Chapter Twenty-Nine
1 When Jasper, Bella, and Renesmee reached the hotel where Caius and his entourage were staying, the short and androgynous-looking woman named Corin was already waiting for them in the lobby. Not being an idiot, Jasper had gotten the Volturi leader's number before even leaving La Push for Tijuana, and had called him before agreeing to meet. Bella almost asked him why they didn't contact Caius earlier, but it didn't matter. They were here. This was their great moment. It was her great moment. Finally, her time to shine had arrived.
As she followed Corin and Jasper, holding the 'sleeping' Renesmee in her arms, she couldn't help but remember her transformation, all the pain and horror and hopelessness. The torment had been so great, she had forgotten why Edward had bitten her, had forgotten the names of the people closest to her, had even forgotten her own name. Everything had seemed so pointless. She still remembered with perfect clarity how she'd thought that whatever benefits vampirism might bring, it could never be worth the unspeakable torture of transformation. The first few months had confirmed this, as had her first day as a functioning vampire.
Then, Jasper had replaced both Jacob and Edward, and had shown her that there was a way to achieve some sort of peace, derive some sort of satisfaction from her existence. Guilt was for mortals. She had no intention of ever going back to being useless, to feeling alien in her own body. Never again would she feel like her body was a stony fortress; never again would she be stupid and slow and guilt-ridden and regretful. She'd asked herself a lot of questions; a particularly unpleasant argument with Edward came to mind, during which she'd come to the conclusion that she'd always loved the allure of his sparkly perfection, but never him as a person.
Back then, this had made her want to reflect about herself and all her choices, but what good did that do? None. She understood that her choices had been naïve and selfish and pretty stupid. That didn't change a thing. It didn't undo the fact that she was a vampire, that she was a technically dead and an absolutely parasitic, supernatural creature that brought nothing but death and suffering to those around her. Why flagellate herself by feeling guilty and adhering to a diet that made her weak and stupid and that tasted like hot garbage, as Jasper had so aptly put it? Why not, instead, wash her hands of guilt and just exist the way her nature demanded? It was so much easier. Guilt was a bag of bricks. She had no intention of carrying it around for the rest of eternity…however long that might be. It might only be a few more days. It might, on the other hand, be thousands of years. Who wanted to wander the Earth dressed in rags, doing penance, feeling guilty for crimes that could not be undone, anyway? What good would that do to the loved ones of those who had been killed? The dead would remain dead. There was no changing that.
No, Bella had no use for guilt, and neither did anyone else with half a brain. It was a human concept that only applied to humans. She was a vampire. She was above and beyond any of it – all of it. Forever.
In the hotel room waited Caius, Chelsea, Alec, and Jane. The balcony doors were closed and the thick curtains pulled shut.
"Put the dhampir on the bed in the larger bedroom," Caius said, without preamble.
This was fine by Bella. She was beyond wishing for any pleasantries and small talk. Heck, she'd never been much of a social person even while human. Without saying a word, she carried her motionless daughter into said room and placed her on the bed. The girl had grown. How was this even possible? Well, it soon wouldn't be Bella's problem anymore. She'd never wanted kids, anyway. She'd never wanted to be a teenage housewife stuck with an infant.
She'd never wanted to be her mom. That was the truth, plain and simple. Bella had always condescended to her mom to the point of contempt. Renée had made all the wrong choices; she'd gotten herself pregnant way too young, had married a dull man who never had any ambitions to better his lot in life, had never had the wits to make something of herself, and had ended up being completely ordinary. What kind of life was that? A happy one, a life full of joy and love, Renée always said, but what use did Bella have for human happiness anymore? She hadn't wanted it as a human, and now? Even if she once had, that ship had now sailed.
"Don't touch the little brat. She's mighty contagious," Jasper said, exaggerating his natural southern drawl in a way that just had to be deliberate. He and the others had followed Bella.
