Embry's POV
"About time you're back." I'm not sure who told Old Lady Enola I was coming home, (probably Billy Black) but here she is on my front porch sipping on a mug of tea that is undeniably from my kitchen. Either Enola caught my mom on her way out to her second job, or the old lady somehow let herself in. There doesn't seem to be any sign of forced entry, all the windows are intact, with the front door seemingly fine, but honestly there's no telling how she got in.
Enola may look elderly, but her homemade knit sweaters or crocs don't fool any of us locals. The stories I've heard about her growing up are downright fiendish.
"Um, hi Enola. Did you come to see my mom?" I already know the rez elder isn't here to see my mom.
"No," Enola gives a shake of her gray head before narrowing her eyes on me. All things considered, from my build, size, being a werewolf, even facing the Volturi, Enola's glare is still off putting. "I came here to see you."
"In that case, would you like to come inside?" I offer.
"No, this won't take long." Enola waves off before reaching around the chair and pulling out her rifle.
"Enola!" I warn, more for her than for me. Ignoring me, she mindlessly takes her time with the rifle, checking the barrel to make sure it's loaded.
"I've always minded you less than other folks, Embry. I can't say that about many people, but you're quite the young man. Your mom, Tiff, did right by you. You're respectful, selfless, manners of a saint, always helping anyone who asks, and I know what you do for the reservation. Now just because I don't hate you, don't mean I like you, we clear?"
"Clear, Enola." I nod. When she points her rifle at me I hold up my hands in defense, "Crystal clear."
"Now, Winnifred? I like her." Enola's words stretch out between us. Her brows rising up to her hairline with a sly tilt of her head. "That girl? She's a good one. Even when this town hasn't been good to her, even with how she hasn't done anything to nobody, Winnifred has always been and will be one of the good ones."
"Winnie is the best one." I brave a word. A fond looks takes over Enola's dark eyes before she tightens her grip around the barrel.
"I know Winnifred is your imprint, Embry." I confirm with a nod. "If she's your imprint then why did you stand up for her only to run with your tail between your legs?"
"If I tell you the reason are you going to shoot me?" I ask with a cautious nod towards her rifle.
"I won't if it's a good reason." Enola chuckles.
"Enola, you're too smart to waste a bullet one me. You know that won't do anything to me." She gives a sage nod of her head, glancing at the rifle with a collected expression.
"Doesn't mean I won't enjoy shooting at you." Enola smirks. Damn it.
"I'm scared to tell her—" I don't even bother finishing my sentence before ducking. I had a feeling she was going to fire. I have no idea how old that gun of hers is, but it sounds off like a canon. There wasn't a boom, but an explosion. One that has all my neighbors checking outside then racing back inside when they see Enola.
"Well, well," She whistles, already getting ready for another shot. "That damn well better not be your reason."
"I'm scared to tell her!" I force out as fast as I can before she can fire another shot. Putting my all into keeping any anger in check. Forcing myself to take deep breaths and to count to ten, and whatever else to keep my mind sane. After the Lodge, I don't want a repeat. Especially not with Enola of all people.
"You're scared? Scared of what!" Enola bangs her firt against the arm of the chair.
"Scared that I'll lose her! When I tell her it's going to change everything we have—"
"Oh, shut up. You're right, you are a waste of bullets." Enola rolls her eyes, waving the rifle around before propping it against the house. "You're scared? Not scared of Cold Ones, but scared of a nineteen year old girl. So what, you're just not going to tell her? Winnifred has a right to know. This is her relationship too, this is her life too. When you imprinted on her, her life wasn't ever going to be the same ever again. You can't keep avoiding telling her the truth!"
"I don't know how to tell her." I ground out, my clenched jaw the only way I can hold back my wolf. "I can't just blurt it out. I can't just phase into a wolf in front of her. How am I suppose to tell her?"
"Maybe start with an apology, Embry. Call the girl already." Enola groans with an irritated roll of her head. I wince at that, wince like I just got punched in face by one of Paul's angry blows. Enola has been making nothing but point after point, but that one? That one point was sharp as a knife.
I don't bother telling the elder about the half finished letters balled up in each of my pockets.
"As for breaking the news, you're right. You can't just shift in front of her. Winnifred deserves some warning. Plus the way that Jacob told that chief of Forks was damn right idiotic. Second stupidest thing he's done." I don't bother asking Enola what she believes to be the stupidest thing Jacob's done.
"Is this there a right way to tell Winnie?" I ask, feeling drained.
"Something to ask the ones who aren't here anymore." Enola sighs. "Now Billy, Quil Senior and I have been dropping some hints. Reintroducing her to the legends, retelling her our tribe's history. Now, we haven't told her the whole truth, but we've certainly told her more than you have. We think it's time to do more than telling."
"What's that consist of?" I'm afraid to ask.
"Winnifred needs to see to believe. Let her see you."
"See me?" I rasp, my knees threatening to buckle.
"She needs to see a wolf, and it should be you." Enola points a finger at me. Enola claps her hands together, rising up to her feet with more energy than someone her age has. "Well, now that's sorted out. I'll see you in my backyard tomorrow. This was fun."
"This was fun?" I blanche, pinching the space between my eyes.
"I haven't had this much fun shooting since the hunting season of '94." She laughs, if not cackles off with her gun. The elder elbows my side till I offer her a hand to take the steps, leading the way towards her Subaru. Enola casually tosses the rifle in her trunk, then gives me a side eye.
"Embry, one last thing."
"Yes—" I jump back just as something goes straight for my jugular. Enola pulls back a machete, this time she swung with intent, not to warn. My hand presses against the stinging at neck, and I practically jump when I feel blood against my palm.
"How—" What is that thing made of! There's Quillayute words craved up the length of the blade, words I've never been taught. The blade so razor sharp, it's undeniable it was recently sharpened.
