DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. That's why I don't give a shit. If you've read this far, what the fuck? Are you okay? Also, I love you. Drink some water and get some sleep.

First of all, I'm sorry. Secondly, you're welcome. Yes, I have returned. 'Tis I, The Bitch Who Talks A Lot At The Beginning. Some of you actually like this, I think, if I believe past comments on prior work. However, if it bugs you, feel free to skip it (*sister Michael voice* but know that you will be judged)

I couldn't do this whole thing from one point of view. Knowing myself, I'd get bored with just Leah's head—as I did with Jacob when I played around with him in the pack mind experiencing other people's memories. The only way to tell the story I cooked up is to tell it from multiple points of view. It feels frightful like forcing you to care about my OCs. Oh well. Hopefully, they're not so bad. If you hate them, let me know in the usual way; carve your thoughts into tree bark and throw it out the window over your shoulder. Or just leave a comment. Whichever.

Chapter 11: Of Wolves and Vampires

A long time ago, I watched a man emerge from the trees lining the outer fields. Dusk had just fallen over the land, the sun retreating behind the mountains in the west, and as the shadow of the night came racing over the grass, a figure appeared at the fence. I was still just a boy, but as soon as I saw him, I knew he was not just a man.

His eyes were cold and black, contrasting sharply against his chalky white skin. His teeth flashed when he smiled at me, gleaming white, sending my heart into my throat.

"Ah, little one," the figure purred as he floated over, his legs hidden in the long grass, barely rippling around him, like he was walking through it. I felt my knees knocking together.

As he came closer, he paused, his nostrils flaring.

"Another Ashwood son?" He murmured, almost to himself. He shook his head and came closer until he stood less than a foot away.

I looked up at him, a deer caught in the headlights.

"Eldest son of the eldest son," he greeted me with a nod. "I am Haffa."

"Have-a-what?"

He laughed from his belly, the sound resonating deep in his chest like an old church organ. "My name, dear boy. Haffa is what they call me. Tell me, young man, what do they call you?"

"Noah," I answered automatically.

Haffa was silent a moment. He stared down at me, unblinking, before his solemn expression cracked and broke into a smile.

"Your father was always partial to that story as a child. Remind me sometime to tell it to you," he instructed.

I nodded slowly, his words going in one ear and out the other. I hardly understood a thing he'd said.

"Now, where is your father?" Haffa inquired.

"Uncle Buck is at the house."

"No, dear boy, where is your father?"

"No one knows. My Aunt Di said he died when I was a baby."

Haffa's eyes dropped to my feet and back up, scanning me with a speculative expression. "Do you know your father's fate?"

"Huh?"

I still heard his voice echoing in my ears.

Do you know your father's fate?

Knowing he would beg me to stay, I didn't say goodbye to Noah. I left the keys to the truck at the bar while everyone was listening to Haffa describe the woman he'd recently been in love with.

"Her hair was golden, like corn silk, and her eyes pulled me in like an ocean riptide," the leech sighed. "Oh, and her voice! It was like a pearly bell ringing on a Sunday morning—"

I closed the door behind me, ran into the woods to shift, and followed his scent—a fresh trail—to what I assumed was his crypt. It was a hollowed-out, ancient willow tree with no furniture or electricity that I could see, and it seemed like it belonged in some fairytale, not my nightmare.

"It's rude to drop in uninvited."

I spun around to face Haffa, standing about thirty feet away with his arms crossed against his chest.

"You're the girl in the bar," he deduced. "I knew you weren't human," he added as if discussing the weather. "I can smell it, but it's not a scent I recognize. Sort of like a werewolf, but not quite." He paused, cocking his head with a curious mouth tilt. "What are you?"

I remained stock-still, frozen to the spot. No one else was a wolf, so the pack couldn't hear the deafening alarm bells going off in my head. My heart sprinted a mile a minute, but I was unafraid. I was curious, angry, and shocked—but not scared. Probably just another thing wrong with me. The freaky, mutant wolf-girl, my instincts weren't as honed as my brothers'.

I was a human again in a flash, standing naked before the leech. He blushed scarlet, covering his eyes with his hands, though I caught him peeking.

"A werewolf, but not quite," I echoed his words. "What does that mean?"

The monster smiled bashfully across from me, showing off two rows of glistening white teeth.

"Werewolves, or Children of the Moon, only transform during the full moon—you seem to be able to change at will. And you remember your time as a wolf. How odd."

I ignored his words, refusing to entertain the idea of a real Hollywood-type werewolf existing. "What do you want with these people?" I spat across the distance between us.

