Embry's POV
Jacob drove me home and I didn't get out. When he asked if I wanted to go Sam's and Emily's, I just give a silent shake of the head, because Sam's lecture was the last thing that would have made me feel better.
So Jacob drove me to his house. Where his dad Billy already had one of his daughter's old room ready with fresh sheets and some of Jacob's clothes to borrow folded neatly waiting for me. They let me hole up in their bathroom to wash the woods off me, then had Chinese take out waiting for me by the time I came back. The two were even nicer the next day when I was only slightly more talkative.
"Heading out?" Billy wheels into the doorway, watching me fold up all the borrowed pairs of Jacob's clothes I was lended.
"Yeah, I have to go back. Been worried about my leaving my mom alone." That was a halfway truth. Yes, I've been worried about whether or not she's been eating or remembering to lock the door when she comes home late from work. But I've been worrying about lots of things.
"You're always welcome to stay longer. As long as you want." Billy adds.
"Thank you for everything," I mean it. "I always like coming over." Billy gives a sober nod in a silent 'you're welcome' before folding his hands in his lap then going serious.
"Embry, let me ask you a question if you're up to it." I can tell that Billy was never the parent who yelled or even raised his voice. He was undoubtedly the parent who you never wanted to disappoint because letting him down would be worse and last longer than any consequences.
"Of course you can." I mutter.
"It's a loaded one, son. So I'll only ask if you feel up to answering it." Billy asks again.
"You can ask whatever you want, Billy." I make room for him to enter the room, lowering down on the corner of the bed so we'll be eye level.
"What exactly do you get out of not telling Winnie the truth?"
"If I tell her, she'll never want to see me again. She'll think I'm lunatic or on drugs—or both." Billy nods along as he listens to my answer, thinking over each and every word as I explain. Just when I think he sees the reason in my words, he shakes his head.
"Now son, I didn't ask why you won't tell her. I asked what do you get out of not telling her the truth. I know it mustn't be easy keeping this from her, having to hide who you are from her. She's your imprint. Isn't killing you?"
Billy wasn't nice to warn me, he was right to. The way it feels like the entire room losses oxygen nearly makes me get to my feet and run out the door just to catch my breath again. I would feel disorientated but Billy's serious gaze levels me. He patiently waits for my answer, giving me all the time I need to sort out my words.
"What I get out of not telling Winnie she's my imprint..." I repeat, running my hand over my face. Not sure of the answer myself, I look towards Billy as if he has the answer. "I keep telling myself that I'm going to tell her soon—eventually. When the timing is right or when our relationship is stronger. I keep putting it off because I'm scared I'll lose her. So... I guess I'm saying that I get to keep Winnie in my life the longer I don't tell her."
"Now, that's an answer." Bill gives me something of an understanding look.
"That hurt saying it out loud." I admit, feeling like one of the guys just punched me in the gut. Billy lets out a dry chuckle, his low rumble comforting.
"I'd say it hurts less and less, but that would be a lie." Billy grins before going serious again. "I actually went to talk to Winnie yesterday." I do a double take at him, rising up to my feet before lowering back down when I realize she might be pissed at me.
"Did she look okay?"
"Perfectly fine." Billy shrugs.
"Did she say she was mad at me?"
"You didn't come up. I didn't go to Enola's place to talk about you. I went over to see for myself whether or not she's a believer or not." Billy pauses before arching his brows. "Cold stone skeptic that one."
"She was the first kid in our grade to not believe in Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy." I quip.
"That's sad. She must have grown up quick." Billy never fails to be perceptive and wise.
"She did." I say hollowly, my chest tightening up.
"Yes, Winnie is a skeptic, but she's also loyal." Billy adds with a lift of his chin. "Though Winnie lacks faith in the legends, she has faith in you, Embry. You shouldn't let that fear have so much of a say in your relationship. Winnie will lose faith in you if you don't put faith in her. She can handle the truth, she deserves to know the truth."
"Billy, what—what if I don't want to tell her? What if I just want to keep everything the way it is?" Billy doesn't look the slightest bit fazed by my words, more as if he's been waiting to see whether or not I was going to say it out loud at all.
"Even though it's not the whole truth, being with Winnie makes you feel normal." Billy says the answer that I've been holding back this whole time. It stings hearing it out loud. The moments in-between my avoidance was a guilty place where I could relay on Winnie to make me feel normal again. Because with her not knowing I could pretend I wasn't a werewolf, I could pretend I never changed; I could pretend I was the person I was before.
