Jaded
La Push: July
I lay awake toasty under the bed quilts that made me feel heady with lust. Paul's scent engulfed the bedding, and I snuggled deeper. My body was sore following the treaty meeting last night, and I laughed at my stupidity. I was pushing my body, ignoring its need for rest. I would not allow myself to be weak.
But perhaps a lazy morning in bed wouldn't do me too much harm?
However, to my disappointment the bed was very much empty of one particular wolf, and I'd fanned my hand out the moment I'd woken up, reaching for him. But the bed was empty, and the spot he'd slept on next to me was still warm.
I closed my eyes, allowing the blush to creep over my neck. We'd slept clothed—barley clothed, but clothed. I could feel every inch of his hard body pressing against mine all night. I didn't think he could smell the desire in me—the heady need to be satisfied.
But I was too tiered. The night had been testing. Many secrets had been spilled between us.
The door to the bedroom opened, and I shot upright, whirling at the intrusion into my sanctuary of silence.
"Oh shit, sorry, Golidlocks. I thought this was the door to the bathroom." A gruff voice apologised hastily, slamming the door shut, and I heard footsteps retreating across the landing.
Jennifer's latest conquest?
Or a member of the pack?
I re-ran through the conversations. Goldilocks. Damn those wolves!
Paul hardly allowed the others around here, mainly because of Jennifer and his antisocial tendencies. Which meant that Jennifer was dating a member of the pack?
I brushed my hair back from my face and moved to pull on one of Paul's only t-shirts, wondering if I could salvage some fresh clothes from Jennifer's room. Paul's room remained almost as sterile as the first time I'd visited. The only difference was that now I had a small collection of clothing here, dotted around the room, asserting my mark on his life.
I reasoned that a trip to Jennifer's room would in fact be too risky, so I pulled on a pair of shorts from a previous visit.
When I went downstairs, the kitchen showed a sign of the tornado that was familiar to the likes of my brother and Jennifer's messes. Cutlery spilled across the drainer, and we were also out of milk. Great.
I pulled my hair back into a bun and set to work uncluttering the counters.
I was midway through making a cup of tea when the man from earlier appeared again. Jennifer, I assumed, must be sleeping soundly upstairs, enjoying sleeping in again.
I tried to place his face; he was very familiar; perhaps I had seen him last night at the bonfire. He a had fanning blonde hair and long, lanky limbs—a teenager rather than a man.
"Sorry about earlier, Goldilocks," he apologised sheepishly. At least he was dressed; it seemed not all the wolves prided themselves on walking around shirtless.
"Goldilocks," I rebutted, frowning.
"They call you Goldilocks," he laughed nervously, looking around the empty kitchen for an escape route.
"Who?" I cry outraged.
"Everyone," he shrugs nonchalantly.
"I don't think we've met before," he adds boldly, considering his earlier statement.
"I'm Imogen, but it sounds like you've already heard everything about me," I mock, and he blushes.
"I'm Brady," he replied with another boyish grin.
"Look, have you seen Jennifer? We spent some time together last night, but it seems she's bounced," he sighed. looked a little defeated.
Paul would kill him. Rip him in half right here on the kitchen floor if he catches wind of this, I realise.
"Why don't you have some breakfast? She might turn up in the meantime." I suggest kindly trying to rationalise my thoughts. Paul couldn't hurt Brady; they were pack brothers.
"Food sounds good!" Brady laughs, his face lighting up. It was such a baby face; his skin was olive and his hair dark as coal, but he was still so young to be a shapeshifter. It saddened me.
Brady was already filling the coffee pot, and I widened my eyes at the brashness of the gesture. He seemed quite happy to settle himself into Paul's kitchen, and it made my skin prickle. But it was done with such innocence that I allowed myself to calm down.
"Toast? I think Jennifer used the last of the milk before she bounced," I admitted with a helpless shrug.
Brady agreed on toast, and I even managed to find some bagels in the freezer, which I set to grill.
"So... Jennifer," I asked, lightly accepting the buttery bagel he passed me on a plate and bit down. Brady looked at me with a quizzical expression.
"Jennifer," he shrugged, turning his back away from me to dump the butter-knife in the sink. "It's complicated. She keeps changing her mind about what she wants," he laughed, sighing. Is that why she'd left this morning before he'd woke up?
