Chapter Text
First chapter: In which Paul lays the foundation for everything that follows
At first, no one reacted. Not that they didn't hear it. The engine sounds, the screech of a transmission that wasn't shifting well - who was driving a stick these days, for fuck's sake?
The whirring revs of high acceleration in low gears.
It was unusual, perhaps, but not so much that anyone cared. They had other thoughts. Other worries.
Bloodsuckers and a war neither of them wanted. A war they couldn't stop. Which drew them to the side of their enemies because the other side was their enemy even more.
They were disillusioned. The whole pack seemed as if deflated. The seemingly endless supply of energy they usually drew from, stabbed and squashed.
But then, Paul thought angry, they weren't the whole pack.
Not any more.
Not since the baby- alpha had shifted his permanent, consuming whine for the bloodsucker-loving girl to her unnatural brat and kicked Sam's ass in the process. And wasn't Paul glad that at that moment they were sitting in their pathetic human form at Emily's scratched kitchen table, hanging their heads in sync. Sam didn't like being reminded of that day. In the pack, transformed into giant wolves, they shared a mind. Advantage in almost everything except privacy. And unwanted memories.
And now Quil had changed packs too. So had Embry. Those traitors.
A new wave of very welcomed anger coursed through Paul. Anything was better than feeling betrayed and helpless. Helpless because more and more bloodsuckers were polluting their territory. Because more and more boys were shooting up as if the drinking water in the Rez contained anabolic steroids.
How many would turn in the next few days? Cuzo Sepphron was almost ready. It could even happen today. The sound that had been approaching for a few minutes, and which Paul had ignored, as he let so many sounds he perceived deliberately ripple along in the background of his consciousness, pierced his attention and made him look up.
The squeak and rattle of a bicycle approached. It was strange. That's why he listened without a conscious decision.
Hardly anyone rode a bicycle on the reservation.
"Hannah!"
It was far away and barely audible, at least with the constant high-pitched hum of the engine accompanying the calling voice. The soundscape formed a picture of the surroundings without Paul's input. It had been that way for him since the wolf had first burst out of him. Exploded, rather. In a detonation of heat, rage, fur and pain.
The heightened senses remained even when the wolf was at rest.
It was like that for all of them.
The bike stopped and was thrown down.
Paul saw Jared raise his head as well, a crease between his dark eyebrows.
"Hannah!" Closer this time, a woman's voice. None of them knew a Hannah, Paul was sure, so he didn't know who was being called.
Tourists? A few came here, though not many. Their reservation was not one of those Native American reservations. They had too many secrets here. And the weather was too bad.
"Hannah!" Panic in the woman's voice. Closer whirred the engine, than there was a sob, not far from the open kitchen window.
Brady's chair cracked loudly as he gave up balancing and it's legs made contact with the ground again.
Paul exchanged a glance with Sam, who came out of the kitchen with a concentrated expression on his face. It was this more than anything that gave them all an invisible sign. Their consciousness was so finely tuned to each other that by now they didn't even need pack consciousness to know Alpha's thoughts.
Alpha. The wolf briefly pierced Paul's attention with a loyal spike of pride.
Yeah, you bastard. That's our alpha. Glad you feel the same way.
It wasn't that Paul didn't appreciate the wolf. He loved him, damn it. But sometimes it still surprised him how ... dim ... he was.
They rose in sync. Jared, Paul, Brady, Collin, and Joshua, their newest member.
Like fucking ballerinas.
"What's going on?" Holding a dish towel, Emily stepped up next to Sam. She didn't seem worried. She was rarely anxious. Little could stir her composure. It was one of the qualities that made her so well-loved. One of many. She was a fantastic lady. Sam the bastard was really lucky. And he knew it.
The look he gave Emily was so intimate that Paul averted his eyes. Women were part of the pack. But the mystical connection, the soul mates and all that stuff, were as much mysteries to Paul as they were scary.
Shit, he didn't want a fucking sun around which his entire being revolved. Unless that sun was named Paul. And that was what his life was supposed to revolve around. Around him.
Again, he was glad for the absence of pack consciousness. However, he didn't like Jared's knowing look.
"You got a problem, man?"
Jared just snorted and shook his head. No answer needed. Besides, Sam raised to speak, which meant they all had to shut up.