"Would you please put on some clothes first?" The bloodsucker requested, balling up his fists in frustration. "Forgive me, but it feels wrong to address a lady while she's in the nude."

I obliged, untying the overalls from my ankle wire and pulling them over my shoulders, not taking my eyes off the leech.

"That's better," he sighed, running a hand through his silvery-blonde hair. "As for me, I want nothing from the villagers but their company. I gave up drinking humans long ago when I came across another of my kind, a woman named Tanya, who showed me another way.

"You see, I used to be the monster you accuse me of being now—one of the original vampires of France, though they called it by another name. That was when I met the Volturi. You see, the Volturi are—"

"Yeah, I know about the vultures," I interrupted.

Haffa raised his left eyebrow. "You are… startlingly knowledgeable on vampires." He cocked his head to the side, overcoming his shock quicker than I had. "What do you know about these… vultures, as you call them."

"I know they're, like, the vampire version of cops."

"They are so much more, ma chérie." He shook his head solemnly. "They are self-appointed Kings of the vampire world. Before them, the Romanians ruled, and I was part of their court. I was one of the only survivors when the Volturi overthrew them in a bloody battle.

"Naturally, I wasn't safe in Romania anymore. I returned to my homeland, now called Gaul, and kept a low profile until the Volturi found me. I was brought before the three Kings in chains, but I survived because of my uncanny charisma." He flashed a dazzling white smile.

"I joined their court. Mostly, I made introductions. I was very popular, you see, even when I was actively avoiding public life. I knew many influential vampires throughout the world, and I was able to make connections the controversial Volturi would not have been able to secure on their own. I made myself worthwhile, and for that, my life was spared.

"I was sent here a couple hundred years after the Europeans discovered the continent. The Volturi had gotten word of a werewolf sighting, and I was sent to scout to see if the rumors were true. One of the Kings—Caius—had a nasty run-in with a werewolf that nearly destroyed him, and ever since, he has campaigned to kill each and every one of them to extinction.

"I came to the Americas on a merchant's ship, posing as Le Comte de Sainte Germaine, and made my home in the French quartier, where I found much delight among my guests. But it was not enough; I craved more.

"What I craved, you see, was companionship, and I soon left as war began in the South. Are you familiar with the Southern vampire wars?"

I nodded sharply, vaguely remembering the Cullen with all the feathery scars covering his marble skin and pretending I could not see the hoard of newborn vampires who'd come to kill us.

"Well-informed, I see," the leech remarked, tilting his head again. "Anyway. It became harder to hold territory in the South. I wasn't interested in creating newborn armies and playing the war general; the outfits had become terribly drab. Despite the constant partying and general debauchery, I had grown tired of New Orleans, or maybe I had just gotten bored with humans. I had never felt ashamed of what I was before. I was taught that my kind was superior to the weak, tasty humans, but I began feeling guilty. Hadn't I been human once? But I couldn't stop drinking their blood. It was all I knew.

"So, I ventured North, living the life of a nomad. The guilt became less acute when I stopped knowing the families of my victims. Then, I met Tanya in Alaska, and she taught me her strange way of life, and I was born anew for the third time in my long, long life on this Earth."

"The third time?"

Haffa smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "I was born once by my mother, another by my master and maker, and then again when Tanya taught me how not to be a monster.

"I made my way here when another coven came to live with her. More of her kind, who preyed on… alternatives to human blood." He paused, gauging my reaction.

My eyes narrowed. "The Cullens?"

His eyes widened. "You know of them?"

"Yeah," I scoffed, "I know 'em."

He smiled. "Bad blood between you?" He inquired.

I rolled my eyes, otherwise ignoring his terrible pun.

"Usually, it takes longer to explain what I am and even more time to convince someone I'm real. How have you become such an expert on my kind?"

"As you said, there's some 'bad blood' between my pack and the Cullens."

"Oh, my," Haffa's mouth gaped open scandalously. "You have a pack?"

I pretended not to hear the leech. "Let's just say the Cullens and I go way back—like, way back—and I can't imagine you can tell me anything freakier than I've already experienced with them." I shrugged. "So you're the one killing all the livestock?"

The leech's nostrils flared. "Of course not!" He exclaimed with a huff. "I've taken care of these people, and I protect them against others of my kind who would come here and make mincemeat out of them." With a sigh, he shook his head solemnly, looking down at his feet. "No, I'm afraid another has been plaguing the farmers' lands. His name is Javier."

I raised my eyebrows, blinking heavily in surprise. How many leeches were in on the "vegetarian" lifestyle?