They positioned themselves around the bed and watched the unconscious little girl in silence for a while. She looked positively enchanting, with her creamy white skin, her flawlessly symmetrical features, her plump and dark-red lips, her thick chestnut curls. This was a perfect child, and yet, there was no place for her in this world. A pity, really.
"This is not the first dhampir we've ever dealt with," Jane, who was by the window, said flatly. She didn't emote, didn't blink, only breathed when she needed to speak. There was nothing human left in her anymore.
"According to Demetri, she is the most powerful one he's ever seen," Bella said, feeling something akin to pride as she returned Jane's look without flinching. Not only could tiny little Jane do nothing to harm her, but Bella could one-up her and every other vampire woman: she had given birth to a half-vampire child, which was special in and of itself, and her daughter was the most powerful dhampir in existence. There was no topping that. Why again had she doubted her own exceptionality? She was more special than she'd at first wanted to give herself credit for.
Caius pointed at the pinkish line crossing Renesmee's snow-white throat. "You removed its ability to speak?"
"We figured we shouldn't take the risk," Jasper said, from Bella's right side. He sounded chipper, as if commenting on the weather. It had been a good idea, too – pragmatic and efficient. This was Jasper in a nutshell…well, that and a healthy dose of sadism, but he had good reasons for this, and Bella really couldn't care less. "Her healing powers are amazing, and they keep getting stronger. She's been technically dead for a while, but she keeps growing."
"That's…that's pretty awful," Chelsea said, making a face, taking a step back toward the door. "Poor girl."
"This poor girl has condemned dozens of people to death. If it were up to her, she'd enslave the whole world, and she wouldn't be too squeamish about her methods, either. The humans she corrupted started rotting from the inside while they were still alive," Jasper said, sounding rather entertained. "She may look cute, but she's a nasty little monster."
"Which isn't her fault," Chelsea said, clearly not amused at all.
Jasper looked at her as if she'd said something particularly brain-dead. "Which makes no difference whatsoever."
"It's reasonable to assume that her powers will grow beyond vocal control," Corin said, her voice emotionless and level. She didn't seem like a person who had much tolerance for nonsense.
"They already have," Bella said, her own tone or posture expressing nothing. "She apparently can exert some sort of control over those she's infected even like this, with her neck broken."
Caius and Corin exchanged a brief look, as did Alec and Jane.
"We'll break more of its bones and tie it up," Jane said. "I'll watch over it. I suppose it will not be immune to my gift." She wasn't asking a question.
"No," Caius said, stepping slowly closer to the bed, his eyes fixed on Renesmee's lifeless, perfectly symmetrical features. "No. She's no threat like this."
All the other vampires looked at each other with varying degrees of irritation.
Chelsea said, "Boss-"
"It's my decision. There's no reason to waste more resources on this child. It will be enough to have her mother by her side."
"Okay, then," Jasper said, when no-one else would speak. "So, friends and allies, when do we wipe out the wolves?"
2 For a moment, they all just stood there in front of that open cell, thunderstruck. Atenulf was on the stone floor, on his knees, bound and secured. His black eyes were fixed on the girl in the cell; his face was a contorted mask of pure agony. He was shaking badly – not breathing, not blinking. He also made no attempt to move.
Aro lightly touched Atenulf's temple with his fingertips. His own eyes went wide. He looked down at his prisoner, then at the guards, then finally at Irina. A smile spread across his face; it was genuine and warm and incredibly mesmerising. Everyone was staring at him in awe, including Atenulf. It was impossible not to. To Irina, it felt as if the air became warm, but not only that. The warmth was palpable, almost like a living thing, pervading every frozen cell of her re-animated body, making her feel like she was a part of nature again, making her feel like she had living tissue, making her feel alive. How could one not stare at the source of such contagious happiness, of such relief, slack-jawed and in wonder? He was like sunshine after a thousand years of nuclear winter. It was nothing short of amazing. She couldn't help but smile, and neither could anyone else. Even Fiora in her cell was smiling, her big, round, brown eyes brimming over with tears that spilled down her flawless cheeks.
