Jacob lay still in his bunk, tense, listening. The night was still and silent. Too silent. He slowly tasted the wind and started up, the sickly sweet strain of ammonia a firm undercurrent. He rolled out of bed, stripped out of his boxers, and crouched, naked, waiting.

Night had once been his favorite part of the day. His wolf craved the woods at night, the darkness sinking over him like a second skin. Leave it to the bloodsuckers to poison that too. If they turned Bella into one of them, they would turn her at night. He couldn't explain how he knew, but it seemed the sort of thing monsters did. Night became his torment, waiting for her to die, to become a monster.

But as his notebook filled with little tally marks, a nagging worry began to build and tangle in his gut. What the hell were they waiting for? He'd assumed the dirty bloodsuckers would turn her the moment they were off Quileute radar, but the days had turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. At first he thought the treaty must be the reason. If they were still in Forks, they had to abide by it or risk an all out war with the wolves. The size of the pack, even without him, was enough to make their coven cautious. Sam had made it abundantly clear the pack wouldn't hesitate to act if the bloodsuckers put a toe out of line.

"The treaty is non-negotiable," Sam had repeated. It was a week after the newborn battle. Jacob shouldn't have been there. His bones were still sore, but he'd dragged himself to the treaty line in wolf form, rage simmering under his skin as he listened to Sam wheel and deal with Carlisle over Bella's future. "We won't bite if you don't."

"And what of Isabella's free choice?" Carlisle had asked. He had a voice like oiled leather; expensive kid gloves, carefully placating the pack to suit his family's needs. He was as respectable and fair as a monster could be. Sometimes Jacob hated him the most. "She's asked my son for this boon." The bastard had dared to smile at his own slippery words. "A wedding gift of sorts."

"Her choice is her choice." Sam said and folded his arms.

no! Jacob had growled, a deep thunder in his throat. Jared and Paul moved in to flank him, their teeth silently bared in warning.

back off, lover boy.

shut up, paul!

Sam ignored them, his eyes fixed on Carlisle, "If you turn her, we will end you all."

Carlisle had looked past Sam, straight at Jacob, a flash of resignation in his face. "I understand."

Jacob hadn't understood that look until three days before the wedding, when he finally lost everything. Choices were made, and the consequences fell like rain, shattering the delicate balance between the Cullens and the Quileute wolves. Everything had changed. They'd won their little game, taking Bella with them, so why the hell were they waiting to change her?

"This isn't a game," Bella had insisted the night after the newborn battle. She'd been right and wrong.

"Just because you're not playing, doesn't mean he isn't, honey," Jacob had whispered, his voice bitter with pain.

Jacob had turned away from her, every cell and nerve in his body screaming in pain as the shattered bones on his right side mended themselves together. Fast. Too fast. They were just kids caught up in the mazes and games of monsters. He was tired, so tired of all of it, of trying to make her see what was right in front of her. It was too late to go back to when life was simpler and they were just Jake and Bells. But he'd tried. For her, he'd tried and failed.

Jake.

Failed. Jacob grimaced at the thought, a humorless smile twisting his face. At least he'd failed with a spectacular bang. He could almost imagine the God-awful jokes Quil and Embry must've made at his expense afterwards. He hadn't been brave enough to stay for the wedding. So he ran. He barely slept, barely ate, too furious and hopeless to do anything but run. He couldn't even phase back. He'd almost lost himself for that first month, his head and his wolf at war, pulling him back and forth across the Canadian border like a marionette dancing under the puppeteer's strings.

He'd kept running northeast, trying to get as far from his misery as he could. No matter how far he ran, he couldn't escape himself or what he was. But each day he woke up, knowing she was still alive, his wolf calmed and his control returned. His anger and grief still smoldered beneath his skin, but he couldn't solve his problems by blaming them on anyone but himself. He fought back now the only way he could. By hunting and protecting.

A hiss floated in through the open window. He almost grinned.

White opens.

He slipped from the cabin, and exploded into his wolf, nose to the ground, on the bloodsucker's trail in seconds. The leeches might play their sick games in the dark, but when his wolf hunted, the night belonged to him again. A year of wrestling his demons had taught him how to play his own game and win.