"I grew lonely after leaving Tanya. We were never romantically involved, but still, she holds a special place in my heart, like a sister. I searched for a way to fill the lonely hours and met Javier in Louisiana, who I thought could be a potential mate. I bit him, allowing my venom to spread, and he became like me, a demon of the night.

"But as soon as he awoke, he became uncontrollable. He ran away from me, and though my heart was broken, I knew I had to leave before the Volturi discovered an uncontrolled newborn on the loose and came to destroy him—and me, too, if I was caught.

"I traveled North, back to Tanya. The Cullens had left by then. They never stay anywhere long. Carlisle is too young to avoid suspicion and works closely with humans. I watched the news, waiting for his killing spree to start arousing suspicion. But there were never any deaths—I even had the local paper shipped out to me in Alaska, but nothing was out of the ordinary other than some ranchers complaining about aliens. Only when I took a deeper look at the cattle killings could I see the potential work of a newborn vampire. But, indeed, he could not have mastered control so quickly—how would he go for the cows when there were warm human bodies just a few short miles away? Power like that is unheard of in our community. A year passed, and I knew if Javier had managed to survive, his newborn strength would be waning.

"And now, I feel like Dr. Frankenstein meeting his monster on the moors! I've returned after my excursion North, expecting him to be dead and gone by the time I'm back, only to find his scent all over my stomping grounds. I knew he hadn't killed anyone; that would've made too much noise in such a small community. But he was here, nonetheless, apparently feeding on livestock," he spat the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth, then shook his head. "He was always curious about my way of life; perhaps this is his way of trying it out. So, I have returned, but he evades me. I was never very good at tracking, and he seems to have some predilection towards escape." The bloodsucker sighed. "I fear he has some secret plan he wants to keep hidden."

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

The vampire made a pained noise. "What is there to do? I cannot move against him—no, my love for him is still too strong—but if I were stronger, I could subdue him. His one-year mark is coming, so his newborn strength will start to ebb. Maybe then I can sit him down and talk some sense into him."

"But if he listens, he'll stay here with you for good, won't he? I can't live here with any more leeches," I scrunched up my nose so much that my entire face wrinkled.

"Then kill him for me," Haffa joked.

"I've killed bloodsuckers before, but with a pack," I explained. "I'm not as strong on my own."

"You are ever stronger than the company you keep," Haffa mused vaguely. "Where is your pack, anyway?"

When the silence stretched out uncomfortably between us, the leech spoke again.

"I've seen how you stare at the boy," he noted. "You love him, despite what you are and what he is."

I sighed longingly. "He's too human for me."

"Oh, no," he insisted. "If you knew his family's history, you wouldn't be saying something so untrue. You can't know, of course—I'm sure they haven't told you— but you should ask him if you're holding out on love because you think it cannot happen between you two."

"Ask him what?"

Haffa's smile turned into a cold sneer.

"What he becomes on the full moon."

The bird I rescued from the bramble bush had her wings back, yet still, she didn't leave. She was perched in the gable window again as I stumbled home in the early morning, a memory flashing in front of my eyes at random.

I remembered being in the bar with Leah. She had landed on the stool next to me, her long limbs loose from beer and hard work. Her hackles rose when the bell rang, her nostrils flaring, the hair on her arms standing up at attention.

Then her eyes were wide and fixed on me, her unbridled rage burning a hole in my face. I'd been confused at first, then understood; Haffa had just walked through the door.

Of course, she knew what he was. Her instinctual nature had surprised me initially, but having grown up with Mama Ashwood, I was used to women knowing things they couldn't possibly know.

I was jealous. I couldn't figure out why; it wasn't like Leah'd shown anything close to affection for Haffa. Maybe it was because I wanted to keep her all to myself. I tried to tuck her under my arm and keep her there like an anchor.

When Leah was there, I never got lost in memories; I was busy making them. She kept me tied to the present moment, my buoy out at sea, a placeholder in reality. As time passed, her hold on me grew more robust, like an ever-present tugging sensation in my gut.

When Haffa walked in, I felt her fear run through me like an electric shock. I nearly stumbled over, but the sensation was gone as soon as it arrived, and I couldn't convince myself satisfactorily whether I'd felt the pain or misremembered.

I was propelled back into the present, finding myself on the back steps as she slid open the back door and handed me a pair of shorts. I nodded, trying to give her an appreciative smile, but she just frowned.

She'd run off after downing an entire beer in one gulp the night before. I noticed her absence when she left my side, but I had other things to worry about. The night was coming too soon, and the date circled in red on the calendar in my room swam before my eyes.