"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind," I assured her with a laugh, and Brady groaned, palming his face.
"But if you want Jennifer, you can't just sleep with her; you need to love her; she wants to be loved so desperately," I added, biting down again on the bagel and enjoying its buttery taste.
His eyes looked fascinated, and he lent forward on his forearms, peering at me from across the counter. But before he added anything further, his gaze darkened, and he drew back.
I turned to follow his stare, craning my neck to meet a tanned chest.
"Bravo," Paul teased at my little speech, plucking the remaining bagel from my hand and chewing it down with one large bite. I gasped as his tongue came out to swipe the butter from my thumb, all coherent thoughts dissipating.
"That was mine," I husked, my eyes widening with lust.
"It tasted pretty shit; I think I did you a favour. How about I take you out for breakfast somewhere instead?" he teased with a wink that made me feel delirious as he palmed at my hips.
"But first, here is a question." Paul's tone darkened, and the predator took hold as he turned his stare onto Brady. "What are you doing in my house?" Paul levelled at him.
"Just brunching your girlfriend," Brady joked, and it would be his downfall. Paul didn't show a sense of humour when I was involved.
His hand extended too quickly for my eyes to take in; his hand flexed to lock around Brady's neck, dragging him across the counter and slamming him into the wall. The move was freakishly fast, blurring before my eyes.
"Paul!" I screeched in horror and panic.
I rounded the counter desperately, trying to separate Paul from Brady. Paul's body caged Brady as he held him, choking him out and landing a punch to his ribs.
Maybe Paul couldn't kill Brady, with them being pack brothers, but that didn't mean Paul wouldn't try. Where was the pack Alpha when you needed them?
I launched towards Paul, wondering what I could do to make him loosen his death grip on Brady. I opted to slam into his back, hoping the motion of a collision might be enough to make him halt, but he didn't even flinch.
"Let the hell go, Paul," I hiss, flexing my shaking hands around the top of his arm.
"Paul!" I cry again, my own voice becoming hoarser, but Paul is lost to the will of the wolf. Brady chokes out a breath, and I wonder why he hasn't tried to phase yet or whether he's still so new to phasing that he is too panicked to manage it.
I reach my hand back and slap the hand holding Brady's neck. I scream and reel back from the pain. I heard a crunch, and I know it's from the thin bone in my finger snapping.
Paul has whirled me around and is pressing me into him, his reflexes unnaturally fast. His mouth peppers kisses over my face as he cradles my hand, his face ashen in horror.
"You broke my finger," I whimper, holding my hand up aghast.
"You don't hit Wolves Imogen," Paul grunts out cradling my hand.
I look past him to where Brady is rubbing his neck, taking husky breaths.
"You still here," Paul hisses in warning, still holding me as he turns back to Brady once more. Brady, this time, flinches and recoils at the threat.
"Get out," I state, flatly pulling my throbbing hand from Paul's, stepping away from the cradle of his arms, and sinking to the floor of the kitchen.
"Excuse me?" Paul laughs coldly.
"I said, get out," I repeat.
"You're telling me to leave my own house?" Paul barks a laugh, stepping forward and reaching for me. The imprint begs me to close the gap, to rest my throbbing fingers on the warmth of his chest, and to allow him to comfort me.
"You need to go somewhere and calm down." I shrug stubbornly. "If you don't leave, then I will," I add with defiance.
"Go for it!" he shot back, calling my bluff.
I glare at his slitted eyes. The imprint pulls back into my chest, recoiling at his taunts.
"Brady, help me up, please."
"Don't touch her," Paul snapped venomously, looking ready to whirl on Brady with his fists once more.
I scowled at them both and bit back the snarl I wanted to rip into Paul. How dare he try and assert his protectiveness over me? Not when I was like this.
With gritted teeth, I grabbed a hold of the counter and used it to push me up, preventing Paul from fussing at me with a fierce glare.
Jennifer appeared from nowhere, clutching a pint of milk and a box of cereal tucked under her arm. Her makeup was fixed immaculately, and her hair was carefully styled, even during the morning. Brady waved at her as if this could diffuse the tension that chocked the room.
As I looked her over, I wondered how long she'd been in the house for. None of us had given her too much of our focus, which was sadly often how we acted around the girl. Left her always looking in from the outside. There are so many secrets.
