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I'll Teach You How To Love (Me)

Summary:
One of the werewolves imprints on a mysterious woman. He travels to the ends of the earth to find her, and then discovers he has an impossible task. He doesn't just have to convince her to love him. He has to convince her love exists at all.


Notes:
Right- this is a multi-chapter fic. I own nothing. It's in second person, so you can really pick a werewolf besides Jake, Quil, Sam, and Jared. In my mind, it's Embry, and that may be established later. Each chapter has a song which inspired it. I will provide links to the songs. You need to listen to them to get the right mood. I own nothing. REVIEW.


5. Mr. Brightside

Rating 5/5   Word Count 708   Review this Chapter

You feel it instantly. The familiar fury… it is irresistible. To think what she has had to turn to, all the things she’s… done… and she’s yours. Your mate. No one else’s. This isn’t you, the man, the person with thoughts and intelligence. It’s the wolf, and he’s closer beneath your skin than any of you like to admit.

You don’t even do it consciously, but a deep growl rips from your throat as your form wavers. The wolf is close now, from your stomach up your spine, a great vibration, tearing at your sanity- no.

No, you won’t do this.

Sam and Emily, you idiot, Sam and Emily. Or Sam, specifically. Emily isn’t bothered by it as much. But you’ve seen Sam’s thoughts, you’ve felt his pain, you know what it’s like. You know he’d still, even though she’s forgiven him, even though they’re married now, and happy, you know he’d still rather die than have to look one more time at the scars on her face.

You won’t do this to yourself.

You won’t do this to her.

You force the calm down your spine, just as firmly, a cool hand chasing the red-hot fury back down, down to your core where it originates, putting it away for some other time.

You don’t even know where to begin. “Wha… who… I… why?” That seems just about right. “Why the…” why the hell would you do something like that, you idiot! You could get hurt! You don’t want to consort with criminals like that… I won’t let you get injured. And all the diseases, and the- calm. Calm… “What…” what can I do to help? What do you need? “How…” How can I make sure you never get hurt again? How can I make you mine?

“My turn to ask the questions,” she reprimands, mildly. You nod. She sighs, and runs a hand through her long hair. You notice the way the light glints on it- it’s a dark red, a rich coppery color like the sun setting against the waves at First Beach. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“The shaking thing. What’s with you, and does it have something to do with why you’re stalking me?”

She’s your imprint. You’re allowed… no, you’re supposed to tell her. She’s a member of the pack, a new sister. She is one of you. You are the one who is supposed to initiate her. The truth. Tell her the truth… But you can’t. “That’s two questions,” you whisper, and you can hear your throat closing up.

“No, it isn’t- well, it’s two questions, but they have the same answer.”

“You’re quick,” you say. She grins.

“Thanks, kid. But flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Well… it’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she says, softly, almost tenderly. She reaches out a hand, a long, pale hand- her fingernails are painted a bright pink, the color of a highlighter’s ink- and runs it across your arm. For once you’re wearing a shirt, but the thin cotton fabric doesn’t stop you from feeling the sparks, the sheer power, that shudders through you at the contact.

But when she touches you, you don’t feel the wonder of her touch. You feel the shadow of all the other times she’s touched, just like that, all the people she’s allowed to touch her (because she had no choice) and all the things…

You struggle again to maintain your calm. Because when she touches you, even gently like this, it isn’t- it isn’t, you know it isn’t, because she loves you. It’s because she places no value on contact, on touch, on love… she doesn’t believe in love.

To her, this touch, that means more than the world to you, is nothing- just a brush on the arm.

And that makes up your mind for you. “It’s like this. Me, and my pack of giant friends… we’re… werewolves.”

You close your eyes and listen for her laughter, her disbelief. The only thing you hear is, “It’s your turn to ask the question, you know. But if ya just wanna sit there, that’s cool too.”