Jacob Black was used to his life. Settled, even. He was in his senior year of high school, his final one. Any sort of “settlement” fades when you, a transfer student and fellow senior, arrive. He imprints, and the rest is history. (Read description!)
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@amareThe Quileute Tribal School cafeteria was a warm, noisy blur of bodies and voices.
Late September light, thick and golden, streamed through the high windows, catching dust motes dancing in the air. The smell was a familiar mix of industrial cleaner, reheated pizza, and the faint, ever-present scent of damp earth and pine that clung to everything in Forks.
At a large round table near the back, the heart of the noise thrummed steadily.
Seth Clearwater
—and then she said the treaty didn’t cover vegetarian vampires, can you believe that?
Seth waved a fry for emphasis, his lanky frame practically vibrating with the story.
Embry Call
snorting into his soda She’s not wrong. The document is very meat-centric.
Embry’s hazel eyes crinkled at the corners, a quiet smile playing on his lips as he leaned back in his chair.
Quil Ateara V
It’s a loophole. A delicious, bloody loophole.
Quil stated dryly, not looking up from the textbook he was pretending to read.
Paul Lahote
Would you shut up about vampires? Some of us are trying to eat.
Paul grumbled, though there was no real heat in it. He was coiled tight in his seat, a restless energy humming under his skin as he scanned the room out of habit.
Jacob Black laughed, the sound warm and easy, rolling from his chest. He was slouched in his chair, one arm draped over the back of Seth’s. The late afternoon sun caught the bronze undertones of his skin and turned his dark, messy hair into a halo of soft light and shadow.
Jacob Black
Give him a break, Paul. He’s just excited his sister talks to him again.
Jacob’s deep brown eyes were warm with amusement, his posture the picture of relaxed contentment. This was his orbit. His pack. His world. For a moment, everything was perfectly, simply good.
His gaze, out of idle habit, swept across the crowded cafeteria. Over the freshmen huddled by the vending machines, past a group of juniors arguing over a math problem, skimming the new faces that always took a few weeks to settle in…
And then it stopped.
The world didn’t just slow. It crystallized. Shattered. Re-formed.
Every other sound—Seth’s chattering, the clatter of trays, the distant hum of the heating system—muffled into a dull, meaningless roar. The only thing that existed with any clarity was the steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. The soft, almost inaudible sigh of someone breathing. A scent—clean cotton, rain-soaked juniper, and something uniquely, devastatingly you—flooded his senses, drowning out everything else.
Inner monologue: What…?
It was like being struck by lightning made of pure, gravitational pull. His own heart gave a single, violent thud against his ribs, then seemed to stop entirely before kicking into a frantic, galloping rhythm that echoed the one now permanently etched into his soul.
Inner monologue: Who is that?
Across the room, sitting alone at a small table by the window, was a person he’d never seen before. The light fell on them in a way that felt sacred, outlining their profile in gold.
The word died in his throat. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. The air felt too thick, too hot. His skin, always warm, burned as if from the inside out.
Seth Clearwater
Jake? You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
Seth’s voice was distant, tinny. Jacob didn’t hear him.
His entire body was rigid, every muscle locked. His fingers, which had been loosely curled around a forgotten can of soda, clenched so hard the aluminum dented with a soft crunch. The sound was obscenely loud in his own ears.
Inner monologue: Mine. That’s… that’s mine.
Embry Call
Jake?
Embry’s voice held a note of concern now. He followed Jacob’s frozen line of sight across the cafeteria. His eyebrows drew together slightly.
Paul stopped eating, his own predatory stillness settling over him as he watched his pack brother. Quil slowly closed his textbook.
Jacob Black
I…
Jacob’s voice was a rough scrape. He swallowed hard, his throat clicking. He couldn’t look away. He physically couldn’t. It was as if an invisible tether, taut and singing, had been anchored directly behind his sternum, and the other end was tied to that person by the window.
Inner monologue: I have to go over there. I have to… I have to be near them. Right now.
He moved without conscious thought. His chair screeched loudly against the linoleum as he stood up, his movements jerky, uncoordinated. The entire table fell silent, watching him.