"I-," he began, but interrupted himself when the engine sounds outside came to an abrupt stop and the yelling got even louder. Open car door, Paul deduced.
"What the hell?" It fell to Paul to ask the question because no one else dared to swear. Not when Emily was around. She would try to wash their mouths out. She was that kind of woman. But he and Em went way back. And she didn't even give him an outraged look. No one looked in his direction.
No one even answered him. They were too busy storming past each other to get outside. It wasn't easy. To say they were big would be the fucking understatement of this fucking century. They were beasts. They were werewolves. And for them to be that, they needed strong bones. Big bones.
He got Brady's shoulder to his chin as the little guy pushed forward.
Paul cursed. The little shit was going to get that back.
"Hannah!" That screech again, this time so close that the hairs on the back of Paul's neck stood up. It wasn't that he was particularly worried. All the shit that had been going on lately was dragging everything else into a whole different perspective. But when someone's yelling in your front yard, you go see what the fuck it's all about.
Paul wasn't expecting a big deal. Just the normal craziness.
And he was right. Kind of. And kind of not. But it would be a while before he‘d understand that.
A girl was standing on the lawn. A rather thin chick with blond hair. In baggy clothes. Too big hoodie and sweatpants. The wind tugged at everything. Even on her: she was shivering.
She hadn't quite crossed the threshold to womanhood yet, stuck somewhere at that age between first boyfriend and Barbie dolls. Her eyes seemed huge in her pointed face and something was wrong with her proportions. She looked lost and unhappy, and not just because previous tears had reddened her eyes.
Her gaze fluttered over to them, previously busy scanning the area. A search she continued as she looked over at them all.
Briefly, Paul wasted a thought on how they must all appear to this stranger. She was so obviously not one of them, not one of the Quileute, like Paul was not Santa Claus.
A bunch of huge, half-naked guys with sinister faces.
He gave her credit for not panicking.
Instead, she did something worse. She started crying.
"Fuck me," he muttered darkly and averted his eyes, folding his arms behind his head, stretching uncomfortably. He could handle a lot. He was the guy they sent to take care of the shit no one else wanted to take care of. Something in him burned hotter than with the others. He healed faster. He turned faster. His wolf was more aggressive. And he had a wicked temper.
But tears and Paul? That didn't go together. He felt his face contort into a grimace.
"That's Seth's girlfriend."
"What?" Sam stared at Brady, from whom this oh so enlightening information had come. Then the sobbing girl again. She looked pathetic. Just pathetic.
Desperate and alone and it created an echo in Paul's gut that he didn't want there. He heard himself growl.
Just as serious plans were forming in his mind on how to remove the howling thing from the lawn without doing any more major damage on their afternoon, Paul noticed the car.
A red 4 Wheel Drive, small but far too pretty for this neighbourhood. And way too clean. With the engine running and the driver's door open.
And a figure approaching. Running. Just as the muddy roads allowed. And that was barely.
Paul often forgot how slow all the others were. All the ones who didn't have supernatural bullshit going on. Normal people and all that shit.
She must have been running since he and the pack stepped onto the porch. That was, what, five minutes ago?
Ladies and gentlemen, and here you see the human snail. In inappropriate footwear.
Paul's gaze flickered downward. No boots. Not even sneakers. Heavens, were those heels?
He snorted and dropped his arms back to his side.
"Hannah!" This time it didn't sound hysterical and searching, the voice. But concerned rather. And it had been coming, and coming all along, from this woman running toward them. Or doing her best. Unlike the pathetic little slip of a girl - her whimpering reminded Paul of Jake, and as you might expect, it made Paul angry - this woman had passed the brink of womanhood years ago. Paul got a glimpse of hips and hair tied back tightly, along with a sense of vague familiarity, before Sam moved next to him. Taking a step toward the girl, who was no longer merely trembling, but had begun to sway dangerously. Even Paul tensed. An unconscious reaction to danger. Any kind of it, on any scale.
They were protectors, it was in their blood, and the impulse echoed in the bones of all his brothers. Paul didn't have to look around to know that. They were holding back because their alpha stepped forward, but they were all getting ready to catch the girl before she fell. Weren't they just a bunch of fucking cavaliers? What a load of crap.
Sam didn't get as far as playing the knight in white armour, though.