Jennifer flicked her eyes from me clutching my hand to Paul's split fists, dripping blood onto the floor but healing even before my own eyes. They settled on Brady's neck and black eye.
I ignored them all, not ready for the explanation that Brady and Paul were going to cobble together. I didn't want to hear any more lies.
I would go home, strap my fingers up, and stay clear of the wolves until I'd gotten a tight lid back on my temper. I had a collection of painkillers that could rival the local chemist, and years of playing netball as a younger teenager meant I was a dab hand at strapping up broken fingers.
I ran from the house, past Paul's reaching grasp, and slammed the door to the yelling that echoed through the small space. The pain in my hand niggled. Paul and Brady would be fully healed within the hour, I would bet. Me, not so much. I lacked the superhuman healing powers of the wolves. I was far too human for that.
The idea of walking home was a foolish one, especially in my attire, but I wasn't about to turn back to the house.
With sheer determination, I made it onto the main road, planning to walk the entire way to hell with it. But fate had other plans.
I recognised the black truck hurtling towards me from the direction I'd just left, and I stepped back into the tree line, hoping it would accelerate straight towards me.
The truck thundered past, and I sighed in relief. At least one unnecessary encounter was avoided.
However, I realised luck was not on my side.
The truck's brake lights danced in the sunlight, and the wheels screeched as Paul swung the truck across the road, turning right there, recklessly, narrowly missing a tree with the sharp circle he turned.
I gulped as the truck hurtled towards me once more, pulling up beside me before I could even contemplate bolting for the woods behind me.
Paul's eyes were so dark, I could hardly see any white left as they stared at me from the cab.
"Imogen," Paul boomed, his voice thick with emotion. He looked away from me, sliding a mask in place and schooling his features. "Imogen," he tried again, more carefully this time. "Please get in the truck."
He lent himself back into the leather of the cab's seats, forcing himself to stay in place. His paw-like hands clutch the steering wheel so tightly that the veins in his arms pop. Speckles of blood dusted his knuckles. The cuts are invisible now.
"No!" I snapped, curtly walking around the truck and continuing along the edge of the road.
The engine of the car continues to idle, and I hear the purr of the acceleration as Paul edges up beside me once more.
He was losing his willpower now; I could see him desperately restraining himself from jumping out of the car and shaking me with all his might. Because he was Paul, he was my imprint, he was my protector, and my being in pain was killing him.
"Imogen, can you please get in the car? I will drive you to see Sue. She can help with your hand!" he insisted once more.
"What part of no isn't clear enough, Paul? Just leave me alone," I warn, trying to quicken my pace, stumbling over the uneven terrain.
"I am so cross with you right now," I seethe to myself, but I know Paul will hear with his freakish sense of sound.
Paul keeps up with me easily in the car, his eyes alternating between my path and the road.
The tears well in my eyes, and I shake them away. I'm not sure why I was crying. It wasn't from the pain; my body had subjected me to far worse than this. Perhaps it was the adrenaline wearing off.
Had Paul fighting with Brady scared me? Had it frightened me to see the depths he would go to protect my virtue? Maybe a little.
The tears slid quicker, and I shuddered a little.
"Imogen, get in the fucking car," Paul barked at me, and I flushed, hesitating to take another step.
"I am not the hero in your story, Imogen. The imprint makes me dangerous, Imogen, so dangerous. I've warned you before. I would kill for you. I am a predator, Imogen, a dangerous one.
That scares you, I know. I want to be better and not scare you. But when it comes to you, I can't act rationally." Paul finished with a sigh, stopping the car and sinking his head into his hands.
"The fact that you are hurt. Imogen, it is breaking me," he gulped, his voice muffled in his hands. "I can't even begin to explain how sorry I am for your hand."
I wanted to step forward. But I also wanted to turn my back on him.
But my heart whimpered with the urge to comfort Paul. I told him he might scare me, but I was also enthralled by him. I want to tell him that if I hadn't hit him, my fingers wouldn't be broken. To tell him, we were both at fault.
I moved into the passenger seat of the car and rested my palm carefully against his bare bicep. I kept my sore hand cradled in my lap. Paul's eyes turned to meet mine, softening.
