He moved faster than Samuel had, and shortly we were in the kitchen of the church. I heard a loud clatter as pots and such were sent flying. I was laid out on the counter, which was far less comfortable than Bran. I heard them talking then.
"She will need stitches, staples would be better. There is a nasty gash across the side of her head, but the girl knows how to take a fall. Her shoulder took most of the impact, although her skull may still be cracked. I will need to x-ray her to be sure. If we can stop the bleeding she will have a better chance." He stopped talking. I felt Brans anguish, through our connection followed by a cold dark rage building and building. He wouldn't survive if that got loose, and that hurt my heart. I needed to do something, anything to fix this. I tried to roll over onto my side and nearly fell of the counter. I heard a growl, then felt Bran rest his head on my chest as he set me back down. There was a sharp pressure on the back of my head, someone holding a towel there to staunch the bleeding.
"Da, Charles can get us to the clinic. Can you carry her?" I needed to say something, but when I tried, my words were slurred. Bran looked at my face with such heartbreak, that I wished in that moment I could do anything to fix it. In a desperate attempt I reached out to our connection. He said he could feel me in his mind, but could he feel what I felt? I had to try. I thought the words and images with all my might and shoved them down the connection.
How much I admired him, how he made me feel alive again, that it scared me that I cared about a person like that again. I was afraid to be hurt again, but found it funny that I was anyways. I showed him how much he didn't frighten me, but let him know I could feel that rage and I thought it wholly manageable. I showed him the Love that God had for me, the peace He gifted me with and trying to make him understand I could handle that dark black nightmare he had hidden away. I wasn't sure how I knew that, but I was so certain of it, that I almost ignored Bran and just spoke to the rage. It responded to me, like a small puppy coming to call. It hit me hard at first, because I was shocked at how easy it was to take it from Bran, the man who was totally bottled up. Once I got past the flinch, it came and went, like I was a human filtration system. I gave him back a sedated version of that black inky rage. The whole room calmed down, and with the tension gone, I blacked out, my energy spent on being a human water cooler. I felt his shock, before I was totally out, and couldn't help but cough up a chuckle.