The woman reached the sobbing girl and pulled her close, muttering soothing nonsense that, in Paul's opinion, had never helped anyone. "It's going to be all right. I got you. Shh. Sweetie, shh."
He heard all her sugary words, as did the rest of the pack. What a bullshit!
But his opinion didn't count here. Paul snorted.
"Ma'am-" Again Sam took a step, this time down the ridiculous little porch steps, out onto the damp earth. Overgrown with grass, but still Paul heard the sucking sensation of Sam's weight sinking in. He was barefoot, and somehow Paul thought that didn't necessarily contribute positively to the situation.
Trouble was something he knew all about. And the air was full of it. The back of his neck tensed.
Yes, the air almost reeked of it.
"Don't you touch her!"
With an outstretched hand, a human stop sign without the red paint, the woman threw back her head and flashed a thundercloud of anger toward them. Directed at Sam, but the pack stood right behind him and was hit full on as well. Paul's confusion - he only now realized he was full of it - finally turned to rage. Maybe it was just his natural reaction to her fury. A kind of catalyst for igniting his own temper. A mirror reaction.
What did it matter, anyway?
It was only right for Paul. This was where he felt at home. Here he was in his element. Better than the gnawing echo of desperate tears. Or the hollow sympathy for a fragile girl whose thin frame was displayed now that she was being hugged.
Paul realised what was wrong with her proportions. The girl was painfully thin. Raw-boned, murmured the bitter voice that lived inside of him and that he sometimes didn't have any control over.
And the arms of her friend ... Mother? of whomever she was being embraced, tightened the protective layers of fabric in a way that showed the thin silhouette of the girl's body. Paul's breath caught. How could she even stay on her feet?
He wasn't a total asshole, though many would vehemently disagree. But his mother had raised him to respect women. Only sometimes Paul chose to forget it.
Once again pity interfered with his temper running hot. Paul had to reach for the torn apart threads and deliberately knot them back together.
Sam hadn't touched the girl. Not even made any attempt. He was just doing his damn job.
Keeping order. For the pack, for the tribe, for the people of the peninsula. Even for those two white outsiders.
And Paul loathed to see his alpha disrespected. Sam worked hard. He was constantly overstepping his limits. And he had been betrayed once too often by his brothers. And betrayal tasted black. And bitter. Fucking baby alpha.
Paul snarled, an attempt by his human body to respond with the behaviours that had become instinct. The wolf in him bared its teeth. Paul tensed and leaned forward, ready to physically intimidate before he even said anything. It was instinctive. It was his way.
But Sam slowed him down before Paul could even growl a word.
"Don't." Sam motioned him to stop with a hand extended backward. And Paul obeyed.
"Miss Taylor." Sam's voice was calm and dark, the prime example of a leader, serious and calm at the same time. Paul relaxed almost instantly. Enough to realize that Sam knew the woman's name.
Brady knew the girl, Sam knew the woman. Paul's gaze sought Jared and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Jared shook his head. So someone else besides Paul didn't know who either of them were.
Good. At least he wasn't the only clueless one.
"No." The woman looked up at Sam, who had come closer as she continued to soothe the girl. She was physically smaller than the scrawny kid, which was why it was supposed to seem weird, this protective, motherly stance. But it wasn't.
She seemed fierce. A bit wild.
And again, Paul was overcome by a brief feeling of recognition. Something that resonated very deep inside of him. Not quite a deja vu. Maybe he had seen her before after all and just couldn't remember it right? He dismissed it as unlikely. His memory was as tight woven as a bed sheet. It was one of the reasons he was so resentful. He hardly ever forgot anything.
The girl mumbled something that Paul didn't understand at first. Only when he concentrated on it, he could make out the stuttering words under the sobs that had started again. She seemed to be crying harder now. As she lamented the same phrase over and over.
"He's not here. He's not here, Nora."
Nora.
Little Harpy's name was Nora. Only she didn't look like a Harpy one bit, as she hugged the girl - Hannah, Paul gathered - more tightly.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. Shh, shh, it's okay."
Again, something inside Paul tightened at the sight.
"What's with the fucking drama?!" he murmured, crossing his arms in front of his chest. A shield from too many feminine tears. Unconsciously or not. He'd had enough of this shit.
