I park the truck in front of the library at the two parking spots designated for the staff and walk up to the front, the coffee cart tempting me to over-caffeinate as I pass by a waft of freshly brewed coffee. I pass through the front doors and see Kelly is behind the desk sorting through the "go backs," and her eyes slide up to meet mine and she smiles. She must be excited to finally get a break. She waves and then holds up a paper cup stamped with the coffee cart logo and I think I officially love my boss.

I thank her, grab the coffee and set for the break room to put down my back pack, enjoying the sugarcookie smell of the room as I place my bag on the couch. She made the break room like a comfy lounge that smelled like warm childhood nostalgia.

I come back out to the desk and she already has her purse that looks remarkably like a leather book bag, over her shoulder, her keys in her hand. We utter a few niceties and she hands me the keys to the library to lock up when the library closes at 7pm, and pats my shoulder on her way out. One thing that I enjoy about Kelly is that she doesn't mettle or pry. Forks is a small town and people know everything about almost everyone who lives there, and the people here draw no quarter in their lack of shame in dipping into other people's business. I'm sure Kelly is aware of my relationship with Edward Cullen but she's never once gave me any indication that she cared about it in the least which is fucking amazing. I think that was one of the main reasons why I didn't want to get a job in Forks in the first place. So having her be completely indifferent or better yet unaware of the entire Edward debacle is not only relieving, it's helping me let go; I don't have that additional external reminder.

I begin to sort through the "go backs," and for some reason there are two bins full and the first hour of my shift is sorting them onto the cart and putting them back on the shelves. I reach the fiction section and walk down one of the aisles and see Paul is sitting in one of the lounge chairs, one of his legs crossed on his other by the ankle, his black hood up over his head and I squint to see he's reading Anna Karenina. I stop there for a minute to take in what I'm seeing, partially because somehow the picture was strange.

His eyes then slide up to mine over the top of the book and even though the light isn't very bright, I still see my favorite glint of green in his irises. He lowers the book slightly as I begin to move again, trying to pass off that I wasn't staring for a solid minute; I slide one of the fiction books back onto the shelf.

"The library in La Push not all that great?" I ask, taking another book from my stack and sliding it back on the shelf.

"It's small," he says, his eyes going back to his book as he turns the page.

I suppose that makes sense. "Do you have an assignment on Anna Karenina or something?" I ask and he doesn't look up.

"Nope," his eyes tracking quickly to each word as he reads.

"So, you're here on your own time?" I know I'm sounding judgey at this moment, but I don't know too many teenage boys that would utilize their free time to read classic literature in a library…especially teenage boys that look like Paul Lahote. The image didn't make sense to me.

"I am," he says, not looking up and he continues to read, "you have a problem with that?"

Maybe I'm being sensitive here, but why was he being such a dick? "No, I'm just…nevermind. Enjoy your book."

I walk a little more heavy footed pushing the cart to the next row, huffing and rolling my eyes like an impertinent child. I can't help it, I think I've lost all of my tolerance for broody mood swings at this point. I place a few more books back and I feel a tap on my shoulder and I turn around, and it's Paul…fantastic.

"I've been coming to this library for over a year now. Kelly doesn't usually come up to me to ask me a bunch of questions when I'm trying to read like a normal person in a library ," he whispers, his tone dripping in condescension.

"What…" Who shit in your coffee this morning, dude? "I was just trying to have a polite conversation," I whispered back, my tone biting.

He steps into me and he's crowding me in my personal space and I know what he's doing. After nine months of constantly being reminded how weak, small, and human I am, I refuse to balk because he's bigger than me, but I can't deny that it is rather intimidating. My angry eyes match his as he whispers, "I don't usually come for the conversation ," his breath sweeping across my face, shifting my hair and it smells like peppermint, and my eyes flit down to his mouth as he flicks the mint over his tongue; and my mouth goes dry as I struggle to bring my eyes back up to meet his. Then I begin to smell his cologne and it reminds me of sandalwood and rain and I feel my cheeks begin to flush.

Get it together Bella, reminding myself I'm pissed, "excuse me for being interested in talking to you, I won't make that mistake again."

