Chapter 3 – Blatant Lechery

After Seth left the pack mind, conversation strayed away from Paul's cousin and toward his aunt, mostly speculating on the identity of her baby daddy. While Quil provided irreverent comic relief, Jared needled Paul by placing bets on a few well-known junkies, drunks, deadbeats, adulterers, and general assholes.

Embry didn't participate in the wagering like he normally would've; as someone who didn't definitively know who his own father was, he already sympathized with the soon-to-be kid. People often had a lot to say on the subject of bastards; most of what said people had to say was nasty, maliciously too-loud whispers exchanged while the subject of them just happened to be passing within earshot.

Seth didn't return, and they didn't see him again until the shift was over (for Jared, Quil, and himself, of course, since Paul's actual shift with Sam, Leah, and Jake was just starting); they found the youngest wolf seated at Emily's kitchen table, and he certainly didn't look like he'd imprinted. In fact, he looked about the opposite: thousand-yard stare full of shock and terror, face two shades paler than normal, hands clutching a mug of cocoa as though it were a security blanket.

"What happened?" Embry asked. When it became obvious that Seth wasn't going to answer, the question was repeated to Emily.

"I don't exactly know," she replied, nervously wringing a dish towel as she stood near the stove. "He hasn't said a word since he got here. Though I was in town earlier and heard about someone getting arrested near the marina-"

Seth whined wretchedly, hugging the mug tighter.

From the pitiful noise and from the fact that the location matched where the younger wolf had gone to meet Paul's cousin, Embry deduced that the incident was responsible for Seth's state. "Show us?" Embry offered. (He also sincerely hoped that Paul's cousin hadn't been the person arrested; Paul would be very likely to blame Seth and make the smaller wolf suffer.)

Seth nodded. They trudged back outside, stripped, and phased again. All eight members of the pack shared headspace and saw a rapid replay of the afternoon's outrageous incident.

Seth failing to imprint on the girl but babbling merrily away at her anyways.

Ariel not really listening to him, suddenly picking up a jawbreaker-sized rock and striking a seemingly random stranger with it.

Ariel rescuing a fluffy gray puppy from the stranger's bag.

Ariel using the bag to tie up the stranger before casually kicking him into the surf.

Ariel cooing sweetly at the wriggling ball of fur in her arms while the stranger nearly drowned just a few feet away.

Ariel looking annoyed when Seth rescued the stranger.

Seth lying to the police about how the stranger ended up in the water with a head wound! (Which earned the small wolf lots of respect and congratulatory mental noogies from his highly amused fellows.)

After that, the memories became a split-second download of information: the stranger was a dog breeder from Port Angeles who had come to drown the runt of an unintentional litter between his purebred Newfoundland and "some ginormous idiot mutt that jumped into my yard. Didn't get a good look at the dirty mongrel." The man had been able to sell the other four puppies (not at the prices he would've gotten for purebreds but a decent profit nonetheless); however, no one would take the runt. The stranger—whose name was Richard Colby—had somehow gotten the impression that normal laws didn't actually apply on Indian reservations. He didn't want to be fined again because his nosy neighbors turned him in for drowning puppies in a bucket at home; he figured he'd be on the safe side and drag the runt out to La Push where, he was absolutely certain, such things were perfectly legal. How he'd gone from "I heard about these injuns in Nevada that could sell fireworks on their land even though they're banned in the rest of the state" to thinking that the Quileutes would be totally cool with him putting a puppy in a sack and throwing it into their ocean was anyone's guess.

The jackass obviously hadn't expected to encounter Miss Ariel Zielinski, who loved animals a hell of a lot more than she did people. No, seriously. That was now on record in the official police report.

Holy shit!

Damn!

Paul, your cousin is-

Insane-

Awesome-

Has great aim-

Probably a serial killer-

Paul's exasperation and developing migraine pulsed through their link, the hotheaded shifter's rough voice growling, Of all the damn- She's just- Grrr- He ranted through some truly filthy expletives and vague rude noises, shredding fallen trees in his path, before demanding, Did she at least get home alright? Cops didn't take her in, did they?