"Miss Taylor, Nora-" Sam was a brave man. Braver than Paul could ever be. Sam was not afraid of tears. He walked toward them. Even though Nora was getting as prickly as a cactus.
"Why don't we go inside? The wind won't make it any easier to sort out the situation."
That's all it took. A calm voice and a hint of weather that had to be unpleasant, at least for her. He almost had them ready. Paul could see it. Sam was skilled at negotiating. It was his job to mediate. Between tribal members and the government. Between werewolves and bloodsuckers. With little punks who shot up nearly eight inches in a few months and gained sixty pounds of muscle, scared teenagers who became beasts in a short time. He made a pack out of them. Fighters and brothers. Protectors. Sam was a peacemaker through and through, and this Nora was not immune to the conciliatory sound of his voice. The earnestness in it. Not boyish charm, but competence and masculinity.
It probably didn't hurt that he was one hell of a good-looking son of a bitch.
Women liked Sam.
It was practical.
Women liked Sam. But apparently that didn't apply to blubbering, quivering, anorexic girls.
Her rumpled blond head lifted and green pools of despair accused the whole world. Sobbed reproachfully right into his face.
"Where's Seth?!"
Well. Shit.
That was a sore spot in the pack.
Really? She came here looking for the baby traitor? Paul didn't like it at all. And neither did Jared, he sensed. But Jared had a tighter leash on his wolf's collar, and Paul had never been one to find self-control particularly desirable.
"You're a little late, doll." He took a step forward, breaking Sam's loose instruction. But it had not been an alpha command, and Paul was too much Paul to let the opportunity slip away. The huge eyes of the girl - Hannah, he corrected himself - fixed him, as did Miss Taylor's. One pair moist and startled, the other wary. He knew all too well how vitriolic his voice could sound. How ironic and bitter.
Jared beside him sighed. A disillusioned sound, the verbal equivalent of a shake of the head, that accomplished nothing more than causing a dark smile to appear on Paul's face. He felt his shoulders pump up, instinctively taking a wider stance. Head raised, gaze lowered contemptuously. Created to intimidate. That was Paul.
About time little Harpy learned that too.
"Loverboy has flown the coop and won't be coming back to the reservation." He leaned against the wooden pillars of the porch, arms folded. "He's got better things to do."
That was overkill and the reaction was immediate. He meant it differently than the girl would probably understand, but wasn't that exactly what he was aiming for? That Hannah was referring it to herself?
But Seth wasn't here. He had failed not only the pack, but the girl as well. He was on the same side with traitors and the enemies of wolves. And it was important that the girl knew that. That she knew what kind of boy Seth was. What kind of man he would become. She would find out anyway. So why wrap it all up in cotton-wool?
Everything about the babies - the traitors who had turned after he had - made Paul angry these days. It didn't help that Seth had hidden a relationship with a white girl, a stranger, from them. Or whatever it was that connected Seth to the girl. Something about heartbreak and teenage love and all that shit.
Paul growled. The sound merging with the broken groan that escaped the girl. She looked like he'd physically hurt her. Stabbed. A dagger right through the heart. As if he needed such tools. Guns were for pussies. He was a weapon. They were all weapons.
"Paul, shut up," Jared hissed, and Sam sent him a biting look. Sam wasn't mad at the babies. And it upset him when Paul showed that he bloody was.
"So this is your super squad, Sam Uley?" Harpy had taken a step in front of the girl, who now looked like she had no tears left. Paul didn't know if he liked the way she looked now, though. She really was a paleface. A standing dead woman. That's what she looked like. Heavens, her lips were gray.
His gaze darted over to Harpy, who was alternately trying to stab Paul and then Sam with her eyes.
Baby, it's going to take more than that.
Thankfully, Paul didn't say it out loud. Sam would have him running triple patrols. And they were barely getting any sleep as it was.
Taylor held herself as rigid and erect as an old-fashioned tin soldier figure. She wasn't particularly tall, nor was she short in any way, but Paul noticed that she was one of those who seemed taller when seen standing without reference. Simply by the way they held themselves. Or, in her case, how she managed to look down on Sam even though he towered over her by at least ten inches and could have put her in his pocket.
Everything about her seemed ... just über. Too much. Kind of. And it itched Paul like a damn flea. She was annoying. In that book-reading, thinking of herself as superior way that pissed him off so much he wished he could show her. By pissing. Right here. On the porch. At her feet.