"I think you feeling like that makes sense, Embry. You and the boys have been through too much change and too young. Your whole world is completely different now, and you can never get your old life back. But Winnie won't be in your life much longer if you never let her in it." All the fear turns cold then doubles down because the fear of losing Winnie is worse.
"What if she thinks I'm a monster? What if she's scared of me?" I hear what Billy heard; the fear in my voice.
"You wouldn't have imprinted on a girl who'll ever see you any different. You're not meant to be with a person like that." Billy pauses before adding, "A girl like that doesn't scare easily either, so I wouldn't worry."
"How should I tell her?" My hands wring through my hair, my body tensing up and just for a spilt second I worry if I'm going to shift like I did the other day.
"A girl like that needs to see to believe. You're going to have to show her."
"She'll drop dead from shock. Or check herself into an inpatient program." I choke.
"Now you ain't giving Winnie enough credit, Embry. She's not a runner, or one to scare easy. She's not made of weak stuff, " Billy fixes me with a narrowed eye glare, huffing his chest a bit as he straightens up in his chair. "She's just as much Quileute as us."
Winnie's POV
While tulips are beautiful, they don't last long as I'd hope. Since they came home with me, the flowers looks a bit more delicate than when I first got them. Even with me changing the water in the vase everyday, the tulips still haven't perked up. They're sagging at their stems, their petals keep falling one by one, and their sweet smells is turning sour. Yet, every moment of every day when I'm not focused, when I'm not busying myself, my eyes always land on the vase and I think of Embry even when I try not to.
I miss him. It's only been a few days yet it feels like I haven't been right since I last him. I tell myself it's because of the fight at the Lodge, or maybe how I haven't had someone in my life to miss since my parents. Yet the feeling only gets worst and worst the longer I don't hear from him.
So here I am on my day off. Staring down the vase from across the room, willing to do nearly anything just to miss Embry even the slightest bit less.
"Get up youngin," There's a holler at my front door followed by a bang.
"Enola?" I call back, not wasting anytime in answering the door then doing a double take. The usual no nonsense expression is on her face. There's an worn beige and green corduroy hat over her lengthy silver braid. A heavy utility jacket that's a bit too big on her has Enola rolling up her cuffs just to be able to use her hands. The old combat boots and the rifle leaning against her shoulder makes me worry if she's going to risk being arrested. "Enola? Are you going to shoot Terrance Lahote again? Is he back on the res?"
"Of course not. Terrance isn't stupid enough to chance my aim again. He knows I don't miss." Enola scuffs. "That look on your face is always damn right funny."
"Then what's the gun for?"
"Say, have fast can you get changed, Winnifred? Something you don't mind getting dirty." Enola shrugs, moving the rifle from shoulder to the other.
"Enola, what is the gun for?" I double down.
"We're going hunting." Old Quil comes up behind Enola in his hunting gear and a rifle in each hand. They're each newer and better models than Enola's family gun but not one for firearms I have no idea what point number or model whatever they are.
"By we you mean you two." I to do my best at not crossing my arms. The two elders chuckle at me, Old Quil finding me so funny he gives me a pat on the head.
"Let's go moving, youngin."
"Are you hunting for deers?" I call out after Enola and Old Quil, who are far up ahead of me on the hunting trail. I do my best not to trip over any tree stumps, too worry what will happen if I trip, fall then accidentally setting the rifle off.
"No," Enola shouts over her shoulder.
"Geese?"
"No." Old Quil answers.
"Wild turkeys?" I gulp, knowing how mean those birds can be.
"No." They both answer, stopping to wait for me to catch up. Enola gives me a flat look, her dark eyes holding the same unimpressed if not worried look in Old Quil's face.
"If you hold it like that you're going to get someone hurt." Old Quil points out, frowning at how I'm trying to keep it far way from my body as much as possible.
"Most likely yourself." Enola grunts.
"What if—"
"The safety is on." Enola already knows what I'm about to say. "Don't hold it like you're afraid of it. Too loose of a grip and you'll cause an accident. And there's scarier stuff in these woods to be afraid of."
"Coyotes?" I suggest but the look on their faces makes me feel small out here.