We stare at each other for a few moments, both of our proverbial heels digging in further, daring the other to make a move.

"I have work to do," I huff and shove past him, my shoulder checking him as hard as I can even though he hardly moves and I almost think I hear him chuckle as I storm off.

I don't know why I feel like crying, I fucking hate that my first response is to cry when I'm furious, also what the hell was that? I mean, I must have been reading Paul all wrong which is weird for me. I'm usually not that terrible at reading people. He definitely has some personal demons that he was working through. That was made clear by our first conversation on the side of my house during Thanksgiving; but he didn't seem like a condescending prick…or so I thought.

I push the cart to a different section and put the rest of the books back, heading back up to the counter, where a small queue has formed and I pick up my pace; all the while I swear I feel like he's watching me. I help everyone in line and I watch as Paul walks out of the library without a backwards glance and for some reason I feel a bowling ball is weighing down my stomach and my chest is a fiery mix of frustration and I spend the rest of my shift feeling like garbage.

*

I'm closing my history book and my phone rings. I don't have to guess who it is at this point; he always calls around this time a few times a week and I pick up the receiver.

"Hey Jake," I say, my voice gravelly and tired.

"Hey Bells!" he says cheerfully, "whatcha doin?"

"History homework," I say a bit flatly.

"Oh fun, you okay? You sound...I dunno kinda pissed maybe?" Jake says and he intuits that correctly.

"I…it's nothing," I say, trying to decide if I actually wanted to talk about my interaction with Paul today. Did it really matter to bring it up to Jake at all? I don't want to put Jake in the middle of anything.

"Let's hear it," he invites me, giving me a few seconds to gather my thoughts.

"I just had to deal with a shitty customer today," maybe I can get away with just that, without letting him know it was his friend that was a jerk to me.

"What happened?" he asked, and I took a deep breath, collecting my thoughts.

"This guy, I…I was just making casual conversation and he was really rude. Granted I was interrupting his reading, but I don't feel like it warranted the response I got," it was subtle enough, I feel like Jake won't catch wise to anything…

"You ran into Paul didn't you,"

What the fuck?

"Um," I start.

"Yeah he has a weird thing about that library, he goes there and reads and hates to be interrupted. He's bitten my head off a few times when I've interrupted him reading."

That seems…stupid.

"What is his deal? Why is he like that?" I ask.

"I think he just likes to read, I guess."

"Huh," and I'm not sure if I'm buying it; there was more to that story and the sadistic part of me wants to find out what it was.

"I think if you just leave him alone, he's fine," Jake says, and for some reason that makes me even more frustrated. He doesn't own the goddam library and he doesn't get to bite my head off because he feels entitled, but I still don't want to get Jake caught in the middle of some petty feud between Paul and myself.

"Good to know," I say and then I attempt to drop it.

"Any new developments with your creepy stalker?" I chide.

"Um, not really, he's just around…all the time. It looks like he's recruited a few guys from my school. Quil has started to hang out with him more," he says, sounding uneasy.

"Why is Quil hanging out with him?" I ask.

"Beats me. Quil was just as weirded out about Sam as I am, but apparently he's a Sam Fan now," he shifts as he talks which usually tells me he's uncomfortable, Jake tends to fidget when he gets anxious.

"I found something interesting in the library," I begin, tentatively changing the subject again, "about Quileut Wolf legends."

"The one about Taha'aki and the 'cold ones?"

Why does he keep doing that? "Yeah, you've read it then?"

"No, but my Dad had told me that story like one hundred times since I was a kid," he says, "it's just a stupid story."

And here is where I wish Jacob knew…I wish I could talk to him about the vampires about their existence and how maybe their presence in the area might be causing people to actually shift into werewolves, since apparently anything can exist now; and I don't know how to ask him about that. I don't know how to say, "hey Jake, maybe you should see if there's any truth the wolf thing," because it made Jake uneasy and I don't know if it was actually real or if I was just imagining everything. I didn't have any proof afterall, just an intuitive hunch.

I wasn't wrong about the vampires so why would I be about this?