I never remembered anything after that. Maybe it was better that way.

Suddenly, I came to my senses in the kitchen, sipping bitter coffee. My lips puckered distastefully.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I replied, clearing my throat. "Did you put any salt in this?"

"Uh, no," she answered with a sheepish expression. "Was I supposed to?"

"It makes it less bitter. Here, I'll show you," I offered, getting up to make a fresh pot. "Let's see, and here's the cinnamon."

"I thought you said it needed salt?"

"It needs both. See, you add the coffee grounds… two… three…." I counted aloud to keep track. "Now you add some cinnamon." I tipped the container over, letting a tablespoon of spice go on the coffee grounds. "Then you put the salt on top. It should look like a snowy little mountain." I grabbed the shaker from the counter and sprinkled it over the cinnamon.

"So," I began, wedging my fingers into my pockets and twiddling my thumbs around the denim. I'd pressed the button on the machine and was waiting for it to finish brewing. "Do you know whether you plan to use this coffee for good or for evil?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Oh, I mean, I don't know," I floundered, thrown off by her look of confusion and the way her lips pouted out deliciously.

Something odd had taken hold of me, I discovered. I'd never been close to any girls, and public events always fell on the one night in the lunar cycle when I happened to be in one of my blackouts.

I heard myself talking again. "It's just something Mama says, sometimes," I shrugged, trying to act casual and epically failing. My voice had gone up at least two octaves. "Like, when she showed me how to make it right, she asked me the same thing."

Luckily, her lips twitched up in a restrained smile. I felt like Steve Irwin, sitting in the grass, trying to charm a snake.

"I didn't know there was a right way to make coffee," she replied lightly, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear, revealing the prominent point of her high cheekbones.

My accompanying grin must've been infectious; it spread over her face until we were both beaming at each other.

She was watching me with wonder in her eyes. I wondered if she had ever done that before. No memories came to mind. I was firmly in the moment, drawn closer to her as she fluttered her feather-duster eyelashes.

"Ahem."

I whirled around to see Mama without her black glasses. Her milky-white eyes seemed to look right through us.

"If you're not going to pour yourselves a cup, you oughta get outta the way," she instructed.

I had already taken two steps back. Leah stared back at me. When I remembered it later, she looked almost disappointed. Though, at the moment, it felt like I was deserting the bird in the bramble bush.

Breakfast was more interesting than usual.

I sat next to Noah, jumping every time our elbows touched, stealing glances between bites, and then looking down and blushing at my plate. Whatever had passed between us earlier still surged through my veins, electrifying my heart with every beat. I felt the static in the tips of my fingers. At one point, our hands touched when we reached for the same piece of toast, and we both jolted back like we'd been tasered. Much stuttering followed.

"You can have it."

"No, you go ahead."

"No, you—"

"I'll take it," Eli grunted, reaching forward.

I slapped his hand away, and he recoiled like a dog hit with a newspaper.

Around this time, one of the twins—I was still struggling to tell them apart—flicked a chunk of sausage off his fork, where it slapped against Eli's cheek, then fell onto the floor, where Rusty lapped it up with his tongue in one gulp. I realized I'd been expecting Eli to catch it in his mouth like my brother would've.

The chaos was familiar and comforting. I tore my eyes away from Noah, staring at the family gathered around. For a moment, I was awestruck at how much it felt like home—so foreign, so new, after not belonging for so long.

"It can be a bit overwhelming," he whispered in my ear, so close I could smell the Georgia Pine on his collar. I suppressed a shiver.

"I'm used to it," I breathed. "Big family."

Noah gulped. "I've never heard you mention them before."

I turned away, my face hardening. My lips faceted shut in a thin line.

"It's none of my business, I guess, but I'm just saying—I wish I knew you better," Noah confessed.

I melted, my shoulders relaxing, and turned to look at him again.

"What do you want to know?"

He thought momentarily, spearing a piece of sausage and chewing it deliberately. Finally, he swallowed, and my eyes watched his Adam's apple bob with trepidation.

"Where're you from?"

"Next question."

"But that's the easiest one!"

I rolled my eyes, pretending my stomach wasn't churning anxiously. "Where I'm from has nothing to do with who I am," I retorted.

Noah nodded, his eyebrows coming together over his eyes. "Why don't you want to tell me about where you grew up?"

"I just can't tell you yet, okay?" I hedged, feeling the urge to word vomit crawl up my throat. "I'm still protecting them."