How he'd love to see her face then.
At any rate. Super squad? Who the fuck talked like that?! She sounded like a fucking grandmother.
"A bunch of pumped up wannabe bad boys with more muscles than brains? What the heck is this? A self-study on steroid abuse?"
Paul noticed that, at her last words her eyes were seemingly glued to his chest, before tearing her gaze away. Paul's breathing responded by getting deeper. It wasn't so much the insult itself. That had been ridiculous and Paul had been called far worse. It was the way she spat it out. Again. Like she was something better. A fucking duchess or something. And on top of the annoyance her disrespect caused him, it was that arrogance that set him on fire more than anything else. His lips twisted into a grin. It was mocking and presumptuous. And only there to irritate his opposite. To please, please, please deliver the last bit that would make him run hot.
And then only an alpha command could stop him.
"Do they throw away their future for this? So they can lift weights?" She breathed heavily while gesturing wildly with her arms. "They belong in school, Uley. And I know enough about what's going on to know that it's your fault they're here!"
Her words were so abstruse that Paul thought they were a joke. Jared must have, too, because he laughed.
Taylor's head jerked around so fast that inside her brain must have been hitting her skull. Her gaze so full of indignant righteousness that it made Paul strain just to watch.
"She came, she saw, and she just spewed bullshit," Paul said, licking his teeth. He could see this was unsettling her. Instinctively, she realized there was something wrong with the sight. She held her breath.
That's right, baby. We're big, bad wolves and you've come into our den. See how you handle that.
She seemed distraught for a brief moment. Robbed of her bravado.
Robbed. The word triggered the wolf.
To him, she looked like prey. Smelled like prey. Paul's nostrils flared and he took in the scent. Subtly. He knew how to hide the animalistic, knew the line between wolf and Paul. Knew it intimately. He just sometimes consciously decided to cross it. A little bit.
Adrenaline began to foam in his veins. He had expected this. First the noises, then the accusations. The anger of the small virago before them, bouncing off the brightly polished surface of Paul's bones and echoing in his blood. The memory of Seth. Betrayal, the wolf roared, ramming against the bars of his self-control that Paul had never quite been able to anchor firmly in his mind.
And contempt on that small, freckled face.
The wolf longed to teach her a lesson. To scare her. And the man ... well, he wanted to put her over his knee.
The image Paul popped into his head was as sudden as the physical reaction to it.
He got hard.
That in itself was not so unusual. Fighting, violence, adrenaline, sex. With him, all of that seemed to be close together. As if once his blood boiled, it couldn't decide where it was needed. Red and urgent.
Yet it surprised him. So much so that he let the moment pass and she regained her courage. Brave girl. She pushed aside her fear, which must have come out of nowhere for her as much as his hard-on had for him. Paul could still smell her, it was what made the wolf fight for control.
But she continued to rake her gaze over their heads, the final judgment on the Rez's lawn.
In the form of a small dragon in mismatched clothing.
He only noticed it now, while he looked at her more closely - thanks to his surprised physical reaction, his attention was now riveted differently. She was dressed like a secretary. Pantyhose, skirt, the silliest shoes he had ever seen on a woman's feet. At least on the reservation. And one of those jackets that was supposed to be fashionable, no doubt. Paul was no expert, but he found shoulder pads creepy.
Her whole appearance screamed frigidity. And his finger groaned at turning all that tidiness into pure, pure chaos.
Unfortunately, she didn't even notice the shameless way he was checking her out. She was too busy setting her sights on Collin all at once.
"What’s going on, Collin? What are you doing here!"
Paul turned his head briefly to look at his brother. It surprised Paul that the little virago had addressed Collin by his name. Collin did his best not to cringe under her gaze. But so singled out, all the focus of her indignation on him, was too hard for the little guy. Paul saw Collin blush and then lower his head.
It was enough to make Paul see red again.
She didn't have the right to come here and dump her bullshit on them. And he certainly wasn't going to let her make his brothers feel bad.
"Hey, lady-" he began, but she ignored him. Her face changed, the accusation blurring on her features. Instead, she now looked concerned.
"What about college, huh?" she asked, taking a step toward Collin. Alarmed, Paul looked to his alpha. But Sam's gaze was fixed on Hannah, who, without the Dragon Lady's arms holding her, now looked again as if she would fall over at any moment.
