A/N: Hi guys. I meant to update mid-week, as usual, but real life got in the way of editing. Sorry!

In this chapter: Renesmee meets yet another human with whom she can relate. Woohoo!

I'm glad to have this out of the way… the next three or four chapters after this one were really fun to write, and I think they've probably got a lot of what you've all been waiting for =)

Thanks, as always, for reading. Please review!

Enjoy!

~Crit.

Chapter 14: The Stuff of Legends

"Eleven thirty library run," Rideau quipped as Renesmee approached him. He stood up from the bench where he'd been perched, his breath billowing out around his face in a cloud due to the chilly night air. "We live a fast-paced and exciting life."

Renesmee just smiled and passed him a coffee cup. "Here. I figured it was the least I could offer you, after ditching out earlier and then disrupting your Saturday night."

"If by that you mean, disrupting my date with sketch comedy and the couch, then you're right, I've earned this coffee." He took a swig and steered them toward the doors to the building. "But seriously… you're in for a treat. This is by far the best research library I've ever set foot in. And always good for some people-watching… there are usually some pretty great characters in here, especially in the wee small hours."

Renesmee grinned and tried to sound casual. "Great! I just got struck by inspiration." She paused, trying not to sound too invested. "Hey, you think they've got any good books on Native mythology?"

Rideau nodded vehemently. "Oh yeah. They've got a huge mythology section, and loads of books dedicated to indigenous peoples… I've sure there has to be some crossover."

"Cool. This should be fun." She caught him giving her a sideways look as they entered the library. "What?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Rideau looked a bit worried. "Is everything all right? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm happy to nerd out with you at any hour, but it just seems a bit strange, given that you said earlier you'd be hanging out with Jacob."

Renesmee shook her head, probably looking a bit more irritated than she intended to. "It's fine. We had a…" a what? A sexual-charged moment? A deep emotional episode, cut short? A weird-ass staring contest? "…a fight. I just had to get away for a bit." She smiled sheepishly. "Thanks for keeping me company."

"Don't mention it."

They spent a bit of time finding books from a list they'd made earlier in the week, things they both wanted to find. After several minutes of browsing together, Rideau went off to find a few books he needed, and they made a plan to meet in the work area on the fourth floor when they had both found what they needed. Renesmee quickly looked over the map she'd picked up at the entrance and headed for the proper section.

After a quick computer catalogue search and a once-over of the stacks (at superhuman speed… nobody was anywhere close enough to notice the speed at which her eyes and fingers ran across the spines of the books), Renesmee came away with four or five books in which she figured she might find something. She carefully interspersed them with the books she was already carrying, creating a relatively huge stack which she carted in her arms up to the fourth floor, remembering just in time to look as though she was struggling with the weight. She sat down heavily at the table where Rideau was, already tapping away on his open laptop. He looked up with an arched eyebrow at the mountain of books she'd come back with.

"I hope you can speed read," he said jokingly, "Otherwise you'll be here a while."

Renesmee shrugged and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. Little did he know. "I'll manage." She opened the first book, which had nothing to do with wolves, Quileutes, or imprinting, flipped around, made a few cursory notes, and pushed it aside. The second, which was on the correct subject, ended up being full of intriguing werewolf legends, none of which had anything to do with reality or what she was looking for.

In another book of Native American legends, Renesmee found a Navajo tale revolving around Yeenaaldlooshii, or the Skin-Walkers, which this particular text claimed were the basis for the modern concept of the werewolf. That sounded warmer. She turned back to the previous book and searched the index for Yeenaaldlooshii and Navajo legends, instead of Quileute. Nothing about imprinting.

It was the fifth book that did it.

Certain themes are recurrent among these legends involving changing of form from human to animal. Not to be ignored is the concept of a chosen or predestined mate, chosen by the animal aspect of the creature, by which the race is to be furthered and carried on. Each legend, it seems, has at least one particular story in which the mating habits of these creatures is a vitally important element. Although not much is told with regards to this aspect of the legends, it would seem that the creatures are portrayed as fiercely loyal and attached to their mates, protective and predatory towards any threatening parties. Those who have studied these myths liken the phenomenon to that in nature of an animal's sexual imprint, such as in the case of the zebra finch or wolf spider…

Renesmee lifted her eyes from the book. A… sexual imprint. Was that what the word had been referring to? No… she knew from the very vague recollection she had that it had meant something more than just sex. The very though of it felt cheap and wrong. She was on the right track… and yet she'd gotten nowhere. She pushed the book away and tried not to sigh loudly with frustration. This wasn't going to get her very far… reference books had to at least make an attempt at being reasonable to get published, and the reality was that most human beings didn't consider talking about werewolves as if you were discussing fact to be reasonable. Maybe the authors of these books felt that they were on to something, maybe some of them even believed it… but they would never have those thoughts published in reference books, as non-fiction, for fear of being discredited or worse.