That was when it hit Irina. Fiora, the powerful dhampir that had brought an empire to its knees with the power of her mind, was now under the spell of the emperor's overwhelming charm.
So was her father.
Atenulf was smiling, first at Aro, then at his child. His eyes were still black and he must still be in awful pain, but for the moment, it all didn't seem to matter as much. He was happy. He was out of his cell and seeing his baby and he was visibly happy.
There was no sign of him being coerced to help the girl escape. There was no sign of mind corruption at all.
Aro, who was still holding the fingertips of his right hand to Atenulf's snow-white temple, who was still seeing and hearing every thought the other vampire had ever had, smiled merrily; his pure and unadulterated joy was not only contagious, but also permitted only one conclusion. "Finally," he said, and it was a quiet sound of incredulity, of relief.
"Finally," Atenulf whispered back, and laughed.
3 "There are, in my humble opinion, a lot of variables in this plan thing that we can't even hope to calculate," Jerry told June morosely, after they'd both just sat on her motel bed, legs outstretched, each digging into a nice bucket of sugary ice-cream in solemn silence for about ten minutes.
After their meeting with the barely civil Mr Uley, they'd driven back to Forks in order to gather their strength for the upcoming absurdities. Everyone knew the exact bat-place they needed to be at the precise bat-channel, but the problem was, there were too many people who needed to behave in an expected manner in order for anything even remotely work. If anyone decided to go off-script, then they'd all be very, very screwed.
"I'm just glad we're not openly mulling over the infallible plan," June said, mouth half-full with chocolate chip and vanilla. "The moment we talk about how we're gonna do what is when destiny will decide to throw us a curve-ball and derail the entire thing, because nobody wants to read the same shit twice. That would just be lampshading failure."
He made a face at her, wiped his lips with a napkin, and replied, "Everything is not a story, you know. We're not in a movie, and nobody wrote a script. This is our life you're pretending is some sort of cosmic fiction. There is no superimposed narrative rule of cool deciding what's gonna happen to us."
Unimpressed, she shrugged, said, "Call it a superstition, then," and heaped more ice-cream on her spoon. "Also, just relax, will ya? You heard both Sam and Demetri: vampires are predictable. They like routine. They always behave in a predictable way. We need to predict the variables of that range, and we have. We'll be fine." She stuck the spoon in her mouth and patted her friend's jeans-clad leg.
"I wish I had your optimism regarding the future," he said, and heaved what she knew to be a deliberately theatrical sigh.
She nudged him with her shoulder. "You know, my only regret will be not being able to tell anyone."
A moment passed during which neither of them said anything else. Then, out of the blue, he leaned over and placed a cool kiss on her temple. "I really hope that'll turn out to be true."
She smiled up at him. "It will, Lopes. Trust me."
They finished eating in peaceful, comfortable silence.
4 "Caius won't pick up the phone again, but I'll text him once we've met our allies, telling him when we'll get there, and where exactly this meeting is supposed to happen," Demetri said, keeping his eyes on the road and respecting the speed limit like the good boy that he was.
They were driving northward through California, had been for a few hours now. Leah had wanted to keep driving during the entire night, but both Demetri and Charlie had put the kibosh on that. Charlie said that his head was killing him and that he was always one second away from barfing all over the place. Leah, however, had the strong suspicion that the real reason was her stupid chest wound. It was healing, but being bumped around in a moving car on often sub-par roads wasn't exactly helping, and so, she'd grudgingly agreed to spend a few hours in a motel. When they set out very early the next morning, she couldn't help remarking that their little trio truly was the stuff of legends.
Demetri, wearing the last pair of contacts he still had on him, and hiding the epic vampire sparkle from the Californian sunshine, had replied that it was only about to get even more epic.
