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To Guest (1), booklovur217, PhOenIxJaDeBLaCK, twin268, lunasheart, shay205, Guest(2), Me, KYKEMD, kouga's older woman, teamjacob0729, Guest(3), Guest(4), BeckieT108, Flower2001, RoseMarieCraves, Guest(5), Guest(6), Billie333, Anonfan101, dancingbarefoot, xaviorismy1andonly3512, madfangirl, YouHaveGOT2BeKiddingMe, PrincesitaVulturi, TiffaniW, chocolatetae: THANK YOU! You have no idea how much your support means to me!

Important: Someone asked a valid question as to why this story isn't rated M. The answer: this story does not and will never have any explicit situation (sex) described in detail. Nothing that I have written or will write is something that can't be found in a PG-13 movie. With that said, on with the show!

/Then I'd just fade into you:

In your heart, in your head, in your arms, in your bed, under your skin

Till there's no way to know where you end, and where I begin

I wanna melt in, I wanna soak through, I only wanna move when you move

I wanna breathe out when you breathe in

Then I wanna fade into you/

-Fade Into You, Clare Bowen Ft. Sam Palladio

Chapter 4 – Between Truths and Happiness

Everything was peaceful, and beautiful, and so real that I could burst from the emotional overload. Everything was until the water got cold, and my fingers pruned, and I realized that I was naked, and so was Jacob.

We were naked…together.

I was cool, I was. I was composed. Okay, not really, but my brain went into therapy mode and I just kept reminding myself not to hyperventilate.

Don't hyperventilate, don't hyperventilate, but it was so hard not to freak out. Too much, too soon. The pull was suspiciously silent, and Jacob knew. He stood up, lifted a towel and averted his gaze.

His gaze was something that I always want on me, but…

I stood up carefully so as not to fall, and stepped into the towel. He wrapped it around me, and I felt cocooned in the warmth of life.

He left and it was strange, I felt as though the Earth shrank for a moment, until he returned with a shirt and sweats.

He looked me in the eyes then; I was lost and found. He smiled lightly, like he knew, and left, the moment broken, water dripping down my body, shivers racking me with the draft, and all the while I wished I could go back to the beauty of peace, and ethereal-ism, and emotional overload.

I wished that I could go back to before the world shrank, and I realized that this experience couldn't be just me. I'm not crazy, I'm not.

I knew I wasn't crazy, and the realization was so overpowering that it brought me to my knees.

I replay it over and over in my mind as I sit on Jacob's sofa. We're talking, and laughing, and normal.

"So, did you freak out when you saw I wasn't there to pick you up?" Jacob teases me.

"No," I lie. "I barely noticed."

"Yea, like a heart attack, right?" he responds jokingly. Too bad he's surprisingly right on the mark.

"I'm surprised your ego can fit through the door!" I can't help but laugh, his attitude is infectious. His self-confidence creates a bubble of warmth where I feel safe being as confident as him.

"Hey," Jacob smirks. "Hate the player, not the game."

"Oh," I roll my eyes. "So original!"

We laugh, but soon the laughter drips away and intensity takes its place. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

I look away, but the pull yanks. It wants all of my focus on him. Maybe with my books I could refuse, but – Wait! My book! I remember that I left them outside, uncaring of them in the wake of Jacob's all-encompassing presence.

But I need them – no! The pull squeezes, and the knowing tells me that I don't need anything except for Jacob. But that can't be true…I've always needed my books, as far as I can remember needing a friend. Pull.

I want to race through the door and find them—Pull.

I know what to do, but I'm scared. Jacob, not knowing what's going on, but realizing something's going on, lends me his hand. His hand is slightly calloused and he burns with a fever so bright that all I can focus on is the juxtaposition of our fires—his outside, mine inside.

The fire replaces the need for my first love. Jacob replaces it. And I can breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Breathe.

"So, how about those basketball teams?" I joke. The intensity lessens, but it hangs around the corner, waiting for the next moment to return.

"What do you know about basketball?" Jacob inquires, his hands still in mine. It feels right. Mine.

"What do you want to teach me about it?" I try to flirt, but I'm not sure I'm doing it correctly. I've never had to try before. I've never wanted to try.