"What's going on Bella?" he asks, and I hear him shift again.

"Nothing, I'm doing too much reading I think and I'm tired. Talk tomorrow?" I say trying to shut things down before I really start freaking him out.

"Uh yeah, sure. Well if Paul gives you any trouble you can always call me," he says and he sounds like he's smiling.

"I think I can handle Paul," I laugh and for some reason I see him flicking the mint in his mouth, the warmth of his body as he crowded close to mine, his peppermint breath caressing across my face.

Fuck, stop.

"We'll see about that," he laughs and we hang up.

That night I woke up screaming again, except the nightmare was different this time. Paul stood in front of me, the green of his eyes were bright and intense and then Edward came up from behind him, sinking his teeth into Paul's neck, tearing out a large hunk of his copper skin as a large spray of blood coated my face and body as Paul's lifeless body slumped to the ground. Edward smiled at me as Paul's blood dripped grotesquely from his chin.

Right on cue, Charlie runs in and I'm sitting upright, the blankets rumpled in disjointed heaps around me.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice thick and groggy with sleep.

"I'm okay Dad," I say, swinging my legs around the side, "just gonna grab some water."

He grunts and walks back into his room and shuts the door. I walk down stairs, grab Charlie's whiskey from the cabinet and take a long drink from the bottle, not even bothering to grab a glass. Then I walk back upstairs, unravel the tormented sheets and blankets and get back into bed, hoping I'd make it to morning without another nightmare.

This time when I arrive at work and see Paul sitting in the same corner of the fiction section, I don't say anything. I effectively pretend that he isn't there and yes I know that is incredibly juvenile and petty but I never feigned to be perfect.

The majority of my shift I would glance over and see that he would get up and flip through a few books until he found another one that suited and sat back in his corner; or he would get up and stretch, or put another mint in his mouth.

I waited for him to leave and as the clock ticked closer to 7pm, he remained sitting in his corner of the library, unfazed by everything around him. So at 6:30pm I began to get things ready to close: I put away any books left out, notepads or pencils from notes, misplaced items back in their places, cleaning off the front desk so it looked pristine for Kelly in the morning, leaving her a little note that said, "have a great day," because I thought she would like that.

And he was still sitting there.

I look down at my watch and it's 6:50 pm, so I figure I could give him the last ten minutes not out of the goodness of my heart but because I didn't want to argue that the library actually closed at 7pm and it's not technically 7pm…because that's the level of trivial condescension I was expecting from him if I confronted him now.

So I went to the break room to get my backpack and make some tea to put in my thermos for the drive home. As I'm putting the sachet of tea in the hot water I hear a few gentle taps on the door.

I furrow my brow as I open the door to the break room and Paul is standing there with a book under his arm.

"Can I help you with something?" I say a little more snottily than I meant to.

He purses his lips as he reaches in his back pocket, pulling out the flask, "truce?"

I cock my head to the side and I look at him through narrowed eyes. My first thought is to dig in my heels and make everything that much more paltry, but then there could be whiskey in that flask and that may win out over my immaturity. I think I might have a problem.

"How did you know where the break room was?" I ask, "did you follow me?"

"Kelly is my aunt," he says, "I've been back here more times than I can count."

"Oh," I say, and his eyebrows arch a little, the flask still suspended in the air and I sigh, stepping to the side to let him in.

"I didn't know you're related to my boss," I say. He twisted off the top of the flask and handed it to me, and I tipped it back feeling the familiar burn of cheap whiskey flow down my throat.

"We're related through marriage, but I've known her since I was ten," he sat down on the couch, "can I ask you something?" he asks abruptly, his elbows on his knees as he looks up to meet my eyes. It's a mistake, because the amber light of the break room hits that bit of green in the pools of tawny brown and my impertinent resolve begins to weaken.

"I guess," I say, taking another sip, apprehensive and anxious as that familiar flip in my belly comes back.

"What did you see in him?" he asks, without any inflection of judgment or critique, just genuine curiosity, "you know, Edward."

"How do you know about Edward?" I ask, feeling that maw in my chest flare as painful embers are breathed to life.