To this, Leah had had nothing to say. She had no idea how to feel about the people they were going to meet, about what that meant not only for their little comic book scheme, but for herself, for how she perceived herself, for what place she might have in a world that was changing faster than anyone could understand. She tried telling herself that it meant and changed nothing, but it did. This might be a meeting that, for want of a less melodramatic word, was portended.
"I'll make my own call as soon as the worst of the mess is over," Charlie said, dragging Leah out of her sullen ruminations. "Provided we don't get caught in the interim. I'm pretty sure the FBI is looking for me even as they try to find out whether my bones are among those of" – He pressed his fist to his lips and cleared his throat – "my former colleagues."
"Sooner or later, they'll be looking for me and Leah, too," Demetri said, driving by a slow, black-smoke-spitting truck. "In fact, they probably already are. They might not have connected the dots yet, as it were, but they will, and soon; everything that happened was way, way too conspicuous, and Ms Cassidy's little online guessing game pointed the spotlight right in my face."
"Mine, too," Leah said quietly, her voice croaky. She was still lying on the backseat, propped up slightly by pillows, trying to relax and therefore speed up the healing process. "And my people's. We're all in danger of discovery, and that vlog didn't help, but I don't blame her. She had no idea." Idly, she unwrapped a granola bar and started chewing on it. The more calories went in, the quicker she'd get on her feet again.
"Blame me and mine, instead," Demetri said, glancing at her through the rear-view mirror. "Traipsing around like we own the place. It was bound to backfire at some point."
"Nah, you're good," Charlie said, sipping coffee out of a thermos they'd borrowed from the beach house in Tijuana. He waved off, shrugged, and looked out the passenger-side window. "You don't kill people, you paint over the glitter, and you don't throw money in everyone's face all the time. Can't speak for the asshole threatening the Quileute community, or anyone else you usually work with, but you're okay."
"Just because I'm undead, it doesn't mean I have to behave like a barbarian."
Leah didn't even have to look at him to know that he was kidding. Yuppie Vamp and his dry sense of humour. "You sure you ain't actually British?" she said, mangling the English language on purpose, as well as drawling in a parody of a nearly unintelligible Texas accent. "Darned Red Coats. Gosh darn 'em all to motherfucking heck! Wait, that went wrong."
Charlie didn't look at her, but snorted dry laughter. Coffee spewed from his nostrils. "Dang it. Wasn't even that funny."
"No, it wasn't funny at all, as a matter of fact," Demetri said, calm and collected. "Her jokes are terrible."
She shoved the rest of the granola bar into her mouth, snickered, and closed her eyes. If she did end up crashing and burning, at least she'd burn and crash in the company of good people – of good friends.
6 "Whatever this actually means, people, we've stumbled onto another baffling side of this huge mystery involving the so-called Cullen family. Are they time-travellers? Are they somehow able to slow their ageing? Are they undead? Is this some hyper-advanced form of plastic surgery? We'll keep you all posted. Thank you so much for watching, and don't forget to subscribe!"
The woman sitting in the middle of the old, battered couch flipped the equally battered laptop shut and sat back in stony silence. Only with the greatest effort did she resist running her strong, calloused fingers through her short, curly, nearly black hair. There wasn't a mirror around, but she felt a little light-headed and cold, meaning that despite the iron control she had on her body language and facial expressions, she couldn't stop her usually brown skin from taking on an ashen quality.
Everyone else present in the room, sitting next to her or just huddled around the couch, was just as silent, but not as controlled. Someone cleared their throat. Someone else shuffled their feet on the wooden-planks-covered floor. Fabric rustled. Knuckles popped. Teeth gnashed. The tension was so thick, it could be smelled, tasted, cut with a knife.
At some point, someone said, "Vampires." It was Ariel. His voice was thick and shaky. All his hatred, disgust, all his fear was poured into that one little word.