Sighing again, she quickly jotted down the bibliographical information of the books she'd found her limited information in and put the cap back on her pen. "I've got everything I'm likely to get tonight," she said with a small smile. Rideau peered at her above his laptop screen.

"Me too," he said with a shrug. "Anything helpful?"

"Not especially," she said grudgingly, "but it's a start."

"I hear ya." Rideau tucked his laptop away and stood. "Walk you home?" He offered. Renesmee smiled as she stood up as well, hefted her bag onto her shoulder and walked around the table.

"Thanks."

oooOOOooo

"Andrew O. Prentiss," Renesmee said under her breath. She'd gotten home the previous night to find that Jacob was pissed, thoroughly unimpressed by the note she'd left regarding her late-night study trip to the library. But given his squirrelly behavior from earlier in the evening, Renesmee knew he wouldn't want a confrontation. And she'd been right… after giving her some half-hearted line about worrying for her well-being, he'd skulked back up to his room and shut the door, and they'd both gone to sleep.

Which made her wonder why she was standing in her room now, on a perfectly lovely Sunday morning, phone in hand, about to call some total stranger so that they could help her figure out her crush. Andrew O. Prentiss of Stamford, Connecticut had written the least scornful and most informative of the books on Lycanthropy legends she'd found last night, and with a little help from the internet she'd tracked down his listed number. Now all she had to do was dial it, and hope he'd be up for a chat.

"Hello?" Said a low, calm voice, answering after the third ring. Renesmee took a breath, and then started.

"Hello… may I please speak to Mr. Andrew Prentiss?"

There was a pause, and then the voice said, "This is he." Renesmee smiled at his slightly stuffy phone manner.

"Oh, good," she said cheerfully. "Mr. Prentiss, My name is Renesmee Cullen. I just recently read your book on Lycanthropy legends and myths, and I was wondering if I might ask you a few questions."

"Is this a prank call?" The voice on the other end of the line had become suddenly suspicious. Renesmee almost laughed.

"No… I really have a few questions for you. Good ones," she added when he didn't respond. "I'm… doing a graduate paper on Native American Mythology, and a few of the legends of the Quileute tribe turned me on to your book, which in turn piqued my interest in a couple things. If you have a minute to talk, I'd really appreciate your help."

"You're familiar with the Quileute tribe and their legends?" Prentiss' voice had dropped to a near whisper. You have no idea, Renesmee thought to herself. "How remarkable," Prentiss said, seemingly to himself, before she had a chance to respond.

"Remarkable? How so?"

"Most peoples' interest in Lycanthropy stems from the movies… Hollywood's 'Werewolf'," He said it like a curse word. "But yours came from the same place mine did… the Quileute tribe. What an unlikely coincidence."

Renesmee almost groaned. She'd been raised by a family who believed staunchly in fate, and thus tended to reject the idea of coincidence. But Fate could sometimes be a bit too in-your-face for her liking… it felt a little too much like being bested sometimes. "Unlikely, for certain," she agreed. "So, would it be alright if I…"

"Certainly! Most people are sick of hearing me talk… my family says if I so much as mention the L word again, I'm banished to the attic." Now Renesmee did laugh. She liked this funny old man.

"I was just wondering about something you alluded to in one of the later chapters. You likened the mating habits of these legendary creatures to a sort of imprinting? Could you… I'd like to hear about that."

"Ah." There was a long pause. "That's the interesting part, isn't it?" He chuckled. "Everybody enjoys a bit of supernatural romance, I suppose."

"Romance?" Renesmee furrowed her brow. "The way it sounded, it was more like a, um… sexual compulsion." She blushed at the word, which she didn't think she'd ever spoken outside of science class, and certainly had never used in conversation with a stranger. But her interest in the topic far overshadowed her embarrassment, and she pushed on. "Is it more?"

"Legend has it that the Lycan mate for life," Prentiss said, as though he was reciting a well thought out speech. "Their mate is seen as their other half, a perfectly matched companion in all ways. The connection has been compared to love at first sight: a strong, unstoppable compulsion to be with, care for and protect one's mate from harm. I was introduced to these legends by someone with a very close connection to the Quileute tribe, many many years ago. She could more than I."