Seth, who still radiated a lot of emotional upset, whimpered and flashed a memory that showed the petite curly-haired teen talking to an old woman from the crowd that gathered to watch the spectacle; said woman was a fellow animal lover and volunteered to drive the teen to the nearest veterinary office and pet store, which were in Forks. When Seth reluctantly offered to go with her, Ariel turned him down, unfailingly polite as she stated, "That's ok. I know Steve probably put you up to this, but I'm not in need of supervision, especially from someone whose conscience is incompatible with my own. And anyways, you should lie down. You don't look so good."

Leah, who hadn't stopped cackling despite being mad that her brother had been so thoroughly traumatized by all the animal cruelty and attempted murder, collapsed to the forest floor in a fit of canine laughter. Steve, she howled. That is priceless!

Cram it, Clearwater!

Whatever you say, Steve!

Sam huffed and sent a firm jab through the link, a general sort of knock-it-off that felt like a phantom slap across the back of the head. (Unfortunately, he couldn't direct the sensation to specific wolves, so the whole pack got a taste.) Paul, he grumbled, doing his best to ask the pertinent question without being too insulting, Is your cousin… I mean, is she…

Bonkers? Paul volunteered rather hysterically, mauling an unfortunate pine. Fuck if I know! Lina's her mom, so that's not exactly a stable genetic base as far as mental illness goes. And her dad, from what I've heard of him, is a piece of work, too. I told you about the vamp bodyguards and the chloroform thing.

There was a stereo snarl from the pack: not a single one of them liked the fact that someone they were supposed to protect had crossed paths with rogue leeches.

Grunting irritably, Sam demanded, Just… keep her under control. Somehow. We can't have her running around trying to kill everyone who pisses her off.

Especially after we finally broke Paul of that habit, Leah contributed snottily. You Lahotes are so violent.

Several vivid and violent thoughts of exactly how he'd like to kick Leah's ass (because she wasn't a chick, just his bro-with-boobs and therefore fair game) flashed across Paul's mind. Those thoughts were quickly followed by Leah's screech of outrage (actually for the bro-with-boobs comment rather than the threats of violence; go figure).

Enough! Sam shouted, effectively silencing all the wolves and snapping them to attention. Everyone, just… get back to what you were doing. Paul, go deal with your family. We'll manage with three until you're finished.

The pseudo-order was carried out swiftly, with Paul shouting at Embry to stay put at Emily's until he could get there; apparently the hotheaded shifter was still determined to see his cousin imprinted on by anyone but Jacob.

Like I'm interested in a crazy girl anyways, you dick, was the last Embry heard before becoming human once more, dressing, and heading inside the little cottage to beg a quick meal.

xxXxx

"Where have you been, young lady, and what is that?!"

Completely ignoring her mother's pathetic attempt at parenting, Ariel continued to comfort the newly named Horatio—who, on top of being rescued from durance vile, had undergone invasive medical exams and a round of vaccinations plus found himself the proud bearer of a spiffy subcutaneous microchip. Poor baby was just distraught. His brave front, all yips and tail wags that wiggled his entire back end, did not fool Ari for even one second, but she hoped that the small mountain of newly purchased toys and treats would provide much-needed solace. Once she finished moving all the bags from the porch to her room, anyways, as she couldn't in good conscience have asked kindly old Mrs. Kalit (also known as She-of-the-Many-Many-Cats) to help after a long day of imposing on her generosity and wheezy little Buick. (The sweet old woman was already due to receive one hell of a gift basket in thanks.)

"Ariel Iwalo Lahote! I am talking to you, young lady!"

Anger spraying over her like acid, Ariel whirled and fixed her mother with a glower so caustic that it actually caused the woman to stumble back and almost trip over the battered coffee table. "My name," the girl hissed, "Is Ariel Zielinski. Always has been. Quite frankly, the fact that you lied to me about my own name for six years is not something you should be constantly bringing up."