"Baby, I'd teach you everything and then some," he smiles wide, and I can't help the giggle that erupts from me. I've never been much of a giggler, either. So much change. Too much, not enough.

The bubble pops.

I can't stand the ruse. The pretense of it all. Laughing and joking when all I seem to want is to drown in him, and be reborn into a woman he can't live without.

The fire burns steady, and comfortable.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asks me, too perceptive. His eyes, chocolate, see all.

"What's going on?" I ask. There's something in his eyes, akin to realization. Or maybe I just wish it is, so I don't feel so alone. But the pull nudges and I know I'll never be alone. Never is a long time. Never.

"What do you mean? What's going on with us? Or…?" He sidesteps. Or maybe he's just seeking clarification. But I remember the amber eyes that spoke of an untamable beast. I remember the fire and the pull. I remember everything that has to do with Jacob, even from before. That's not normal. Yet, nothing else has ever felt so normal.

I can't be feeling this alone, can I? No, I know I'm not crazy, anymore.

"I mean, what's going on?" It was the best way to describe it all—without describing it at all.

He sighs and leans forward, forearms on knees, shoulders filled with the weight of the world. I instantly want to take the question back. The last thing I ever want to cause Jacob is more worry, but…

Family. Pack.

I need answers. Any answer will do at this point. Any understanding and vindication that I'm really not crazy.

But it's only been a few weeks; maybe I don't deserve any answers.

He's taking too long to answer—maybe I've imagined it all. A trick of the light, a developing problem with my heart that I think is linked with him, a—

"What do you think is going on?" he asks. It feels like we're playing round robin, and I might be losing horribly. My hands start to itch for my books, to ground myself. But now isn't the time to get distracted.

This conversation matters more than any we've ever had, between the jokes and the shared amusements. This matters, so I steel myself against the urge to run, the urge to grip Jane Austen and be as tough as Elizabeth Bennet.

"I think that something awesome is happening, but I don't know what it is." I start, feeling out the words carefully in my mouth. Every word counts. Pull. I know, I know. I shake my head at myself, talking back to the pull. Pull. "It feels like you—you and me, we're everything right now. And sometimes I get mad. Not like I got an F, but like I'm on Jerry Springer mad, but I don't have any reason to be so mad. It—the anger—doesn't feel like me. It feels…it feels like you," I finish, averting eye contact.

There's only so much bravery I can muster spontaneously. I play with the strings on his sweats, wondering if it all has really been in my head.

"I feel you, too" Jacob whispers, and suddenly my gaze is taking him in, and he's hauled me onto his lap, my legs on either side of him.

"Why?" I whisper. I'm terrified of what I don't know or understand. I want to scratch and claw out of my skin to get under his skin. I want to bleed reasons to love him, like it feels I'm starting to.

But I can't start to love him. It's only been two weeks, for god sakes!

"Because we're special," he says huskily, head buried in my hair. I love the way he speaks to me, like I'm strong enough, and vulnerable enough. Like I'm everything. "My people, we can look into someone's eyes and know whether or not they're the one."

"Like soul mates?" I whisper back. We're sharing secrets of the most important kind—secrets of the heart I think.

"Imprint," he grips me a little tighter, but I'm not going anywhere. I run my hands through his hair, and he relaxes. "Soul mates are the other half, right? Imprints are better; Imprints are already whole, but with one look, two people—you and me—we merge. We stamp our souls into each other. It's why we can feel each other, the anger, the happiness, the want, everything."

Too much, not enough.

There's so much that makes sense, and yet, so much that doesn't. Questions answered, but now I feel as though I just have a different set of questions.

"Why do people imprint?" I'm barely breathing. He's barely breathing. We.

The air around us feels electric, wonderful, and horrible simultaneously. There's a burden that seems to lift off of Jacob's shoulder's and settle in the air around us, waiting to fall on the both of us.

"To…protect better," Jacob chooses his words too carefully. He's hiding something. I'm being paranoid. Pull. Fire. Okay, maybe not.

"Jacob," I push back to look him in the eyes. "Just…tell me. I won't run." I wouldn't be able to run, even if I wanted to. We. We're linked now, forever.