The woman on the couch knew exactly how he felt. She didn't want to say anything. She didn't want to have to make any kind of decision. Least of all did she want to tell her people that they needed to run again, that they were no match for those sparkling, living dead monsters. But if wishes were horses and all that. Bemoaning one's fate never changed a damn thing. She resisted the urge to scratch the thick scar that looked like it dragged down the right half of her face, opened her mouth to speak, and…
…her little old cell phone screeched its tinny ringtone into the room, making everyone jump.
A few people chuckled awkwardly.
She dug the phone out of the pocket of her washed-out jeans, squinted at the greenish display, didn't recognise the number, and took the call. "Who is this?" Here was to hoping to any deity that might be listening this was not the harbinger of a killing crew trying to pinpoint her and her people's precise location.
"Blake." The sweet-sounding young man's voice at the other side of the not-too-stellar connection made her skin erupt in gooseflesh. There was something just off about it, no matter how many times she told herself to just ignore it, something…something inhuman. "Do you know who I am?"
"Sure." How was she supposed to forget one of the few friendly sparkling corpses she'd ever met? People around her were eyeing her with curiosity and suspicion. She stood up, motioned them to be patient, and stepped to the window, even though the shutters were drawn. All those curious faces were distracting, and she had a feeling that she was about to be forced to make one of the most important decisions of her life. "What do you want, Demetri?"
"I want to find a way to save a whole tribe of werewolves, and if you help me and my friends, it could finally mean freedom from persecution for you and yours." He didn't hold back. Never had.
She closed her eyes and breathed in a lungful of dusty, stale, warm air. "By all means, talk to me."
That same night, Blake and two of her people set out, travelling south, toward the Canadian-American border. Maybe the vampire was right. Maybe it really was time to bring about real change. In any case, this was no way to live. Something needed to change, for better or for worse, and she was tired of running.
7 For most of the night, Caius stayed with Bella in Renesmee's room, quiet, taciturn, staring at the little girl as if she were either the messiah or the antichrist. Bella could hear Renesmee's body fixing itself, her bones mending more quickly every time, her brain recovering from the lack of oxygen, her body maturing. Was it even possible to kill her? From Demetri, Bella had learned that most dhampirs were eliminated as soon as they were found, that all of them were eliminated eventually depending on how strong their powers were; but none had ever been as powerful as Renesmee Carlie Cullen. She was a marvel of nature, that child, part immortal and part human.
Okay, that description didn't make much sense as someone was either immortal or not, much as one was either pregnant or not. Then again, a few years ago Bella would have argued that someone was either dead or alive, and here she was, somehow both. That made her more undead than immortal, but the point was that she neither aged nor got sick, and…
…what had she been thinking about, again?
Oh, right, her daughter. Could Renesmee be killed for good? Could fire destroy her, or perhaps decapitation? Fire was the most likely candidate, especially because it was the only thing that could put a permanent end to a full vampire.
It was moot to ruminate about such things, anyway. They would all find out soon enough. Odds were, Bella's team would be able to closely observe the effects of fire on at least one enemy vampire and many enemy wolves.
"I wonder if she's dreaming," Caius said, not taking his eyes off the child.
From the room next door, Bella heard Caius's bodyguard, Corin, turn herself around in what had to be surprise. Bella herself was mildly intrigued by this reaction, as well. Caius hadn't, so far, struck her as the kind of person who gave a damn about someone's mental state or even dreams.
"She must be somewhat aware," she said, watching him. "She was able to influence Jacob Black, the wolf who had imprinted on her, even as her neck was broken. I'm pretty sure part of her knows exactly what's going on."
"Somewhat aware," he echoed lowly. "Trapped in between."
Bella felt herself frowning a little. "Yes," she said, wary. "I think so." What was going on with him, anyway? Not that she knew him at all well, but from what she'd so far gathered, he wasn't exactly the philosophical type.
Then again, this was a several-millennia-old vampire, and Renesmee was, for all intents and purposes, the most fascinating child on the planet. If anything alleviated an immortal's boredom, it was ruminating about something new and unique and shiny.
