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Woman's Best Friend

Summary:
Everyone deserves love. No matter their flaws, no matter their problems or their crimes. Love is what lets us call ourselves human. Even if we aren't.


Notes:
Spoilers: New Moon. Major OC. Jacob-focused.


1. Woman's Best Friend

Rating 0/5   Word Count 986   Review this Chapter

Woman’s Best Friend

Love makes gods of men and saints of sinners...

She could almost smell it in the air—at least, she thought she could. More than likely it was just her intellectual mind tampering with her physical senses. As a mere human there was no way her sense of smell was sophisticated or powerful enough to pick up the unique scents long since faded from her surroundings. She tried to smell impossible smells, smells that shouldn’t exist, that couldn’t—but did.

No matter how wild her imagination ran, there was no denying the tangible electricity in the very air of La Push, Forks, and even Washington state. Just by knowing the truth, knowing the secrets, one could feel them.

Madelyn Swan sat on the rocks before the sandbar in front of the sea at First Beach and tried to escape the urge to weep. She cries a lot, she can’t help it, and not only when she is sad. Not hardly. Lyn cries when she is happy, when other people are sad, when other people are angry. If she ever became powerful and sensitive enough, no doubt she would never stop crying—especially not in her sleep—because there is always someone, somewhere in the world suffering.

The tears began pouring down her cheeks regardless, silent and sneaky. Lyn hugged her knees to her chest, which made it hard to breath, but easier to keep herself under control. She didn’t sob, her eyes didn’t redden. Instead she smiled as she looked out for eternity.

After what felt like a year, Lyn stretched her limbs outward, hearing her bones crack and creak and groan. She moaned and yawned it all away. Everything was still sore, her bad back curving even as she moved to stand up, but it was more than worth it. Maybe now going into town wouldn’t bring on a nervous breakdown.

Lyn stumbled forward after a few moments, narrowly missing the large rocks and hitting the sandy beach hard. She steadied herself with some difficulty, breathing hard when she was through, waves crashing and heart pounding.

The dark sea churned and her vision swirled. It was getting dark—darker than she had realized.

In the oncoming shadow of the night Lyn failed to notice that she was not alone. That is, not until her body began to tense and tingle, warning her of a silent approach she was late in processing, that she should not have been able to sense.

Werewolf, she decided passively and with confidence.

Lyn turned around, purposeful and slow and calm, and the figure behind her froze in his shock. He was beautiful in the rough and heated way of wolf-men. Especially the russet-skinned Quileute wolf-men. His skin was smooth and dark; warm. His eyes were black and deep; wise. His hair was short and black; ragged. He was dressed only in cut-off blue jeans, which made Lyn shiver in the cold, but of course he didn’t even notice the sea or the night. He was tall and muscular and in a constant state of physical, noticeable strain—although his was not as bad as the usual, for one so young. Dangerous in a means-well-but-lacks-control sort of way. Which didn’t make him any less deadly or the threatening; the thought is hardly ever all that counts. Good intentions kill just as often as harmful ones.

"Hello," she greeted in a pleasant, casual, unworried voice. Her voice was deep, husky, melodic—but not overdone, still soft and sweet: feminine. The common greeting seemed grossly out of place in the obviously abnormal setting. "My name is Lyn Starling."

The wolf-man seemed to be able to sense that she was lying; he didn’t comment on it, however. "I’m Jacob Black. It’s nice to meet you."

He didn’t offer to shake hands, and Lyn didn’t seem to notice the purposeful distance that she honored completely.

Her smile was sweet and sincere. "Do you live here? On the reservation?"

Jacob did not appear to relax; he was tense. They both knew this was not casual, they both knew that this could not be treated normally, and yet the guise was there. The facade. Why?

"Yes, I do. You know about La Push?" He sounded surprised. Something about the way Lyn spoke tipped him off. She was not your average tourist.

Lyn shrugged modestly, but her eyes hid unfathomable secrets and knowledge. "A bit. I’ve been here before, in my youth." She smiled a very pleasant, charming smile. The resemblance was striking in that moment, and Jacob suppressed a gasp—his suspicious were correct.

He nodded politely. "Why are you here so late? It’s awfully cold for a visitor to hang around here, without a purpose." Jacob stepped forward instinctively, and immediately Lyn could feel the waves of heat radiating off his body. She shivered in pleasure; she hadn’t noticed how cold she was until that moment.

Lyn cleared her throat and tried to sound normal, and not as if her head was spinning out of control—which it was. "I lost track of time. You’re right, I should be heading back—" She turned to go leave, but somehow tripped on the moist sand and was sent sprawling forwards.

On impulse, Jacob lurched forward with inhuman speed to catch her before she fell—an action they both regretted immediately. On accident the smell of her hair permeated every facet of his senses, and his physical presence overwhelmed her. A moment that felt like eternity dragged on.

Jacob groaned, and Lyn gasped. Quickly he helped her up and then put several feet of distance between them. She smelled of mangoes and coconuts and pomegranates—tropical fruits so far away. He smelled of heat and strength and savagery—everything dangerous and tempting in the world.

After a few deep, salty breaths they were both calmed down enough to look back to one another, although they were both awkward in their gazes. They didn’t make eye-contact for long.

"May I walk you to your car?" Jacob asked.

"It’s a truck, actually," Lyn replied.

The silence was far too pleasant, and no further words were spoken.