Forever is a long time, but apparently that's the point.

"I'm the future chief of my tribe," he starts, and the burden in the air is getting heavier with every word. "It's not just pushing paper, and going to Indian Affairs meetings. There's a legacy that's more than government understanding. This legacy, it runs in my blood like the rivers in the world, y'know? It's more than anything out there, and it transforms me. It literally transforms me into the fiercest protector out there—wolf."

And the burden falls from the air around us, and almost breaks me with its shared heaviness.

My brain runs wild, but the pull finally acknowledges truth, and the fire breathes in honesty. I don't know what to do, what the correct response is.

"Family, pack," I whisper, finally understanding. He nods his head, and I want to vomit. But the anxiety in his eyes reel me in, ground me, adjust the circle of need in my life, and I try to comfort him. "So, y—you eat people? Like in Blood and Chocolate?"

My comforting skills clearly need help, but frankly, I had nothing else. I didn't want to die. But he would never hurt me, Imprint.

"We only hunt to protect our own," Jacob explains. But his explanation doesn't answer the real question.

"What do you hunt?" I'm barely breathing. I can't breathe. Please don't say people. Please don't say people. Pull. I growl at myself. I'm tired of the pull and the fire and the knowing. I need to hear him say the truth.

Too soon, not enough.

"Maybe that's enough for now—"

"No," the word rips out of me. I don't want to know. I have to know. Too soon, not enough. I try to explain, anyway. "I'm in this, whatever this is. I—I'm not sure what any of this means, and I'm not fully convinced that everything that has happened between us isn't the product of some weird delusion. Maybe I'm sick with a fever and this entire conversation is a dream. But…I don't care. I choose to believe in this—this dream. I choose you and insanity rather than lose this—this feeling that you give me, and this knowing, and fire, and pull. I—I choose you, so…"

I trail off, lost in feeling, and hoping that he feels the same way I do.

But his silence scares me. Maybe the imprint isn't as strong as I thought. Perhaps the merge isn't as powerful as he made it out to be.

"We hunt," he begins, and it's answer enough. He feels the way I do. He feels me. Imprint. "But we don't kill. We can't kill what's not really alive, right?" he smiles bitterly.

I don't understand. Everything is alive, isn't it? He reads the confusion on my face, and his eyes are haunted. I feel his fear, but I won't run. He knows I won't run. Pull. He's afraid of changing my world. I try to project my feelings to him, but I don't know if it worked. I don't know anything, but his hands burn my skin through the shirt. He burns like I burn.

"We destroy," he continues, and the amber licks his eyes, threatening to come back. The fire rages a bit, but it feels familiar, now. Home. "We hunt and destroy…things…that shouldn't exist. Y'know, my people, they believe in a balance. They say that we, the pack, exist to restore the balance that they ruin. My people call them the cold ones—"

Gasp. Exhale. Inhale. Breathe.

I don't know what "cold ones" are, but they sound bad. Really bad. The way Jacob speaks of them, with such barely masked fury, reminds me of my aversion to the Cullens.

"Who are they?" Cullens, I know. Maybe not. Know.

"The way it's told," he looks through me, into the past, the present, the future, the infinite moment called history. "A male cold one came on a sunny day with blood all over it, shining in the light. It's how the people knew to run in fear, and the wolves knew something was wrong. The smell filled them with rage. This was the thing that had been killing in our parts. This was the thing that dared try to kill our people…" he trails off.

He's lost in the history in his mind. This information is terrifying, but intriguing.

"How does the story end? What happened"

"With us," Jacob says, his baritone shakes me to the core. "The Pack happened."

"Are—" I try to ask, but I can only deal with bravery in small doses.

"Yes," he answers my unspoken question. The Cullens are cold ones.

I have a barrage of more questions, but I can sense the toll this has taken on him, his soul. The burden is twofold now, somehow. But at least we share it. At least he's not alone and burdened.

Or this could all still be a figment of my imagination while I'm lying on my deathbed with a killer fever.

Silence takes a seat between us, and it lingers for a while. He's letting me process everything, and emotion fills me up to the brim. I am grateful, and so many other things that I couldn't name if given a thousand years.

He understands, and lets it all be, for now.