He just kept staring at the lifeless child, a thoughtful expression on his beautiful, symmetrical, ethereal face.
8 The moment had been magical, but magic never lasted forever. After a few minutes, the two guards escorted a very meek, shivering yet smiling Atenulf back to his cell. Aro thanked them, dismissed them, and then did something Irina would not have expected him to do: he stepped into Fiora's cell, walked right up to her, and placed his snow-white hand on the side of her filth-encrusted face. Her tears had left lines on her cheeks, making it look like she was donning some sort of tribal war paint. She had her eyes fixed on her jailer.
He hunkered down, and Irina could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "So it does feel good, being on the same level as the rest of us, unable to coerce and force and pull strings on your meat puppets." A few seconds passed, and he chuckled. "Maybe. Maybe I should exclude myself from that assessment, but then again, I never wiped away anyone's mind, did I?" Again, there was a pause. "No, that's most certainly true. But I never wanted to. No, not even then. Now, I'll be able to prove it to you." He stood up straight again and half-turned to look at Irina. "Dear girl, I made you a promise, didn't I?"
Irina, who was standing right outside the cell, ready to intervene at a moment's notice, perked up. "You did."
Again facing Fiora, he said, "And I intend to keep it." From the pocket of his trousers, he produced a metal key that glinted silvery in the cell's harsh, cold, white light.
9 It was already past noon when Leah and co stopped at the designated rest stop close to the California-Oregon border. The place wasn't exactly deserted, but apart from the odd SUV packed with small-bladdered children and patient parents, there wasn't much going on. Demetri parked the car a little ways from the restroom building, under a leafless white oak, in as much shade as possible. The sky was blue and a pale sun shone down on them. The air was chilly.
After applying some more foundation to what little was exposed of his skin, Demetri stepped out of the car, followed by Charlie, who excused himself for a moment. Leah opened one of the back doors, slunk forward, and planted her bare feet on the slightly warmed concrete. It felt awesome, to say the least, as did the fresh winter air in her healing lungs.
"Let me take a look," he said, motioning at her torso with a subtle move of his chin. Sun glinted off the curve of his right earlobe, exploding in a million diamond-esque sparkles.
She squinted, pointed at the source of radiance. "Missed a spot, there, chief."
It only took a couple of seconds until he got her meaning. "Oh." In what could be considered quick human speed, he got his bag from under the seat and took care of business, before returning to her side. "Now please let me check your wound."
Although she considered protesting, even if it was only for show, she decided against it. Trivialities were all fine and dandy, but there was a time and a place. Wordlessly, she unbuttoned the large shirt she'd borrowed from the beach house and held her breath as he carefully removed the bandage, tossed it in a nearby trash can, examined the wound with his superman eyes, and re-bandaged it.
"What's the verdict, doctor? How long do I have to live?"
The corners of his mouth curved up in a little smile. "I can't give you any guarantees, but my prognosis is definitely on the optimistic side."
More unwilling than unable to help herself, she grinned at him. "Ready to rock'n'roll, is what I am, pal."
"I hope it won't come to that," he said, serious again.
Buttoning up her shirt again, she said, "What are they like?" There was no need to explain what she meant.
"It's difficult to explain." He readjusted his scarf, buttoned up his jacket, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "They're wary. Careful. Hardened." After a little pause, he added, "They're good people who never hurt anyone."
"That's why you helped them."
He looked down at his feet and shrugged. "Me and others. I'm not the lone saint of the bunch. Don't ever think that."
She reached out and lightly punched his shoulder. It was like hitting concrete. "Too late, goodie-two-shoes."
That made him smile again. He looked at her. "Some people need all the help they can get. They never asked for it, but they weren't too proud to say no, either. They're survivors, through and through."
"I already like them," she said, and saw Charlie marching back from the facilities.
"They'll be very interested in your and yours."
Charlie planted himself next to Demetri and harrumphed. "Did I miss something world-changing?"