Though Lina did look appropriately chastened, she still attempted to excuse her lunacy with yet more falsehoods. "Oh, well," she blubbered, making up a story on the spot with ease likely borne from the three weeks she'd spent taking improv lessons from a jolly one-eyed dwarf named Ralph Larson (who was awesome, actually, unlike the vast majority of Lina's "acquaintances"; he and Ariel still exchanged holiday and birthday cards), "Honey, I thought giving you a little piece of your father with his last name would be a nice sentiment, but when you were little, you didn't understand why you and I had different last names, so I just-"

"Bullshit," Ariel interrupted. She would never lose her extreme abhorrence of being lied to, and Lina had no one but herself to blame for that. "You were going to milk him for child support and thought a bouncing baby girl who shared his name would appeal more to that inescapable procreation drive buried deep within the primitive hindbrain."

Lina scoffed loudly, her big mud-colored eyes going liquid—which, if one didn't know that she could cry on cue, would look fairly convincing. "I never took a penny off that man!" she protested.

Nodding to concede the point, Ari replied, "Yeah, I imagine finding out your filthy rich mark was a shark lawyer had you scrapping that strategy in a hot second. After all, you wouldn't be free to neglect the child of a man who had political ambitions. Whether or not he cared about me, he would've watched you like a hawk just to prevent any hint of a scandal. We both know that you hate being reminded of your own failures and that you're far too lazy to go through the trouble of officially changing my name, so why not just pretend? Hell, it's not like you ever spared a single thought for how I would feel when I inevitably discovered that my very identity was yet another lie spewed by the queen of liars. You know, I am honestly surprised your pants don't burst into flames every time you open that sperm-sodden sewer you call a mouth."

Said mouth hung open in its natural state: a wide, hollow O more commonly seen on cheap blowup dolls. Thankfully, Lina seemed to have been rendered speechless, which was the only state Ari liked her in. Well, liked was too charitable a description, but whatever. "Also," the girl added as she continued toward her new room, "If you touch my puppy, no one will ever find what's left of you."

Lina got over her shock at least enough to break down in noisy crocodile tears. "Are you just… just going to hate me forever?" she wailed. "I made a mistake, sweetheart, but there was no way I could've known… I can only apologize so many times!"

Ariel froze. Even Horatio's whine as she squeezed him a little too tightly couldn't lessen the sensation of fury so overwhelming that her thin frame began to shudder with it. "You never apologized," the girl snarled, valiantly stopping herself from turning around; she was genuinely concerned that the sight of Lina standing there trying to play persecuted victim might trigger a homicide. "Not once, you deluded bitch. Not for anything. And, yes, I am going to hate you forever. Because it wasn't just one mistake. It was six years of living with a selfish, psychotic whore, of living in constant hunger and constant worry and constant fear, of constantly suffering because of your atrocious judgement and total disregard for anything beyond your own instant gratification. God, you are just… You have zero concept of your behavior. You honestly think that you're mother of the fucking year, don't you?

"I can't even… I don't know why I bother talking to you. Nothing but syphilitic cocks ever penetrates that thick empty skull. An hour from now, if that, you'll have convinced yourself of yet another inane fantasy. What will you tell yourself? That my father turned me against you? That I'm just going through a phase? That I really do love you deep down? That nothing is really your fault? Lie to yourself all you want. It's what you're best at, but you didn't have to disrupt my life for this shit. I'm not a prop for you to use in the latest performance of The Lina Show, and I'm sure as hell not going to indulge your compulsive need for drama and attention. All that ever got me was crushing disappointment and a long stay in the ICU."

"ICU?"

The voice made her jump and turn enough to see Paul entirely filling the home's threshold; he seemed to be shaking a little, glaring in Lina's direction as she sniffled and cowered.

Ariel narrowed her eyes. "How long have you been standing there, Steve?"

His furious gaze met her own in challenge as he replied, "Came in around deluded bitch, but we heard most of the rest from outside. Thought we'd give you a chance to talk before we barged in, but now I really just want to know what the hell she did to you." Though his anger didn't wane at all, he smirked a little as he added, "And your middle name is Iwalo? Sandcastle? Seriously?"