I need more time than I have, so I take a breath. He breathes with me. Us.

"So, what's the deal with Paul and Lauren?" I awkwardly try for a change in subject.

His laughter sings, and a blush rushes through me.

He probably thinks I'm just nosy, but a smile graces my lips as I see the twinkle in his eyes. Maybe, for that smile, I'd be nosy any day. Maybe, I'm simply a little bit nosy, sans imprint or change.

Merge, not re-make. Together.

An hour has passed after Jacob's bomb, and we haven't moved an inch. I don't think he wants me to move, and I sure don't want to either. We.

The door opens abruptly and a bulky man, just as large as Jacob, but shorter by half an inch or so, barges in. His presence startles me and I leap off of Jacob's lap. Unfortunately, I forgot about my constant battle with gravity, and I fall to the floor with a loud thud.

Considering the imprint, I would expect Jacob to leap to my rescue, or at least attempt one. But, instead, he watches as I fall. A moment passes, and his booming laughter fills the space where I had been sitting.

This man laughs too, and I want to huff in annoyance, but the pull coils in happiness. Pack. Family. Oh.

"You alright down there?" Jacob asks me as he lends me a hand. I nod, a blush bright on my face from embarrassment, and smile.

"This is Sam," he introduces us. Sam goes to speak, but I cut him off—the imperative to acknowledge him overpowers me for a moment.

"Pack," I say. Sam's eyes light up in some kind of recognition, but I don't know of what. Know. Pull.

But I don't want to be overpowered by the pull. Maybe my response was too much, too soon.

"Yea," Sam nods, and moves forward to embrace me. So many hugs in one day, so many strangers touching me…but they're not strangers. Pack. Family.

The pull reacts, and he can sense that I'm hitting my limit for the day on non-normal experiences. I know that he can, but not like Jacob. Never like Jacob can. Imprint.

Sam, instead, lays a hand on my head for a second. Contact. Pack. Relax. Safe.

"So, what's up, Sammy?" Jacob smiles, a little too brightly. Sam frowns and growls a bit, deep in his throat; Jacob just smiles wider. Guess, he doesn't like being called "Sammy."

"Old Quil sent me to get you," Sam replies, shoulder's relaxed. Their momentum from relaxed-to-angry-to-relaxed almost gives me whiplash but I hold it together. I have to.

"Who's Old Quil?" I ask, mostly because I want Jacob's eyes on me. I'm sure he can feel my desire. I finally realize that I can feel his—his desire for me is like a solitary raindrop in a storm, rushing through me so fast that I can miss it if I'm not searching for it.

"He's the Medicine Man of our Tribe," Sam answers.

"He's also on the council," Jacob provides. The way they talk around each other leaves me in awe for a moment. They talk like a circle, no beginning, no ending. Pack. Together. One.

"If your dad's the Chief, why do you need a council?" I want to know as much as I can about him, about his people, about his pride.

"Think of it like a trusted circle, there to help guide my father when there are tough decisions to be made," Jacob explains huskily. Sam looks away; apparently, information on the tribe is a pretty intimate thing, and the pull lances at the prospect of sharing something so intimate with him. "Ultimately, the tough decisions can only be made by the Chief, but every leader needs help sometimes. That's what the council is there for. They're supposed to be the best of our tribe, there to give their trusted opinions in all matters."

"Do you have a council? As…you know, wolves?" I look into his eyes, wondering if I overstepped my bounds. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. I look into him, and see myself, scared, but terrified of not knowing the answers. Breathe.

"No," Jacob tucks a lock of my hair behind my ears. "We don't have a council. There's one council, and that's for the chief. What we, I, have is a hierarchy. A chain of command that runs deeps in our bones. Even if we didn't want to be in a certain position, the imperative to dominate would force us to take what's in our blood to take."

I don't get it, and yet, the pull understands perfectly. It's practically purring at the thought of what it knows.

"What's your position?" the knowing is strong, but the need to hear him admit what I feel is strong, too.

"Alpha," he lays the palm of his hand on my neck, and I shift my head, baring my neck slightly.

The movement is automatic, but I don't quite get it. Any outsider would see us, and wouldn't know, the movement was so slight. But we know.