Renesmee felt a surge of hope. If this woman was merely connected to the tribe, and not close to Jacob or Billy or the wolves, maybe she could find out more from her, without Jacob realizing that she was poking around in his business. "Do you think she'd be willing to speak with me?" Renesmee asked, unable to hide her excitement.

"Oh, my Dear," Prentiss said with a sad note in his voice, "She passed on, quite some time ago. Long before you were on this earth, I'm certain." She heard him sigh softly, and then in a somewhat brighter voice, he said, "But if there is anything else I might be able to help you with…"

"I'm sorry," She said, and Prentiss made a sound of friendly acknowledgement. "So, this woman… when she told you about this the… mating habits… of the shape-changers, did she describe how this compulsion manifests itself? Did she, for example, mention anything about over-protective tendencies… jealousy, that sort of thing? Or a constant need for closeness, or contact? And what about the mate? Would this phenomenon cause similar feelings in them? How do they typically respond? And have you ever heard it referred to as 'Imprinting'?" Her rambling was cut short when Prentiss spoke.

"Miss," He said in a low voice, "You're speaking as though these legends were real."

Renesmee stopped cold. How could she have been so careless? She'd gotten carried away, and he knew something was up. "I… that is, I meant hypothetically…"

"You're not writing a paper, are you?" Renesmee couldn't find an answer. "This has nothing to do with you being a grad student." Prentiss wasn't asking her. He knew.

He knew. "I should really be going," she said quickly.

"Please don't hang up," Prentiss urgently cut her off again. "I promise I only wish to help you."

Renesmee was panicking. Her father would kill her if her knew she was talking to complete strangers about their world. Although technically, it was Jacob's world. So really, if anybody had a reason to kill her, it would be Jacob. She had to neutralize this nice old man, and she had to do it quickly. "I really am a student," she said truthfully. "I just—"

"You're one of them," He said, as if it was obvious. Renesmee was stunned, and jumped to her own defense.

"That's crazy… I'm not a shape-shifter…"

"No," Prentiss said seriously, "I meant one of the imprinted." At hearing the words spoken, Renesmee felt an unexpected thrill run from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. Imprinted. It sounded crazy, it sounded ridiculous, and over dramatic, and… right.

"I…" She lost her voice for a moment, recovered it, and continued, "I think I might be."

"Ahh." Prentiss sounded almost reverent. "I knew. All these years… I was right."

Renesmee felt like weeping. The old man sounded so happy, and she couldn't tell if the joy she felt was related to the sound of his voice, or the thing he'd just confirmed for her. "Mr. Prentiss," She said quietly, "I think we should discuss this in person."

"I believe you're right, My Dear. Where are you calling from?"

"Manhattan. I can be at your door in forty minutes, if you're willing to meet me today." Prentiss gave a small, disbelieving tsk.

"At this time of day, with the traffic how it is? That's not possible," He said. Renesmee grinned.

"It is for me."

oooOOOooo

It hadn't been difficult to convince Jacob to stay behind while she went out. Not wanting to use Rideau as an excuse again, particularly given Jacob's misconceptions about their friendship, She had told him that Clara had invited her to her very elite social club. When he'd seen that she was dressed in leggings and an oversized sweater, he'd been suspicious, but Renesmee had told him Clara had an outfit set out for her at the hotel, and she was getting ready there, he'd bought it hook, line and sinker. Before rushing out the door, she'd stopped to look at her best friend, standing in the living room in his track pants and undershirt, bathed in light from the huge windows. She felt an incredible ache at leaving, now almost certain that she was right about the bond between them. But she had to know for sure. The risk was too great for her not to.

"Jacob," she said quietly, and when he turned around she saw a slightly less intense version of the look that had been in his eyes the night before. It was all she could do not to run at him and tell him everything and offer him every part of herself right then and there.

"Yeah, Nessie?" His voice was low, and sad. She ached all over to hear it.

"I'll see you soon," she almost whispered. He'd have been able to hear it, even if she had. "Be… be home later, okay?"

"I'll be here."

"Okay." She didn't trust herself to utter another word, and so she turned and sped from the apartment.

Getting out of the city had been a bit of an issue, but once she was out of the core it was smooth sailing. She'd mapped out the route quickly before leaving home, and found a large strip of forest that ran between the states, broken only every once and a while by strips of highway. She reached Stamford, somewhat rumpled and wind-blown, in under thirty minutes.

