[J/B, E/B] She's involving herself in some illicit affair that should have never happened in the first place. Vampire/Werewolf is the best kind, no?
1. Chapter 1
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Her scent is heightened, cinnamon and sickeningly sweet.
His fingers curl into a fist and he knows it’s pointless to be angered over the fact that she’s been marked.
It’s been like that since day one, he reminds himself, but that doesn’t take the stench away when she sways this way and that under the dimming lights.
Her cupid-bow lips pucker up underneath the night air and it makes it painful to watch when the wind tousles her hair and she seems so damn happy away from him. It seems that those plethora of months are removed from her memory - erased - with just a single touch from The Cold One.
No, if he didn’t know any better, it was like they never happened.
Like she had never been gaunt, like she never had known the meaning of breaking tears, and like he never had been that crazily happy to believe in the notion of love.
But, as his stomach churns with just a glimpse of her blurred visage, he knows that her porcelain skin touched him in too many ways for him to believe that it all was a figment of his imagination.
He is starting to hate that phrase.
The wind gusts up and kicks pebbles of sand near his toes and he lets them sink. He digs his heel into the sand and the coarse grains don’t do anything for his hardened body. But he can pretend.
Pretend that she wasn’t here at La Push in one of her brief disguises as Bella-The-Girl-That-Once-Was. The girl who thought that mythical beasts were kept locked in some old Brother Grimm Manuscript. That Vampires were middle aged-men with widow peaks and Werewolves were troubled teenage boys.
Well, at least Hollywood got the Werewolf thing down pat.
It would be better to believe she didn’t exist.
But he knows she’s here, like she told him the last time, she would be. Still, he doesn’t turn around. There goes his stomach churning again and her dainty hand lays to rest on his shuddering shoulder.
It’s uttered in her soft, melodic voice and it’s his breaking point.
Her amber eyes crinkle in concern and that’s the only thing human about her. She’s a stock copy of the Cullens now and their moving crystal imitation.
It burns his pupils to be this close to her, so close that he can feel the cold coming off her.
She’s radiation, she’s temptation, she’s his own glorified Siren.
“Why do you bother?” he begins.
She simply looks down and says nothing. The beginning of their meetings are always a toll for her and he hates making it easy. He likes to see her as human as possible and not that Spright that would escape in just two-point-five hours.
The time is being counted down in his head and he thinks if he’s aloof about this whole thing then it won’t hurt when it’s all over. If only he can distance himself from her. If only...
She’s graceful as she plops down on that decaying log and she chuckles quietly to herself. She’s that nymphet again.
“This is where we met. Do you remember?”
It’s a stupid question to ask. After all, it was that instant in which he firmly felt his life begun. With her comical batting eyelashes and that teasing smile, he swore that she was his home.
“How are the boys?” she continues and he’s aware that it’s been a one-sided conversation all this time. She’s trying, he knows, and his resolve is crumbling, like she knew it would.
“They don’t know about us.” He hopes they never find out. As far as the pack was concerned, Bella was taken into some Godforsaken corner of the Earth and was never to come back. Not that it looked like she would since her flight was two years ago.
Sam and the gang probably knew that Bella could count herself as part of their enemy by now, but they had no clue that every two months she came ‘round to this spot, midnight, and seduced their prodigy - Him.
They only knew that he still suffered from his first glance of love and that maybe it was deeper than they thought, if still, two years later, he reeled from her goodbye.
The thing was that the wound was never healed. She made sure of that when her rendezvous would open the cut again. It was never clean and he knew it would never heal.
“He doesn’t know either.” Guilt saturates her voice and fire burns underneath his skin. He doesn’t know why she torments him like this.
“Why do you never commit yourself, Bella?”
She sighs and bites her lip. The moon shines a light on her fangs and he is reminded once again of her transformation.
“You said you loved him and you literally gave up your life for him! Why are you here if you were so convinced?”
Her palms are pointed upwards in surrender and he’s hurt her again.
“I can’t remember anything about my human life, Jake, except you.”
She’s moving closer again and He can’t escape this elaborate web she concocted a long time ago. Had he ever truly left it?
“He has to remind me of our times together and they sound... nice, but I can never believe that it was me who lived them.”
She’s breathing deeply and she’s shaking her head. The strands come near her mouth and he’s entranced.
“I’ve come to care for him Jake, maybe even love, but I can’t seem to forget you.”
It all seems so wrong to hear that from her. He knows all about The Cold One and Bella. He remembers everything that detailed their romance and to see it come to these ends...
He should celebrate these words, but it all is so complicated and he doesn’t know what to think.
His throat is roughed up and it’s hard to speak.
“I don’t think you should come down here anymore, Bella.”
Every ounce of courage that’s been building since her first visit is being put to the test. He doesn’t think he can last much longer, even with her spells, and keep them a secret.
He hates to think of the consequences should that happen.
“Stop being a martyr, Jacob.”
And that’s all it takes.
It’s a ritual, this is, having her hands caress his face and mark her initials on it. He’s being written on and he doesn’t mind that in these moments.
His body is shaking, he knows, but that only means it’s a precursor to what is about to happen. For her eyes are closed and he can imagine that when her pale eyelids open again, chocolate brown will gaze back.
This is his favorite part, when her palm lays itself on his naked chest and, for a moment, she feels like a crossbreed of vampire and werewolf -- Human. She’s the Protector and the Predator. She’s the Villain and the Hero. She’s too many things to him.
She’s stealing his warmth and breathing is hard to come by. This is my power, he remembers her saying, I can be anything I want to be. He thought her imaginary then and had no trouble to mutter his want.
Mine. I want you to be Mine.
The instant is being repeated and he knows it pains her to be under this transformation. Her skin reeks of Cold but it’s being tinged with him. He has loads of warmth to spare and she hungrily devours it.
Is this what it’s like, Jake?
She felt disgusted about herself the first time and he kissed the tears away. She’s too used to being at conflict with herself now that she says nothing but his name.
She makes him spiral down this tunnel of delusion all too much. Flesh against flesh, he can forget about her choices in the past and just concentrate in the present.
That is, before she leaves again.