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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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31. Chapter 31

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Her lips touch mine softly and I can feel her heartbeat as I take her face with one hand and her waist with the other. My thumb rubs circles into her unmarred cheek and my palm presses her stomach into mine and her lips part and her breath blows into my mouth. She tastes like raspberries. And warmth. And velvet.

Her eyes widen and then flutter closed. I feel her eyelashes brush against my face, and I pull away, just one inch away, to look at her.

No matter what she believes, she is incredibly, perfectly, ideally beautiful. Everything I could have wanted, I have found. And though it spears me through with guilt, it also warms me from within.

I take her hand, careful to avoid the still healing wounds, and show her to my beat-up old car. We’re driving to a restaurant in Port Angeles, a little, off the beaten path, out of the way Chinese place that Leah used to love.

It feels all but criminal, taking date advice from the girl whose heart I’ve broken, but I really have no other experience to draw on. I don’t know how else to make this first date wonderful, beautiful, perfect- worthy of the one I share it with.

“Sam, talk to me, all right? What are you thinking about?”

“You,” I answer easily, honestly. “And how much I love you.”


“Yeah. In fact, it’s pretty much all I think about… it didn’t… not before I met you. I never thought anyone could be this all-consuming. But you’ve become everything in my life.”

“What do I say?” she asks, softly, her voice fading as she rests back on the cloth seat and closes her eyes. “What’s the answer to that?”

“How about ‘I love you too’?” I suggest, and she laughs. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her laugh before. The sound aches and burns in my ears like a choir of angels singing their holy serenade. Beautiful, yes, too beautiful.

“I love you too,” she says, and that’s even more overwhelming. I grin, the act of smiling almost unfamiliar after these turbulent months.


We’re at the restaurant. I park the car, jumping out so I can grab Emily’s door for her. She steps out delicately and we ask for a table for two.

The man who seats us recognizes I’ve brought around a different girl than usual. I assume, at least, that that’s the reason for his conspiratorial wink. I wince and try to ignore that path of thought, concentrating instead on food.

I’m hungry.

I’m always hungry, now that I’m a werewolf, and I haven’t been feeding the beast appropriately.

Emily raises an eyebrow when I order four dishes for the two of us.

“I’m only eating my chicken, you know,” she warns me. “And you don’t have a fridge to put the leftovers in.”


She laughs again. I smile again.

The food comes. We eat.

It’s simple, all of it, surprisingly so. And it feels as though it’s been that way for all of time.