There was neither a sarcastic comment nor an angry exchange. Instead, Paul hit the gas, speeding us down the road.
OooO
"Well, hey, kiddo," Charlie cooed from the doorway, slapping me on the back and throwing a questioning look at Paul over my shoulder.
Seth stood behind him, his eyes bulging at my bruised fingers.
"What happened to you?" He gushed, the repulsion clearly displayed on his face, and he paled as Paul stared him down over my shoulder.
This guy was something else.
"Trying to get something into Paul's thick skull," I joked, and Seth looked away. Charlie looked in confusion, and Paul's hands came to flex around my waist, nudging me through the doorway of Clearwater's home.
Charlie padded back across the carpeted room, dismissing the riddles we were talking about, and sat beside Billy on an old sofa. They watched the screen intently, and I was thankful for the game, which proved a great distraction.
"You broke your hand hitting Paul," Seth faltered, looking between us and piecing it together finally.
Paul's mouth set into a firm, grim line, and I nodded.
"He was trying to kill someone," I shrugged in a in a matter-of-fact way.
"I wouldn't have killed him. He just needed to remember his place; it's a pack thing." Paul bit back in a hiss.
"Well, that just makes it dandy, then, doesn't it?" I snorted with an eye roll.
"It's a wolf thing, Imogen," he reiterated.
"No, it's a Paul thing," I corrected.
We followed Seth away from the living room; even though Charlie was distracted, we shouldn't be talking about the pack this close within his earshot.
When we crossed the threshold to the kitchen, I groaned aloud. Paul's hand hadn't left my waist, and it was stroking soothing circles over my skin.
"Oh dear lord, who called in the cavalry?" I whined, meeting eyes with my brother across the kitchen.
"Nice to see you too," he shot back, moving towards me and ignoring Paul's snarl of warning as he picked up my hand. I didn't flinch under this warm touch, and he looked over my hand like it was a specimen in a lab.
"Whose side are you on?" Seth asked, slipping past us and sliding onto one of the counters. Embry stared at him for a little too long, as if trying to decide if he was joking.
"Paul's," he shot coolly, and I baulked at the answer, feeling betrayed.
"Sorry?" I scoffed.
Embry shrugged, raising broad shoulders up and down, sighing almost as if the weight of them was a task in itself. "Brady should have known better. I would have freaked out if another guy was in my house chatting you up."
"He was not chatting me up!" I cried a little too loudly as the voices from the living room quietened for a moment.
I blushed and looked down at my feet. Paul remained silent as they debated our situation.
"You should not have hit Paul. You don't hit wolves unless you have like a crowbar." Seth appeased me.
I barked out a laugh. "Duly noted".
"Sam is going to whoop your arse though, Paul," Embry mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and Paul grimaced a little.
"You're in his good books after the bonfire." Seth added, as if needing to justify why Sam would be upset with me being hurt.
"Shucks, thanks guys," I spat sarcastically, frowning.
"It wasn't meant to sound like that," Embry corrected quickly. "What we mean is that Sam really respects what you did, Imogen, for the pack. He knows how much Bella means to you."
I nodded. The emotions stirring within me were nauseating.
Before we could proceed with the topic further, a woman with a slender face and eyes as dark as her hair stood in the doorway. Her hair is cropped short, and she looks between us all with a questioning stare.
"Mum, I will look at your hand now," Seth acknowledges, nodding in the direction of his mother Sue.
OooO
Sue had gently taped up my broken fingers, assuring me that I hadn't broken anything else, and a few weeks of keeping them strapped up should allow for adequate healing. We hadn't talked too much as Paul stood close to my side, his nervous energy rippling the room.
His fretting continues to bubble over until, finally, with a snarl, he storms from the house.
Billy rolls himself into the doorway, looking from me towards my brother and the absence of my imprint.
"I wouldn't worry yourself Imogen; he's likely gone to take out his frustration," Billy assured, keeping his voice low as Charlie still sat in the living room.
"Or gone to meet his fate with Sam?" Embry barked out a laugh, and I winced at the thought of Paul being punished for the situation.
"He'll be back," Seth added buoyantly, and I nodded meekly.
The wolves hadn't lingered too long, all sensing an urge to be present for whatever repercussions Sam would be dishing out.