Leah opened her mouth to say something, but then, she saw three heavy-duty bikes approaching, occupied by people in thick leather jackets, gloves, and dark helmets. Demetri and Charlie followed her glance and turned around.
"That's them," Demetri said, taking his hands out of his jacket pockets. He raised his left for a slow greeting.
The three new arrivals stopped their bikes at a safe distance, dismounted, and just stood there for a while, helmets on, scrutinising the trio of human, wolf, and vampire. When Leah was about to get fidgety – she only barely managed not to stupidly jump to her feet – one of the helmeted figures, the shortest one, slowly walked towards them. At about ten feet away from Demetri, the person removed their helmet and tucked it under their left arm. It was a woman; she was black, had short hair, soft features, looked to be around fifty, and was very obviously very fit. She had an interesting face; two long, thick, ragged scars ran from her cheekbone to her jaw.
Unwittingly, Leah had to think of Emily.
Ah, Emily. Emily had tried to do the right thing, but in the end, getting half her face torn off had convinced her that what Sam felt for her must be true love. After all, what woman wouldn't swoon if she turned down a man and that man then proceeded to violently attack and disfigure her? What a dreamboat!
Leah almost slapped herself in her annoyance. There was a time and a place for dumb, sarcastic internal monologues, too. That was what all this stupid drama had done to her. What next? A hysteric case of the giggles? At this point, everything was plausible.
"Introductions?" the woman said to Demetri. Her big, dark-brown eyes kept flickering to Leah.
"Blake, these are my friends, Charlie and Leah," Demetri said, not moving, not taking his eyes off the woman. "Charlie, Leah, this is Blake. She is the leader of the last clan of Children of the Moon in the western world."
She meant to ask whether Blake was a first name, a last name, or a pseudonym, but the words got stuck in Leah's throat. This didn't just happen because now would be the worst time for sass. She couldn't even say why exactly, but all of a sudden, her throat was constricted, her hands were cold, and her heart was thundering. Were she to stand, she'd surely just see stars and fall on her ass. All of this was…it was…overwhelming. Here she was, face to face with a creature out of legend, but it was more than that; the Quileutes were not the only werewolves around.
Slowly, carefully, and after motioning at her two companions to stay put, Blake came closer, until she was at arm's length from Demetri. Her eyes were fixed on Leah. "Is it true that you and your brothers and sisters can turn into wolves at will?"
Leah opened her mouth, couldn't speak, felt hot in the face, cleared her throat, and managed to nod. "Yeah," she croaked out. What the hell was wrong with her brain? Was this how teenagers felt when they were face-to-face with their favourite pop-star? "Yes."
Blake smiled a little. It lit up her whole face. Demetri was right: this was a hard, wary, careful woman, but only because circumstances had forced her to be that way. Beneath the self-protective wall, there was warmth. It made sense to Leah. Only a leader who could empathise with their charges, who could share pain and joy and sorrow and love could ever be a good one.
"Do you also retain your human minds when in animal form?"
Again, Leah nodded. "We do."
The smile grew wider. The skin around Blake's eyes crinkled. "To think that we never even knew the likes of you existed – a whole new kind of werewolves, living right here in America, oblivious of all the death and suffering that has plagued our kind for millennia. It's beautiful. You're beautiful."
"So are you," Leah said, her voice firm and clear again. She meant it, too.
"Okay," Blake said, her pleasantly sonorous voice almost merry. She turned on her boot heels and beckoned to her friends, before locking eyes with Demetri. "We're in."
Leah's heartbeat exploded again. It was on, then. It was so on. A day from then, all their fates would be decided. For better or for worse, this whole sorry business would be over with. Even if it all went to hell, at least she could die with the certainty of having lived a lucky, happy, and certainly extremely interesting life filled with extremely interesting people.
She also couldn't wait to tear that evil fucker Jasper into a million shards and throwing every last one of them into the fire.