From there, it hadn't taken long to find Andrew Prentiss's house.

He answered the door almost immediately after she knocked, looked hopefully through large, round glasses at her. He was short, only a few inches taller than Renesmee's five-foot-two, and looked about seventy human years. He had a friendly, open face, and the eyes behind his thick lenses were a clear, sparkling green. Renesmee couldn't help but beam at him as he peered curiously at her. This was what Grandfathers usually looked like. If Carlisle was human, she could imagine her grandpa appearing very much like this man: Aged but dignified, and very, very wise.

"Mr. Prentiss?" She said, and extended her hand. "I'm Renesmee… uh, Nessie."

"Renesmee," He said, sounding as if her name delighted him (not the reaction she was accustomed to). "Pleased to meet you. I'm Andrew." And they shook hands.

They sat down at his kitchen table. It was a modest house, nothing like any of the places Renesmee had ever lived in. The closest comparison she could find was her grandfather Charlie's house, although the two places weren't really alike. Andrew made tea, and they drank it with a plate of biscuits as they spoke.

"So there's truth to the legends," He said when they were settled, sounding like he barely dared to believe it. "I wanted to believe. I did believe… but after so many years of people thinking you ridiculous for even writing about something as a hypothetical…"

"I understand," Renesmee said. "What I can't figure out is, how did you know? Someone must have told you… but the Quileutes I know are bound, by some very strict laws, to secrecy. Did somebody break the rules to tell you?" She quickly added, "I won't tell, I promise. I just want to know."

"Nobody broke any rules," he said, and his face took on a reminiscent quality. "The woman I told you about before, who first inspired me to look into these legends… she was my grandmother." Renesmee had a tough time thinking about someone who looked so old having grandparents. But then, nobody in her family looked that old. "She told me these stories, the Quileute legends, when I was just a child, and then with more detail when I was a bit older."

"Your grandmother… was she Quileute?" Renesmee felt a small thread of concern… if this kind old man was part-Quileute, there was no telling how he might react to her, half vampire as she was.

"No," he said with a short shake of his head. "She was not. But her first husband… he was."

Renesmee put two and two together. "She was imprinted upon by a member of the pack."

"Pack?" Andrew looked confused, and then began to laugh joyfully. "Of course, they would refer to themselves as such! I can't believe it never occurred to me." He shook his head, still chuckling. "It makes perfect sense. To answer your question… yes. My grandmother was imprinted upon by one of the skin-walkers. She told me stories of him, of how he could change form at will, how he was impossibly large and strong, and how he loved her more than anything else, almost as if compelled by an outside force to protect and care for her. My brothers and sisters thought she was making up stories to amuse us… but I always secretly believed her. When I was older, I researched the tribal legends, and was surprised to learn how similar they were to the stories I'd heard as a child. That's when I went to her, and she told me the rest of the tales… the less child-friendly ones."

Renesmee was on the edge of her seat. "What happened to him," she asked, "Your grandmother's wolf?"

"He was killed," the old man said, looking grim, "By something stronger and more deadly than himself. My grandmother was far away at the time, which is the reason I'm alive today. In time, she was able to move on, marry somebody, and have a family of her own. But she never forgot him, and I think she always loved him best."

"How could she have moved on?" Renesmee asked, not out of judgment but because she simply could not fathom loving and being loved so deeply and ever finding a replacement or substitute. "I don't think I could."

Prentiss smiled at her indulgently. "You are very young, my dear," he said, "And for a woman growing up in the world you've been born into, the options are endless. You can choose to remain alone, or marry, as it suits you. But this was over a hundred years ago… things were not so simple for women back then. My grandmother had no choice but to allow herself to be supported by a man, and when the one she truly loved passed away, she had to find another, or starve. She was very lucky my grandfather was such an open-minded man… most men at that time would have turned their noses up at a woman who'd been previously married, especially if her first husband was of a different race."

Renesmee felt a deep and intense relief that she was a part of her own generation, as ageless and timeless as she sometimes felt, and she found herself wondering what further changes she would see in her lifetime. There was no telling how long she'd live… in a hundred years, would the life she was living at this moment seem as archaic and ridiculous as the one she'd just heard described? "That must have been difficult for her," she said, almost to herself.

"My grandfather was a good man, and he cared for her adequately. She didn't want for anything material, and she was appreciated and admired until the day she died. It could have been far worse. At any rate, I tried to find evidence, years after the fact, that the wolves still existed within the tribe, to no avail. All that was remained of my grandmother's life with the shape-changers were her stories." Prentiss shrugged. "But you didn't come here to talk about my grandmother."