He was silent for a moment. I pushed around a piece of French toast with my fork, staring at it like I was fully absorbed in the task.

"What's your favorite color, then?"

I looked into his eyes and blurted, "Brown," then blushed.

He smiled, and there were those dimples, making me weak at the knees. I had to remind myself to breathe.

"Leah, dear, you look constipated. Are you constipated?" Diana interjected, leaning over with a motherly expression. "Mama has some tea—"

"I'm not constipated!" I exclaimed louder than I'd meant to, turning all heads towards me. "And could you stop saying that word?" I added in a lower tone.

"What? Constipated?" Diana asked at average volume, much to my displeasure. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, dear. It happens to everyone now and then."

By now, my face was positively glowing with heat. I stared down at the scraps on my plate before scraping them into Rusty's mouth, which inspired Buck to intervene.

"Would you stop feeding that dog off the table? He's getting fat!"

Rusty had, in fact, become almost too wide to fit under the table. I decided now was not the best time to admit I could not resist his large, begging eyes.

"Sorry," I muttered, resting my chin in my hand.

Below the table, Rusty plopped his butt down on my foot and rested his snout on my knee with an exasperated huff. Noah suppressed a laugh beside me, and his elbow bumped mine again, making me shoot straight up out of my seat. Rusty's snout hit the bench with a thud.

"Well, I'm done," I said quickly, trying to cover up my shock by grabbing my plate and stepping away from the table. "I'll be upstairs."

"But we have church!" Mama Ashwood called from her spot at the end of the table next to the baby's high chair. Rose gurgled and slapped her fists on her plastic plate, spraying the green lump of baby food over Mama's glasses, though she did not seem to notice.

"Oh." Church. Of course. I had to suppress a groan.

I hadn't expected Mama Ashwood to be so religious, being a witch and all, but she had proven me wrong by insisting the entire family go to church every Sunday. I wouldn't have thought coordinating the whole clan on such a journey was possible. Still, somehow, Mama managed to shepherd everyone into the cars and the church—always exactly thirty minutes early—where she plopped us all in the first two rows. No one else ever sat there, even if they came before us. Somehow, I was always placed next to Noah.

Driving there and back was the best part of Sundays. Mama Ashwood rode in the truck with me, Noah, Eli, Jonah, and the dog. Diana took the babies and the girls in her beat-up Volkswagen while Buck took the twins alone in his truck because no one else was willing to be trapped in a car with them. During these rides, when we were all squished into the cab of Noah's truck, I was pressed up against him in a pleasant way. As the days grew colder, he started wrapping his arm around me for warmth.

"You're like a space heater," he joked.

I had come—kicking and screaming—to the realization that I could not help loving him. I'd even convinced myself that loving him wouldn't be a burden, like love always seemed to be, as long as it remained a secret. Then, it wouldn't feel too real.

If it didn't feel real, I wouldn't have to get my heart broken.

However, on that particular Sunday, I was exhausted from my late-night excursion to a bloodsucker's crypt. I was not feeling very sentimental. Mostly, I was feeling numb. I'd retreated into my head, mechanically going through the motions, waiting for the obligation to be over so I could phase and tell the pack what I'd learned from the leech.

It was a gorgeous day. The late-summer sun beat down on us during the hour after the sermon when everyone ate cakes and drank lemonade. Mel Peter and I were at our usual station, handing out lemonade. She knew I wasn't myself; somehow, she saw right through me.

"What's going on, dear?" She asked quietly as she filled another cup. "Are you constipated?"

"What? No!" I hissed. "Why are people asking me that? Do I look constipated?"

"Yeah, a little."

"Well, I'm not, thanks."

Noah appeared before me, holding out his empty cup as if on cue.

"Could I get a refill?" He asked, cracking a wide, dimpled grin.

I couldn't help it. My hand shook as I held out the jug of lemonade, so I had to grab the bottom to keep myself from spilling it all over him.

Mel's eyes flashed. "You should take a break, Leah," she interjected.

"No, really, I'm fine, it's just hot—" I stammered, my eyes wide as Noah put his drink down and held out his hands as if to stop me from falling over.

"Get in the shade, girl," Mel instructed.

"I'll take care of her, ma'am," Noah promised with a grin, leaning over to place a sloppy, wet kiss on Mel's cheek.

"Oh, well, I never—" Mel blushed, wiping her face with a napkin. "Buck! Come'n get your boy! He's actin' a fool!" She hollered.

"It's okay—" I began.

"C'mon, I got you out of lemonade duty," Noah interrupted under his breath. "Besides, it would be a pity to be stuck at church on a day like this."

