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The Lonely Wolf

To phase the first time: disorienting. Horrible. Terrifying. Painful. To become a monster: sickening. Strange. Agonizing. Estranging. This we know from Jacob. Must it not have been so much worse to be Sam? He did it all... and he did it all alone. A story in the perspective of the first of our beloved werewolves, Sam Uley. From shortly before the time of his first phase to his marriage to Emily Young.

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22. Chapter 22

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“Emily, please.”

It’s the other part of my mental refrain. Sorry Leah Please Emily Sorry Leah Please Emily Sorry Leah Please Emily Please…

“Go away, Sam.” And that’s the only response my pleading, with either of them, ever wins. As far as they both are concerned, Leah’s pain is too high a price for my love. My devotion. My adoration, adulation… I cannot find the right word. There isn’t one for it, for this feeling.

The feeling is, simply, that I belong to her. I am hers, whether she wants me or not, to do with as she pleases.

And I desperately want to make her happy. It is the sole reason for my existence, this compelling need to see her smile and know I have caused that contentment.

“I’m begging you. Just give me a chance to explain.”

She turns to me, and I am captivated by the radiance of her face. Every line of it, shining with perfection—her long, straight hair, her gleaming black eyes, her perfect skin, her beautiful features.


“Why not?”

She sighs, and I can feel the breath blow against the air. Her exhalation smells sweet, of cinnamon and honey. “Sam. Honestly. Isn’t it obvious?”

It is. But nonetheless I want, I need, for her to say it. I need the sound of her voice, clear and sweet as a bell, ringing in my ears, even if it says words that hurt too much to hear. “No.”

“You’re lying…” she observes me for a moment. “But I’m not going to get rid of you by being nice, am I? I’m really going to have to say it.”

If she wants me to leave, she will have to order me away. And still I’ll follow her, from a distance, never interfering with her right to her own life but ascertaining from the other side of a window that she’s happy and safe.

No one will touch her while I live. Even if she refuses my love, I will give her that much. No one will ever, ever hurt her.

“Say it,” I request, softly, almost like a kiss in words. My voice is carefully gentle. It is the last thing I think I will ever ask of her, and we both know it. It’s time for me to stop following her, pleading with her, begging her. It’s time for her to set me forth, because my mistake will never be forgiven.

“All right, Sam. All right. I’m going to say it all, and you’re going to listen, and when I’m finished, you’re going to leave me alone. Understood?”

I nod tersely. I don’t have the breath for words. I’m caught between horror at the realization that I’m losing my shadow-of-a-hope with her and ecstasy in her mere presence. Oh, Emily. So good, so pure, so beautiful.

I will never see her this closely again. She can’t know I follow her. She can’t know I’m hers unless she wants me to be.

She steels herself visibly. Cruelty goes against her nature, and she wants nothing less than to intentionally break someone’s heart.