"No," Renesmee admitted. Prentiss just smiled.

"You know, until we spoke, I had no idea there were still wolves in La Push. I thought they'd disappeared, the way the stuff of legends sometimes does, and that there would never be any sure answer to my questions."

Renesmee nodded. "You were right; they did disappear, for a time. I can't say why. But they returned, when there was a need." She leaned forward. "They're good… you should know that. They don't harm human beings… they're fundamentally human, they insist upon that point. They protect, they don't harm unless there's a real reason. They're not monsters."

A look of immense relief passed over the man's face, and for a moment Renesmee feared he might be overcome with emotion. Then, after a long moment, he looked to her and said, "You have done me a great service. I've always hoped, always believed that my grandmother was right. And now, at almost the end of a very long journey, you have confirmed for me what I knew all along. I'm not sure how to thank you."

Renesmee looked at this man, this human man, so glad to finally know his life's obsession had been more than just insanity. She had helped him, she had given him something that no other person could give. She had, she hoped, made his life a little bit brighter. He was not a threat to her wolves; she could see that now. He only wanted to know that he had been right, all along. They shared a small, quiet smile.

There was one more thing, Renesmee realized with a jolt, that she could give this man. It would make him happy. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her small, flat wallet. From within its folds, she drew two small, worn photographs. "I want to show you something," she said, leaning in again and holding out the pictures. The top one was of Jacob, a full-length shot of him standing at the edge of one of the cliffs in La Push. He had his arms spread wide, in a mocking sun-god type of pose, a goofy grin on his upturned face. The sun bathed his bronze skin in an almost otherworldly glow. She'd taken it herself, when they'd gone cliff diving the previous summer.

"That's Jacob," she said, pointing, "My wolf." Prentiss studied the picture with interest, but she knew it wasn't the thing he most wanted to see. So she turned to the next picture. "And here we are, together."

In the picture, a pale, copper-haired girl, Nessie, sat leaning casually against the flank of an enormous russet wolf, at rest with his head on his paws. Seth, who had been with them on the cliff diving trip, had taken the candid shot when neither of them were looking, and presented Renesmee with a print a few days later, having developed it in Alice's darkroom (the creative vampire had taken it upon herself to help Seth find and cultivate a hobby, which the youngest pack member ended up not only enjoying but actually being very proficient at).

"Ahh," Prentiss said in wonder as he looked at the shot. "Incredible…"

Renesmee smiled at him as he handed the pictures back. "I thought you'd like to see. Proof… that you were right."

"Thank you," he nodded. "It's very kind of you to share with me." Then he stopped, frowning. "But if you are with your wolf already, how come you needed to contact me? Couldn't you have asked him yourself, avoided the risk of potentially exposing the… pack… to an outsider?"

Renesmee sighed. "He's… resisting. He's trying to stop himself from giving into the imprint. I'm not sure why… he's known me my whole life, we're best friends, and we've always loved each other, just not… in that sort of way." Prentiss nodded, an impish smile on his face that made him look at least ten years younger.

"I wouldn't be concerned," He said knowingly, "Your wolf will come around. He won't be able to resist for long, particularly with such a lovely mate." Renesmee blushed, and the old man shrugged. "I'm ancient, not dead," he said by way of explanation. She laughed.

They spent a few more minutes before Renesmee stood and made to leave. She gave him the address of the graduate office at the school, where he could write to her if he liked, and told him she would send him a letter every now and then, too. Instinctively, she leaned in at the door and placed a kiss on his withered cheek. "Thank you," she said, "For being honest with me. You might just be the first person in my life who's told me the whole truth."

"Don't be too hard on your wolf," he replied, patting her hand twice and letting it drop. "Sometimes we foolishly think that we're protecting the ones we love by hiding them from the world. I'm sure he means only the best for you."

"I know," she said. And she meant it.

With a final goodbye, Renesmee waved, turned, and walked as quickly as she could towards the forest, where she tore off at top speed for home, and Jacob.

In the next chapter:

Bella looked resigned and miserable. "What if she gets hurt? What if he breaks her heart?"

Edward looked into her eyes and shook his head. "Renesmee is a strong, smart young woman," He said, and then, with a small smile, "Just like her mother was at her age." Bella looked far from comforted at that statement.

"That is exactly what I'm worried about."