Once his arm was behind my back and his hand rested on my shoulder, I was thrilled to go anywhere he wanted. He led us to a large willow tree with a stout trunk topped by a graceful, broad, rounded crown of branches and ushered me into the cool shade.

It was at least ten degrees cooler underneath the dome of arching reeds and feathery leaves. The suffocating stillness of the sun dropped away, like shedding a layer of skin. The grass sang with cicadas, the air hummed with bees, and even the tree seemed to chant an ancient tune too low for human ears.

I turned to stare at Noah. How had he found this magical place? How had he gotten stuck with a werewolf imprint? Maybe he was one of those odd humans—like Bella—who saw through the façade—through the human interpretation of strange behaviors to their supernatural origins.

I gave him more scrutiny than I ever had before. He was tall—nearly four inches taller than I was, which was saying something—and broad-chested. He had rolled up the sleeves of his sky-blue button-up just above his elbows, revealing hard, sun-kissed skin and calloused hands with dirt under the nails. His dark hair was swept out of his eyes in loose curls, sticking to his skin with drying sweat. His dimples were prominent, framing his crooked grin.

His eyes met mine, and I was gone.

"It's a lot cooler in here," he stated.

"Yeah," I breathed, trying to come up with something coherent.

He cleared his throat. "You look better in here—I mean—I just—" he stammered, surrendering his palms. "You don't look as hot, as in warm, not like that kind of hot—not that you're not hot! Y'know, in that way, I mean—"

"You're cute," I interrupted, letting out a laugh.

"Thanks," he answered automatically. "You're…" He trailed off, becoming lost for words. "You're like a dream."

I gulped. Noah took a step closer. He was now so close I could feel his breath on my lips.

"You're like a dream," he repeated in a low voice.

Fighting against the urge to kiss him and be done with it, I glared in what I hoped was defiance.

"Whatever fantasy you've constructed of me for your own amusement isn't the real me."

"I haven't constructed any fantasies," he breathed, his face inching closer.

"Then what makes me a dream?"

"You're just…." He struggled to find the words. "I don't know. I feel like I knew you already before we met."

"I know."

"How would you know?"

"I just know, okay? You don't want to play this game. I could ask you questions you don't want to answer, too."

"Touché," he conceded. "But I didn't bring you here to talk about that. I wanted to ask you on a date."

I blinked at him blankly, trying to process the idea of dating my imprint. I hadn't dared to imagine it before.

"Sure."

"Really?" He asked incredulously.

"Really."

"I didn't expect it to be that easy." He saw my mouth opening in protest and quickly backtracked. "I mean, I memorized a bunch of talking points. Mostly pros and cons of going out with me. You don't want to hear it?"

"If you want to tell me."

"Maybe not," he replied thoughtfully. His grin was so broad I couldn't help mirroring it. "Maybe I should just quit while I'm ahead."

I bit my lip, trying to hide the traitorous smile. "Yeah, maybe you should."

"How about tonight? I'll take you to a drive-in movie theater."

"They still have those?"

"Oh, yeah, it's super cool—you'll see, I'll show you."

"Maybe we should just go for a walk, like usual," I suggested, not wanting to stray too far into civilization and inadvertently learn what part of the Americas I was in.

"We could do that, too," he agreed. "I'll bring dessert."

He winked, and I blushed.

I was uncharacteristically shy for the rest of the day. Whether or not Mel noticed—which, by her knowing looks and how often she whispered into Mama's ear, was a good bet—she didn't ask me again if I was constipated.

The butterflies in my stomach had turned into a hornet's nest when Noah took his usual spot next to me for the drive home. I was squished under his arm, draped over the back of the seat to allow some wiggle room between Mama and me. His hand rested on my shoulder, and I leaned over until my head rested against his collarbone, my eyes strictly focused on the road ahead. Mama kept turning her head over as if she could see how dark my cheeks were. Jonah and Elijah were preoccupied with some trading cards they'd gotten in the church courtyard. I took a deep breath in, memorizing the smell of home.

My stomach was doing somersaults at the dinner table.

Noah and I had avoided each other after returning to the Ashwood farm. I was in a whirlwind. I barely even registered what my body was doing. At some point before dinner, I'd come to my senses, looking in the mirror, one of the dresses Mama'd tailored for me draped over my shoulder. I scowled, flinging it onto the bed.

I was both dreading and looking forward to phasing into a wolf to tell the pack what I'd learned from Haffa. Did I dare shift in the daylight? Or could it wait until after my date with Noah? What would they say about another newborn leech lurking about, and what would they think about Haffa?