He shrugged, "small town and well, Jake."

"Why do you care?" I ask, taking a much longer drink from the flask this time, "he's gone so, it doesn't matter anymore."

His eyes track me as I lean against the counter of the kitchenette, still holding the flask hostage in my grasp. He may get it back empty if I keep going.

"I just want to understand I guess," he says and his eyes then look to his hands as they clasp together, "you know what he is right?"

My breath catches in my chest, "what?"

"You can't tell me you had no idea what he is," he says, his eyes now back to me.

"That…how do you know?" I say my voice rather shrill.

"It's kind of obvious, don't you think? Anyone with half a brain could see they were fucking weird and not exactly human," he says, that thick condescension coming back with a vengeance.

"So you just guessed, without any kind of proof. That's kind of shitty of you," I bite back, the back of my mind screaming a little bit at myself for being wildly hypocritical.

"But I'm not wrong, am I?" he says, standing now, and the air is thick with tension between us, like smoke that threatened to choke out the air in my lungs.

"Again, why do you care ? Why do you even,-" and before I could finish he took two long strides so that he was in my face again, his eyes intense as his large body crowded my space again.

"How you can love a fucking monster," he hisses through his teeth, and I take in a shuttering breath. His jaw tenses but his eyes…there's something way beyond the surface that he's shying away from being earnest about. I felt like this wasn't entirely a hatred of Edward, but a fear of something else.

"I…" I stammer, his breath displacing my hair in a cool waft of peppermint, he places his hands on the counter on either side of my body and I begin to feel my heart ram itself against my sternum as my eyes flick down to his mouth where his tongue juts out to wet his lips.

"He couldn't love you back, you know that right?" he says, his voice low and my body has become a battlefield of conflicting emotions: pain, grief, anger, longing, and something else I haven't felt in months and it tightened and swirled low in between my hips as I felt the heat roll of his body.

"I know," I say, feeling my chin quiver slightly, because I knew from the very beginning that there was no way in hell that Edward Cullen could ever love someone like me. It was ludicrous for me to believe he ever could... "why are you doing this?" I whisper, and his eyes flash again.

"It doesn't matter," he says, and he pushes off the counter.

"Seems to me like does," I reply, "what are you so scared of that you're back here hassling me about Edward Cullen?"

"I'm not scared of anything," and that was an obvious lie and Paul's poker face was abysmal.

"Right," and I feel the corners of my mouth tick up, filing away that small victory to relish in later. He stands still, the muscles in his jaw tensing and his hands in fists.

"You don't know anything," he whispers.

"Okay, then enlighten me. What is it I don't understand?" I say, furrowing my brows, "I think we've established I can handle big scary monsters, so I think whatever you have going on can't be that bad."

He laughs and then he smiles that smile; even if it's tainted in frustration and anger is still so fucking devastating.

"If I could tell you I would, but as it is, princess, you're gonna have to live with what you've got," and he turns and heads for the door.

And something in me snaps. I'm not sure if I just lost all sense of boundaries or self-preservation but instead of just letting him leave, as he reaches the handle of the door I say, "coward."

He halts and his anger is like a tidal wave that hits me with tsunami force, "what did you say?"

Again, my self-preservation is nowhere to be found, it just got up and left the building, like I decided to go bungee jumping without the cord. I was asking for the danger that was headed like a freight train straight towards me, and I realized that I wanted it. A part of me hoped he would tear me apart because I didn't care anymore.

"You heard me," I say, squaring my shoulders, still leaning against the counter, knowing that I probably had a few breaths left before I was effectively snuffed out of existence.

Paul turned to me and I sucked in a breath seeing his nostrils flare and his eyes…were glowing yellow, his incisors sharpened to long deadly points.

"Fuck you, Bella," he growled through his teeth.

And then things become so much more clear to me as he opens the door leaving the break room, and I watch as the form of Paul Lahote changes into that of a massive silver wolf.

There was no doubt in my mind now that werewolves not only exist, but they're here in Forks and Paul Lahote was one of them; the lid to Pandora's box opens wider at the realization.