"Keep your knees hip length apart, hold it firmly and have it ready at your side so you don't drop it." Old Quil advises, moving on ahead.
"What are you hunting for?" I call after him, falling into step with Enola. The way she takes aim with her rifle and follows a bird flying across the sky with the barrel of her gun. Admittedly it was an impressive thing to do with one eye shut. Old Quil stops behind a log, looking over the trunk to eye up in the trees. Just when I think it's turkeys he turns to me with an expression so serious I stop dead in my tracks.
"When I was first learning to shoot, my father taught me to never to be afraid of wildlife. They mean no harm to us, so we do no harm to them. And to especially to never shoot wolves." Old Quil points his gun in the trees, looking for something through his one opened eye. The legends come to mind, with all the stories telling us how they're protectors so we it is our duty to protect them too.
"My parents taught me the very same." Enola adds.
"The things we did learn to hunt are the things that hunt us. They track us by whatever means necessary. They catch the sound of our hearts beating or catch our scents then track us, toy with us if they don't just drain us and rip us apart till we're unrecognizable. They climb trees, they can run so fast they can do miles in a minute, they're so strong they can pull us apart like nothing. We had to learn to hunt them first before they hunt us." The hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end hearing Old Quil tell me his story.
"The wolves protect us from them." Enola picks up the story. "We try our best, but we're only human. We're not fast enough, or strong enough. They protect us from them."
"What are the wolves protecting us from?" I dare to ask. Whatever they're talking about doesn't sound like any bear or mountain lion. There's something about seeing the adults in your life be distressed. Especially the oldest people in my life, the people who have been in my life since I was three, nervous and uneasy that sends a bolt of fright straight through me.
"If we tell you, will you believe us?" It hurts how Old Quil questions me, especially more with how he asks me so sincerely with a gentle grin. They both give me sympathetic looks, even the look on Enola's face makes me feel like I'm ten again.
"You don't have to be scared, Winnifred, the wolves are here to protect you." Old Quil gives me a warm look before easing up and lowering down on the log.
"You just have to be aware." Enola adds. "So you need to learn how to hold that gun."
"You won't see them till it's too late. You'll know they're near when the animals are gone. When the birds stop chirping and flyaway. When the crickets and cicadas go quiet. When you see herds of deers running. The can be anywhere, up in the trees or low on the ground. You can't hesitate when you see them, you only get one shot. And that shot won't kill them, it'll slow them down enough for you to get a head start."
"What can't be killed by a bullet?" There. That's the thing they were alluding to. My stomach drops while I try to picture things that are bulletproof and the only thing that comes to mind is steel.
"You can't kill it, but the wolves can." Enola says. "But you can learn to shoot, that way you can get a head start." Enola states, adjusting the grip of my hands around the rifle. She pulls it to chin level, alining the butt of the rifle with my shoulder till it's a straight line. It's heavy on my bones, and I worry if it'll leave a bruise or if my arm will give out.
"Don't aim with your eye, make sure it lines up with the barrel." Enola advises. "Don't hesitate, don't double guess yourself. You need every second. Always try to aim for the head." A shiver runs down my spine at Enola's graphicness.
"Keep steady. It can smell fear." Old Quil advises, which makes my hands go sweaty.
"You can be scared after you take your shot. Breathe first, panic and run later." Enola advises, holding my chin steady so I don't turn away to give her a pained look.
"What if I miss?" They both go quiet for a beat and I try my best not drop my stance altogether.
"Shoot again and faster. Then don't miss." I'm not sure when I heard the click of the safety going off, but suddenly there's a boom. The world speeds up. There's the smell of smoke, my shoulder hurts and I'm lurched back so rough I don't have time to see how I end up on the ground on my butt or hear the ringing in my right ear.
"Not bad for your first shot." Enola whistles, helping me up with an offered hand and laugh.
"I fired?" I blanche, feeling a buzz of anxiety in my gut. I check around for Old Quil, and he's more then fine, slapping his knee cracking up on the log.
"I didn't think you'd shoot without a little a push. You'll need practice." Enola says mischievously, admitting she took off the safety when I wasn't looking. I hadn't even realized I was squeezing the trigger at all. They had me tense and down right scared.
I'm not sure if I believe them, what I do believe is whatever Enola and Old Quil scared, scares me. So I'll listen, I'll learn, and never go into the woods alone.