Who were these two? And why had they completely stirred up the whole pack in such a short time?
"Do you remember what you told me? Do you remember it? Or did he talk you out of it?!" Her gaze flickered over to Sam, then back to Collin, who was staring at his feet.
"It's not too late. Really, it's not. But you need to get back to school. I can't help you if you don't."
That's what this was all about? The damn school? Paul laughed. It was a dark laugh. Loud and hard and not amused. The dragon lady sent him a dark look.
She was about to start her bullshit again, but Collin shook his head.
"No, Miss Taylor. This is the last place I need to be." He hitched his shoulders and straightened. Unrolled every one of his six feet and two inches. "I'm needed here. With my ... with the others. If you knew, you''d understand."
The corners of Paul's mouth curled as he regarded the puppy with a proud look. That was exactly how it was. He was needed here. In the pack. And the little guy had caught himself just in time not to reveal that very secret.
Actually, it was the order of the Alpha that prevented them all from doing so. And again it had been proven how important this command was.
While Collin seemed to grow, the secretary shrank. She considered Collin with a worried look for a few moments, then focused on Sam again.
"This is on your shoulders, Sam Uley." Her voice was hard. And reproachful.
And she was so right. Albeit in the wrong way. It was on Sam's shoulders. And he carried it with the same stoic responsibility with which he shouldered all the other shit.
The Alpha calmly returned the secretary's gaze. He picked his battles and this one wasn't worth his energy.
"Sam? "It was Emily's voice calling to him from the kitchen window.
Heads turned in her direction, but Em remained unfazed.
"Bring them in, they're about to get blown away out there."
A calculating expression flitted across Sam's face as he averted his eyes from his woman.
He looked at the catatonic girl in his front yard and then at the dragon lady, who had also turned her attention back to Hannah. A hen and her chick.
"You heard the lady." Sam nodded toward the house. "You guys can warm up and we can talk about Seth."
Paul stared at him. Surprised by his alpha's words. Why was he doing this? Inviting strangers into the house. Talk about Seth? Sam didn't owe the outsiders an explanation. He was alpha. He was chief.
Despite all her bitching, the secretary seemed to be wondering the same thing, because Paul saw her eyebrows draw together briefly. The exact moment she gave up was evident. It occurred when she looked at Hannah, who was by now shivering so pathetically that even Paul felt cold watching her. Only literally, of course. He was never cold. Never. Nada.
"Come on."
The summons lacked the steely quality Sam wove into his voice in his orders for the pack. It was probably what got the secretary going in the end.
"Fine," she said with a sigh, and gently grasped Hannah's arm.
"We're going to listen to what Sam Uley knows about Seth, all right, sweetie?" She smiled an encouraging smile that managed to make Hannah' lips twitch as well. A tiny bit of light had returned to her eyes. But it was a feverish glow. It seemed dull and sick and too hopeful.
The secretary saw it, too. And she murmured softly to herself as she led her charge along beside her.
Too quiet for human ears, loud enough for those of the pack. It was nothing very nice.
Paul grinned.
His blood was still churning. He could feel the heat, the roaring and pounding. But the anger ... he'd lost that somehow, sometime in the last few minutes. Maybe it had been hiding in his cock. Because that was still hard as a rock.
The secretary stopped short as she let Hannah proceed up the small steps to the porch, her eyes fixed firmly on the little girl's back. Sharp as a hawk. She was just waiting for a stumble.
The others had moved to let her through. A lithe, synchronized shift of backs. Space for Sam to hold the door open.
"Shoes off, the mud outside is terrible," Emily called, her voice heard simultaneously through the open kitchen window and the screen door. "And tell the gang I need firewood, Sam."
Emily didn't need firewood. Hardly any of the reservation's residents ever needed firewood. Chopping it, was something of the pack's national sport. Sam's idea. It kept all their tempers under control. It was a good job. Chopping wood. Good for releasing tension. Clear the head.
It was also a code word for when the pack should get the hell away.
Sam looked at Jared and the beta responded with a nod. "You heard him. Go make yourselves useful."
That was the code word for patrol. Right now!
The secretary watched Colin and Brady's departure with furrowed brows and thoughtful eyes. But the concern in them was probably attributable to the social service she was trying to push here, not to the fact that the two musclemen were moving with as little noise as a butterfly.