I waited with Billy, Sue, and Charlie until the game finished, and I shared a lift with them. Billy seemed more relaxed around me, and Charlie remained blissfully ignorant of the tensions frolicking just out of his sight.
The bungalow was quiet when I got back, and I bumbled about blindly contemplating how to end my evening.
Usually I would email Bella, but I felt at a loss for what to say. Sorry Bella I have totally spilled my guts to the pack, and they know you want to be turned into a vampire?
Instead, I did a few chores around the house, biding my time in the hope Paul would arrive before the night set in.
"I am interrupting your internal conversation." Paul's voice came crisp through my hearing aids, and I scanned the kitchen, shaking the glaze from my eyes.
My heart lurched at the sight of him, and for one horrible moment I retched, but I managed to stop myself from being sick.
"Your face!" I gasped, tears pricking my eyes.
"It's fine," he grunted out, his split lip moving as he spoke.
His torso was bare, but clawed, deep gashes that had clotted were slowly knitting themselves together.
I stepped towards him, but my bare feet faltered again as I took in more of the damage that ravaged his godlike physique. A black, swollen eye, dark-coloured bruising dancing his ribs.
"Who did this?" I spat, my fists clenching as the imprint between us curled up like a spooked cat, hissing and spitting.
Paul should not still be healing like this, so slowly. Unless, of course, it was inflicted by someone powerful, the alpha.
"I took my punishment, Imogen. I shouldn't have put you in danger. I should never have attacked Brady with you so close by." Paul hung his head low in shame.
"I hit you!" I shrieked in protest, storming towards him, pressing my hands to his open cuts. I know wolves heal freakishly fast, but to see Paul injured like this stabbed at me.
"Sam needed to punish me for putting you at risk. He has his own responsibilities to you," Paul scoffed, shaking his head.
"What do you mean by that?" I questioned him, reaching up on my toes so I could grab his chin, turning his face from side to side, and analysing the damage to his handsome face.
Paul went to speak but cringed, as if the words wouldn't come out. He growled, his snarl low and fierce.
I went to step back, but he encircled my wrists.
"I'm not snarling at you, Imogen," he corrected quickly. Tucking lilac blonde strands away from my face.
"Being in the pack, the alpha, Sam, he can forebid us from acting on a scenario or disclosing information," Paul told me, his voice icy.
"That's not fair," I cried.
"None of this is fair, Goldilocks," he agreed, resting his forehead against mine.
A dull ache in my head probed at the words: What loyalty did Sam owe to me? How could we possibly be connected?
"Imogen," Paul's voice pushed, and I looked up at his dark orbs, seeing concern flashing in them.
"Sorry, what?" I asked softly.
"I said, would you like a glass of water? You've gone a little pale," he mused with concern, a large hand resting on my hip to steady me.
"No, no, I'm fine. Thank you," I dismissed, allowing his warm hand to ground me.
I was so in tune with the desires on the imprint now. The coil that stretched thin and achy when we were apart, how it twisted in delight when we were close.
"You are so beautiful," he husked, his other hand stroking my freckled face.
I cast him a warning stare.
He had wounds that would drop most grown men, yet here he was, walking around like a war victim. "Shove off, Paul!" I warned him, making him smirk.
"You don't know how much that pout makes me want to kiss you again, Imogen," he husked, pulling me firmly into him, our bodies pressing together.
I crane my neck to meet his eyes; one still looks painfully sore, and the other dances with mischief.
My breath comes out shallow, and I lean unconsciously closer to him.
"Why don't you then?" I challenge, my voice soft, and a boyish smirk overcomes his face.
Paul moved with freakish reflexes that made my head whirl. Suddenly his face was a breath from mine, his hands cupped underneath my bare thighs, lifting me with ease onto the counter of the kitchen.
I gasped into his mouth as he pushed my legs wider, nudging his body between my legs, which quickly encircled his back, willing him close.
His lips were hungry, stealing heady kisses from me that made me groan in longing.
Our tongues danced rhythmically, and I willed his pain away, longing for the thread between us to allow me to tug the pain he must be feeling away from him and into my own aurora.
"God's have mercy, I love you so much Imogen" Paul husked, his lips nuzzling the outline of my jaw, then my neck, nips, kisses, and licks. Whispering delicious quilete words between breaths, me pulling him tighter. My wolf, my imprint.