"Don't," Jacob says harshly. His eyes are on fire. I feel the fire, too. "Don't ever bare your neck to me. Y—you're more than that. I don't want you to submit to me ever."

I don't want to submit to him, either. Just the thought petrifies me, but the pull wants it so bad. I shake my head; I can't be ruled by it. I have to be stronger than the pull.

"Sorry," I murmur in reflex, and look away. Sam hasn't looked our way since he turned his face.

"Don't be sorry," Jacob says softly, apologizing without words. "I know how hard this can be. I just need you to try—try to be better than this. Rise above it, and not lose yourself to it. To me."

I can feel his fear, and I fear with him, so much. I want him so bad that it's crippling, and there are so many imperatives that assault me that I feel like I'm swimming in the middle of the ocean. I don't want to let him consume me any more than he wants to consume me, either.

"Hey—hey," I try to deescalate the situation; my hands smooth over his chest. My own anxieties are raising his. "We're okay. Equal, right? We're okay. Just need some more practice in this, right?"

"Right," he takes a deep breath.

"So, what did Old Quil want?" I ask Sam; we need a change in subject desperately.

Sam seems to understand the shift, and he congratulates me with a smile—it's not as warm as Jacob's or as breathtaking as Paul's, but it has its own merit. It's a steady smile that speaks of a trustworthy man.

"I don't know, but it's been a while. He's probably catching a hissy fit by now," Sam jokes, and we all let out a dry laugh.

It's the best that Jacob or I can do right now. We. Together even in our fears and anxiety.

"You should probably get going then," I shove Jacob away playfully. The pull stiffens, not understanding that it's a joke. My breathing picks up slightly, and Jacob's fingers are running through my hair in an instant.

"We're good, honey," he says huskily. "We're good."

The pull relaxes after a moment, and a blush attacks me fiercely. Sam, pack, brother to Jacob, just witnessed me have a mini breakdown.

I want to sink inside of a deep dark hole, only to come out when Sam is grey, old, and suffering from dementia and can't remember the spectacle I just made of myself.

He must have known my thoughts, because he smiles kindly and jokingly says, "Don't worry, at least you're not screaming Jacob's name at night. Emily wouldn't stop screaming my name when she slept for months. Finally, we just moved in together—she wouldn't let anyone in her house get any sleep otherwise!"

Emily must be another imprint. Like me. A sister.

"When am I—I mean, do I—" I stumble over my words. I really want to meet her. Someone like me. Proof.

I'm sure they can sense my excitement, even if they were blind and couldn't see it on my face.

"Soon enough," Jacob says with finality, but not unkindly. I wonder what he's thinking, but the imprint can't go that far. Just feelings—shadows of his emotions run through me. Not words. Not tangible thoughts.

The lack disappoints me, but I know I'm just being selfish. To know his thoughts would be too much. It would be an invasion of his privacy.

Privacy. Home. Speaking of…

"How am I getting home? Paul dropped me off, but he lef—"

"He's outside, waiting," Jacob and Sam answer simultaneously. I look between them, trying to see more than I can.

I finally shake my head and move towards the door. I don't want to know.

"Bella?" Jacob calls out to me as I reach the door. I turn, triumphant. I had ignored the pull, the wanting, the fire which wanted to keep me by his side.

I raise my eyebrows in inquiry. I'm feeling high off of my limited exertion of power. I may be imprint but I'm not submissive. Equal. That's what Jacob needs, and something I'd be proud to be.

"I think Charlie might take exception to you walking through the door wearing my clothes and barefoot," Jacob teases me.

I'm completely mortified, and start to light up like a tomato.

But Jacob's laughter follows me into the bathroom where my clothes and shoes are, and I decide that I'd embarrass myself every day for the rest of forever if he had the same response each time.

The fire licks at me, but it's not my fire—it's his. It licks and nips, and burns the best possible burn that exists, and I know that he's with me. He feels what I feel with me, and I smile. We.

Soooo? What do you guys think? I realized that, though my aim is to make this story as down to Earth as possible, I may not be succeeding. Actually, I'm scared to think that I am failing horrible at it—what you guys think? Anywho, love it? Hate it? Let me know and Review! :)