At dinner, Diana and Buck were smiling at each other near the head of the table. Susanna and Sarah were bickering over a shared lip gloss. Jonah was trying to explain the finer points of football to Elijah while the twins kept yelling out incorrect facts about the game to confuse him. Rosie was in her highchair at Mama Ashwood's side, clapping her fat little palms and spraying some orange purée onto the table. On Mama's other side, Thomas was beginning to look forlornly at the brussel sprouts on his plate. Mama sat stoically at the other end of the table, across from Buck, her hands folded over each other, resting on the head of her cane. I ignored the weight of her blind eyes on me while trying to study Noah.

He acted as if nothing were different besides being cheerier than usual, passing the peas to Jonah with too much enthusiasm and spilling them down the table onto everyone's plates.

At least he could speak. I filled my mouth to avoid conversation. When I'd stopped eating, I shoved mashed potatoes into my cheek so I could start chewing if someone looked at me. I was worried my voice would come out as a squeak if I tried to talk.

The after-dinner lull came too quickly. As Buck settled in with his cigar, Mama Ashwood washed dishes. Diana was herding the little ones upstairs to get ready for bed—it was still light out, and they all whined that they couldn't sleep. I dashed upstairs, threw on the dress, ran a comb through my hair—now down to the end of my shoulder blades—and ran outside before I could think better of it.

Even though she hadn't known me yet, Mama seemed to understand what I needed in a dress. Black with white flowers, it fell just below my knees and had enough ripples of fabric to allow for flexibility but not so much material that I was weighed down by it. It was made of thin, green cotton, breathable in the soggy summer heat. If Buck thought it was odd to see me run across his kitchen in it, I didn't give him time to say so; no one would've believed him, anyway.

The blazing summer sun was beginning to melt, turning into a giant pat of butter over the shorn fields. Noah was waiting for me by the edge of the house, near the garden shed, with a blanket in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. My nerves disappeared when I saw his beaming grin, which was infectious; soon enough, I was beaming, too.

"Are you wearing a dress?" He asked incredulously.

I crossed my arms against my chest, glaring up at him.

"What are you wearing?" I retorted, pointing at the faded t-shirt and jeans. "Do you clean up nice, or what?" I snorted.

"I'll have you know," he began, his grin becoming a smirk, "I took a shower."

I grabbed my collarbones with faux shock. "Is there any hot water left?"

He laughed, and I joined him.

"I gotta admit, you cleaned up better than I expected you to," he said, reaching out his hand for me to take.

I glanced back at the house. I thought I saw one of the curtains rustling in the kitchen window, but it could've been the wind. I suspected it was Mama Ashwood.

"Very flattering," I sneered, keeping my arms crossed as I began on the foot trail we'd created over the border of the land.

"You look fantastic, really," he added consolingly. "Don't get me wrong. But I can only picture you in a dress on Sundays. Mel used to make you dress up, remember?"

I winced. "Yeah. Those were dark times."

"I liked that dress, though." Noah reached over to tug on my elbow, uncrossing my arms. "The short one."

I let him pull me closer, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Pig," I accused jokingly.

"I like this one, too, though, don't get me wrong," he explained, lacing his fingers with mine.

"Sure, sure."

"You don't believe me?"

"No! I believe you!"

"See, if you really believed me, you wouldn't have said 'no' when I asked if you didn't."

I paused. It took me a second to connect the dots.

"No!" I repeated, an octave higher. "I do believe you."

"There it is again! You say, 'no,' and then you contradict yourself."

"What's in the bag, anyway?" I wondered aloud, changing the subject.

"Oh, just the best dessert for a hundred miles," he answered modestly. "But I'm saving it for when we get to the barn."

"We're going to the barn?"

"Yeah, right?"

"I thought we were just doing a patrol."

"You want to eat dessert while we're walking?" He shook his head. "No wonder you came to me so thin, little bird."

Something with wings fluttered in my chest, light and feathery—like hope. "That's funny," I said, remembering Bella. My fragile little human friend with hollow bones, all the marrow sucked out by a sadistic predator.

"What's funny about it?"

"Nothing really, I guess," I replied, shaking my head to clear it.

"C'mon, I'll race you to the barn," he challenged, and my competitive instinct kicked into action.

My eyes narrowed. "Give me the bag. I won't jostle it as much."

He laughed. "This stuff can take a pounding, trust me."

I raised one eyebrow. "Okay, then. Ready, set, go!"