"I've been around werewolves a lot longer than you've been one." Enola's glare is as sharp as her machete. "Imprint or not, werewolf be damn. If you hurt that girl, Embry Call, mark my words I'll find a way to put a bullet in you. I may not have been her legal guardian but I'll see to taking care of her—protecting her."
"We can protect her together." I mean every word. I should be mad at Enola for threatening me, but I can't bring myself to because I'm proud of her for standing up for Winnie. Whatever she sees on my face gets Enola to lower the machete, giving me a serious look.
"Now, that's the best thing you've said all damn afternoon."
Winnie's POV
"Eat up." Enola slides the bowl of vegetable soup over the table, her usual move when we have to discuss serious things. Such as rent money, repairs, shoveling snow, etc. Early this morning Enola left me a note on my door telling me how she needed me to come over to her house for lunch. Telling—not asking me to come over.
"I need to have a talk with you that your grandparents would have wanted me to give you." Enola ignores her own bowl of soup, gripping a thick photo album in her wrinkled hands. She gives me a firm nod when I do a double take at her, trying then failing at being the slightest bit reassuring.
"My grandparents?" I repeat back.
"I was friends with your grandmother Winnifred. I was there when she fell for your grandfather Elias. I was at their wedding, I was there to tell her not to name their daughter after herself, but to instead save it for a granddaughter." My jaw drops to say something—anything, but there's nothing nice enough to thank Enola for telling me this. The look we share is sentimental, and I see it in Enola's eyes that she misses my grandmother.
For a moment, I see glimpse of the young woman Enola was before the infamous intimidating Old Lady Enola. She was probably called outspoken as if it's a bad thing, or ill tempered like women don't have anger at all. She was mostly likely a spit fire rather than a kindred spirit; all spunk and sass and undoubtedly bold.
It suddenly becomes clear that Enola didn't take a chance renting on some random teenager with no credit score or references. The truth is old, older than me, and old as Enola and Winnifred the first. She was taking care of me.
"What did they want me to know?" The nostalgia in her eyes recedes back, something sad flickering briefly in her eyes before going serious again.
"About Ephraim Black, Levi Uley, Quil the second," Enola flips open the album to a black and white photo of a younger her in her twenties dressed in traditional tunics. She's next to a massive man who towers over her with short black hair and a tattoo I've seen before on Jacob, Paul, Quil, Jared, Sam, Seth, even Leah, and... on Embry. Stilling in my chair, I stare hard at the photo, knowing I don't have it wrong. "And my father, Amis."
"God, was he strict." Enola tries to laugh, but it comes out so raspy and small it makes me pretend I don't see her hiding a sad smile. She flips to another picture, running her fingers over her father before turning the page. The next picture is all four men frowning at a camera, the four of them all with matching short hair cuts with identical tattoos.
"Enola..." I speak up, pointing to the tattoo on Ephraim Black's arm. Instead of answering me, she gently claps her hands around mine. The touch so unlike her it makes the gut feeling in my stomach double into knots.
"You should know the whole truth about the four of them protected our tribe." Enola states, flipping through the album.
"From what you and Quil Senior told me about in the woods?" I chance, already knowing the answer to my question.
"Smart girl." Enola nods.
"What are they?" For the first time since I've known her, Enola hesitates. Though only for a spilt second, blink and I would have missed it.
"The Cold Ones." As much as I don't like it, I've already had this gut feeling before. This pit in my stomach filled with this feeling of wrong, something unnatural and cold that I felt before when I shook Edward Cullen's hand back in Forks. The sensible side of me is telling me I'm over reacting—that I'm letting Old Quil, Billy and Enola scare me, that I'm making a mountain out of nothing. Yet, my whole being won't let it go.
"So, when Quil Senior said..." I can't find the rest of my words.
"The wolves protect us." Enola cuts in with a promise. "That is what your grandparents would want to you know. That our parents protected us. That you're protected. As long as you're on tribal land, you are always safe."
Wolves. Werewolves.
"Enola, why are you telling me this?" I can't find any other question to ask because the rest are all completely absurd.
"Because I don't want you finding out when it's too late." There's not any clarity in her words. My head would spin, but I can't find myself to be confused over anything she just said.
Enola is telling me the legends are real.
That the leaders I heard about in stories growing up were werewolves.
That Embry—
"Take this," Enola offers me the album. "Go through it. See for yourself before you decide what is and isn't real."
"Okay," I don't know if I should decline or ask for more albums.
"Tell me Winnifred," Enola gets my attention back. "Do you feel crazy?"
"I don't think so."
"You think?" She cranks a brow at me.
"Because I know you would never lie to me, Enola." I know for certain that she believes what she's telling is her truth. But do I believe her? Or am I having a breakdown?
"Well, I'll be damned." Enola laughs to herself with a shake of her head. I make it halfway to the door before remembering to thank her, a weak if not shaky thanks that has her giving me a somber nod. The fresh air doesn't make me feel any better.
The walk from Enola's Craftsman to my cabin has never felt longer. My legs finding their own way back to my place. The second her back door shuts behind me, I immediately tear through the album. Going over each and every picture looking for something to tell me I'm either crazy or right.
The first page opens to the picture Old Quil showed me the other day, with my great uncle Halian staring back at me. 'They were werewolves.'
Then I hear it. A howl.
Sparing another glance at great-uncle Halian, I force my head up to follow the noise. The album drops by my feet with a smack.
Sitting at the tree line is a wolf.
A ginormous gray wolf with splotches of black in its fur. Its bigger than any animal I've ever seen. Not even on all fours and it's taller than me. It's completely still, it's big black eyes taking me in as if it's waiting for me to react.
It's not scared of me.
And even more shocking, I'm not scared.