The little one, Hannah, was pulled into the house by Emily, head hanging like a drenched dog.
Once again Paul wondered what this fuss was about. What was Sam going to tell the two intruders? He had to expect more from a conversation than from a banishment from the reservation.
It bothered Paul that he had been ordered to leave. Normally, he wouldn't give a shit. But there was something about the secretary that made him pause. His gaze wandered from Sam, who was communicating wordlessly with his woman in that endlessly annoying, sickeningly sweet, intimate way that triggered Paul's gag reflex, to the small figure just a leap away. He liked measuring his world in leaps. Five over to the garden shed behind Sam's house. Fifteen to the secretary's parked car. Whose engine was still running.
How would she react if he turned now? A jump and a crack, the ripping of shorts and an eruption of fur. Would she scream? Would she faint without a word? What type of terrified would she be?
It was an interesting pastime and his amusement had to form an aura that attracted her attention. Her gaze flickered from the open door where she had been watching her charge, to him.
To Paul.
Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed that he was staring at her. There was probably no other word for it, because this time Paul was really looking at her.
He noticed that her eyes were blue. The pupils dilated from adrenaline, anger, worry, or whatever the fuel was for her engine, so the colour had been indistinguishable from farther away. Now Paul even saw the small disturbing refraction of light on the shimmering whites of her eyes. Contact lenses.
Had to suck not being able to see properly.
But the mocking laugh didn't really want to develop.
It was due to her gaze. The way it collided with his. The first time they really looked at each other. She had avoided his gaze before. Why?
21. 22. 23. Paul blinked. This time it was clear. Maybe it was her closeness, her scent mingling with that of the pack and the house. The wolf smelled "home" and she was in the middle of it. Salty, sweet scent of women's skin. A soft and juicy note emanated from her that simultaneously relaxed and excited him. It probably didn't help that he still had a boner. That always directed those kinds of scents to the lower half of his body.
It had to be because of that that the wolf stretched and cooed pleasantly.
What the hell?!
She smelled good, okay. Even better, because her scent mixed with the pack's.
Completely over the top was his reaction. Paul felt like his body was a fuse. Not only about to blow up dynamite, but annoyed by the tiny sparks his skin was catching. Little sensory misfires. Plus the feeling that this was a memory, when it obviously wasn't.
It confused Paul. It confused the wolf. It drove Paul to do something. Anything. To attract her attention. More than just catching her eye.
Look at us, the wolf seemed to growl. Look at me and admire me. Look at me, or I'll bite you.
Paul frowned and did not move. Against his habit, he decided not to let the wolf have his way, because he was obviously completely out of his mind.
Instead, he looked at the secretary more closely. The fluttering of the delicate lines of her neck as she swallowed. The rapidly beating pulse, a hypnotic rhythm a millisecond after her heartbeat. Fast, too. Excited. Nervous. She was definitely nervous.
But her face showed none of that. It looked purposeful. Determined.
A little general on his way to the drill. Paul grinned. And her gaze flickered a little.
He was a scary bastard when he showed teeth. And she wasn't so tough that she was immune to it. She'd shown that the first time.
The fact that she tightened her small shoulders was a testament to her courage.
"Hey, Paul. Let's go, man!"
When Jared called out, Paul usually followed. But something was holding him down. An increasingly intense reluctance to take his eyes off the secretary, whose heart was beating faster and faster and whose scent was becoming more intoxicating. The wolf began to yip.
"Paul!"
Paul narrowed his eyes, on the verge of growling. Shit. They should just leave him alone.
The sun chose this moment to break through the dense sea of clouds that the wind had been pushing all day. Chose it for its brief reminder Hey, you poor fuckers, I'm still here, bathing the surroundings in soft, golden afternoon light. Made everything a little less dull.
And it conjured firelight on the secretary's hair.
It was red. Her hair.
Because of her kamikaze hairdo, it was hard to see, tied back as tightly as it was. But the sun set it ablaze, revealing the truth.
Rich mahogany. Dark and luminous.
Paul held his breath.
Red.
Holy shit.
Little Red Riding Hood in the midst of the big, bad wolves.
Wasn't that so fucked up, that it was awesome?
~ mit Feuer gemalt