Snorting, cuddling Horatio against her chest and scratching behind his adorable floppy ears, Ari answered, "Is that what it means? I never knew. Rather fitting though. They're glorified heaps of dirt unlikely to stick around for longer than a single tide cycle, just like the moron who named me." Hardly waiting for him to finish choking out a loud guffaw, she demanded, "And who's we?"

"Oh, right," said Paul, gliding out of the doorway and motioning for someone else to come through. For some inexplicable reason, her beefy cousin looked hopeful and had not-so-stealthily crossed his fingers behind his broad back. "This is my friend Embry," he explained. "You kinda… broke Seth, so I figured I'd introduce you to a heartier specimen who's less likely to be scared off by little things like attempted murder."

"Instant karma," Ari corrected reflexively. "I was merely the vessel through which the universe exacted her justice."

A quiet chuckle preceded the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen as he strode through the door and into her wet dreams. He was just… wow. Perfection made flesh. Slightly shorter and less muscular than Paul but still in the mid-six-foot and should-pose-for-Playgirl range. His sleek, mostly bare physique had her fingers and other body parts absolutely yearning to explore every tantalizing inch of him. A tousled mop of inky black hair swooped across his wide forehead and framed the pair of fathomless dark eyes that locked on her own. He offered a slow, enchanting smile, shy and a bit awed, with even white teeth and plump dusky lips; Ariel suddenly found herself daydreaming about what their kids would look like, if the little munchkins would inherit that stunning smile and striking square jaw. She actually struggled not to sigh and flutter her lashes like some swooning ingénue, and that was… well, weird. Really weird, actually. In fact, completely out of character—she found children in general to be loud and sticky and ill-mannered, and the less said about the prospect of squeezing any out of her own orifices, the better…

Wait. What the hell just happened?

Shaking herself sharply out of the bizarre hormonal stupor, the girl registered the fact that Paul and Lina both looked pleased and smug. Experience had taught Ari that anything putting such an expression on her mother's face was cause for suspicion, which unfortunately meant that Embry—beautiful, beautiful Embry, whose glistening russet arms were full of her afternoon's purchases, which he had gallantly gathered and brought inside without being asked—could not be trusted until she figured out exactly why her blatant lechery seemed to thrill her relatives.

"Hi," Embry greeted, his mesmerizing bass voice as smooth as the melted chocolate that Ari desperately desired to drizzle over and lap off of his rippling abs.

Her libido, which had spent her entire adolescence set at barely past asexual, sure picked a hell of a time to rev to full-throttle lust.

"Hi," she replied. The girl shook herself again at hearing the breathless murmur. What the fuck was wrong with her? She had never gotten so flustered (i.e., turned on) over a boy. Well, man, really. Damn. He was probably too old for her anyways. She nearly pouted, cursing her jailbait status and the accompanying lack of height that made her look even younger than sixteen. (The day she'd reached five feet had been a victory, both inches since cause for further celebration.) She comforted herself with the thought that reality rarely measured up to imagination; even on the very slim chance she did manage to strike up a romantic entanglement with Embry (i.e., use him for his god-like body), he would probably end up letting her down just as much as every other person for whom she'd stupidly decided to conjure a shred of trust had.

Just like that, she talked herself into settling for admiring the magnificent hunk from afar.

"Wh-" Embry haltingly mumbled, pausing to swallow thickly and causing the muscles in the graceful column of his throat to undulate in a rather distracting manner, "Nice to- Where do you want- Hope you don't mind I- um-" He shuffled in place, seeming a little lost as redness spread across his finely sculpted cheekbones and bloomed at the tips of his slightly goofy ears. Though his burning gaze remained fixed on Ari.

She could hardly blame the man for staring, as she was having similar difficulties curbing her gaze.

(Afar might have to involve purchasing a few marital aids.)

Paul cackled and pumped a fist into the air, cheering, "Fuck yes! In your face, Jared!"

Ariel didn't want to know what that was about.

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Ta-da! Big reveal accomplished! Was anyone really surprised? I'm usually too impatient to drag these sorts of things out, and there are really only a handful of options anyways. Let me know what you think.