He ate my dust, as usual. Watching him huff up the hill to catch up reminded me of how human he was—and how human I was not. The force of this truth barreling into my chest was enough to knock some sense into me. I immediately regretted the dress. Why hadn't I thought to put shorts on underneath? I felt naked in the thin satin, sticking to my skin with sweat.

My worries evaporated when he trotted up beside me.

"Now, don't let that go to your head," he panted, moving over to the ladder on the right leading up to the stacks. "Remind me to bet on you in the Kentucky Derby."

Most of the hay was stored in neat bales lined up against the walls at this time of year. We still needed to harvest the hay fields, so it had dwindled to the last fifty or so bales. At each end of the hay loft were two large, rectangular openings in the wall, letting in the sweet, aromatic air on the light breeze. The floor, as usual, was covered in yellow hay, both soft and sharp against my bare feet. What remained of my boots was in the corner underneath a fresh litter of kittens.

He grabbed a bale off the top and put the brown paper bag on it. With a cue to drumroll, he opened it and revealed a see-through plastic container. "It's the best damn mud cake this side of the Mississippi," he announced.

"Mud cake?"

"Yeah, mud cake. You've never had mud cake?"

"Uh, no. I think I made them with my brother when I was six."

"Oh, man, you're gonna love it. It's chocolate pudding with cookie crumbles and gummy worms, and there are layers of mousse—y'know what? Just try some. You'll see."

I wasn't disappointed. Though I insisted it needed a better name, the mud cake was delicious. Plus, he brought weed, so we could've eaten dirt, and I would've thought it was the best thing I'd ever had. We smoked out the opening of the loft, throwing the ashes onto the ground below. I felt the familiar, light feeling—slightly different from when I'd accidentally eaten half a batch of Emily's "special" brownies—and it was clear that my inhibitions had gone on a different date in a separate hay loft. I wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point, I found myself perched on the edge of the opening at the far end of the barn, Noah across from me with his legs stretched out on the floor opposite mine. I kept imagining them getting knotted up together. We'd settled into a contented silence, staring at the rolling hills, until he spoke.

"Do you… Do you think we could do this again?"

I turned to look at him. I probably had a goofy smile, but I no longer cared. I was practically purring with contentment.

"I hope we do it many more times," I hummed.

Noah adjusted his seat and sat beside me with my legs on his lap. His hand reached around my shoulders and rested in my hair. I tilted my chin up to look at him, knowing what would come next before it happened.

Our first kiss was slow, lazy, still weighed down by the hazy smoke in our lungs, but as my thrumming heartbeat caught up to my head, my fists tightened. I don't know what came over me. One second, his lips had just pulled away, then the next, I was flinging myself at him like an ambitious stripper. I was too far gone to care.

I couldn't take it anymore. What was the point of imprinting if you never got to taste them? And he tasted like nothing I'd ever had before. It was all clichés, written in a thousand different ways in a thousand other languages; he pushed every one of my buttons; his touch set me on fire; I was lusting after him like a junkie looking for a fix. I suddenly became like every other girl in love, and surprisingly, I found I didn't hate it.

I'd never felt so connected to another human being before. This was more than a schoolgirl crush, more than my high school sweetheart, more than the love of my life. I was home.

After the initial shock wore off, his hand balled up the dress at my waist, his fingertips grazing against my cheekbone and tangling themselves into the hair behind my ear.

It felt like being dropped into a pleasantly cool pond. Noah was there when my knees gave out, supporting my weight, catching me as I fell, pulling my head out from under the water.

When we came up for air, panting, breathless, I decided to tell him the truth.

Eventually.

I didn't want to ruin the current moment—it was too tremulous, too delicate, too raw, and good for me to destroy—and the whole "I'm a werewolf, and you have a vampire infestation" seemed like something I should bring up when we weren't both high.

Instead, I let him kiss me, untethering myself from the earth and floating amongst the stars poking through the night curtains, letting myself be held down by his gravitational pull on me.

I didn't shift that night.

Noah and I walked back to the house sometime after midnight. His arm slung around my shoulders, and mine wrapped around his waist. I still felt like a balloon tied to a string on his wrist.

A/N: Ah, that's some good nutritious content. 'Tis I, the Bitch Who Talks A Lot At The End, here to remind you that if you have a Thought, I would greatly appreciate you generously sharing it with the rest of the class. Also, I'm contemplating posting more artwork in the chapters, though I'm not sure if anyone but me likes it, so if you're into that kinda stuff do tell, and I have a bunch of random shit I've drawn of Leah & Noah. As you were, noble reader!