MASSIVE Author's Note: I'm baa-aack! Well, sort of…LOL! I was never really gone, I've been around, but I have been MIA from DM. Life has reared her ugly head and pulled me in a million different directions, and I am sorry you all have had to wait so long, but I do have a new chapter of Dark Matter for you (which I'm a little nervous to release, tbh). So, I'm just going to rip off the proverbial band-aid and let you get to it because you guys are amazing to still be here (THANK YOU!), but I must say a few things first.

WolfGirl7411, words fail me. You know how much you mean to me. You know everything. I wouldn't be who I am, or where I am, right now without you. You showed up when I needed you most and you stayed because you wanted to. And I'm not talking about fanfic, I'm not talking about all this writing, I'm talking about real, true friendship. But, you know that, too. "Yellow diamonds," baby. LOL! Love ya bunches, my friend! My real. True. Motherfucking. Friend. ;)

Tayjayfan, you have been there for me from the beginning, and I can't thank you enough. Your friendship and support means the world to me, and you are one of those rare, true people that we rarely encounter along life's journey. I am honored to have had the chance to get to know you, and I feel special that you call me your friend as well. Many more years lay ahead of us, my sister! Love ya!

*shameless plug alert* If you like dark and twisted, I would love for you to check out Crimsontooth. It is a short MC horror/suspense fic centered on revenge. It's about how far some of our beloved wolves would fall in order to get even. So, just to warn anyone who may venture into that territory, I don't anticipate these characters riding off into the sunset arm-in-arm by the end of that fic (which, btw, will be completed in the next 2-3 weeks or so).

Warning: This chapter comes with **major trigger warnings** This is the chapter that prompted the additional disclaimer on Tricky Raven of darker themes, self-harm, and depending on your specific sensitivity level, some emotional abuse as well. Truth be told, I watered this chapter down quite a bit and never included some of the physical elements I had planned—left more things up to your imagination—but I think it works better this way. Consider yourself warned. *bites nails*

Reminder: These are fictional characters, not role models…NOTROLEMODELS!

Okay, here we go!

Suggested Listening: "Skin & Bones" by David J. Roch (1st half) & "Seven Devils" by Florence and the Machine: Seven Devils (2nd half)

Chapter 4

Jacob pulls his car off the road and parks on the gravel-covered shoulder. Cutting the engine, he sits, attuned to the sounds of First Beach: the whisper of wind rushing under feathered wings of seagulls, the break in the ocean's surface when they dive for prey, the rhythmic crash of waves against the awaiting shore. Honing in on the pulsing swell of the sea, a small part of him wishes—if only for a moment—he could be as honest and welcoming as the sand is to the water.

That sliver of hope slipping through the fracture in his soul desires nothing more than to fall back into Bella's promises, slide into that easy grace they once shared for a brief moment in time—three, short, blissful months. In that space, he was alive. Present.

Whole.

The briny breeze whips through the pine trees sheltering the road—blowing through Jacob's open window and carrying with it shards of broken conversations as distant laughter piggybacks on the current.

That will change soon. It always does when he arrives.

So he sits, just outside of their range—listening, absorbing, reminiscing…

Jacob is trying to feel.

Seeking the normalcy he once knew…the compassion, the bond…he closes his eyes and leans back against the headrest. Allowing his senses to fill, the familiar atmosphere whisks him away, transporting his mind to a place that no longer exists.

Her smooth fingertips traced patterns down the clean lines of his shoulder blades. The tantalizing whisper of skin on skin—her caress sent tingles up his spine and teased a soft smile from his lips.

Sedate lids covered eyes resting heavy with contentment; breath flowed from mellow lungs in the slow measure that security affords.

Contact.

Her touch—simple and sweet. She soothed the beast living within the man.

Only Bells.

Always Bells.

Resting his cheek on crossed arms, he lay flat on the white, down comforter covering the first bed that ever truly cradled him. And in that moment…

He was home.

Deft fingers danced along the edge of the tribal tattoo branded on his bicep. The thin, black lines infused into his skin imbued power, loyalty…

Brotherhood.

Her proximity drew his attention—the wolf urging him to nuzzle her palm—and Jake dipped his head, gently kissing the hand that had mapped the contours of his back for the last half hour.

Motion stolen by lips grazing her skin, she stilled. Honeyed eyes met sepia under a thick curtain of dark lashes.

Caught—breath in lungs, lip between teeth—Bella shifted higher on her propped elbow, fingers combing the velvet hair behind his ear, rolling the short ends through index and thumb.

The morning sun peeked under the curtains, accentuating the whimsical dance of the dust—like twinkling stars—in the air around her. Cascading waves of mahogany draped over her shoulders, framing the pure, stripped-down beauty of her face. And in that moment…

She was his.

An ethereal angel gifted to earth solely for him. She fit the exact space carved from his heart, filled it with warmth that radiated through his body, radiated from his soul.

Peace…for once, at last.

Fucking perfection.

Jake rolled on his side, never dropping his gaze from hers, the connection building, intensifying. Reaching his arm around her waist, he lifted the hem of her shirt and grazed the small of her back—the slight numb of tingling nerves exploding from intimate caress. He pulled her closer, needing to feel her soft exhales flutter across his chest, needing to feel the familiar thrum of electricity. Their bodies—two magnets lost in time—desperately sought each other, the attraction raw and instinctual.

Foreheads pressed together, her life-giving, cinnamon-chased breaths filled his lungs, and he inhaled the moment, marinating his soul in her embrace. At his sure touch—the lazy whisper of fingertips up her spine—her body trembled and she tilted her chin, surrendering slightly parted lips. Skimming his own across her silken, rosebud skin, Jake bowed his head.

The slow, sensual melody of honest love compelled him to pause, to tease seconds out of minutes and savor the moments in between. Even if eternity were promised, their time together would still seem fleeting.

He yearned—his soul yearned—to exist as one with her, to live and breathe as her, to be embedded in the essence of her.

And she was close—the supple flesh of her plump lips faintly quivered under his—but he didn't need close. He needed the impossible.

Something he could never get. Not then, and goddammit, definitely not now.

Because of his fucking weakness, of his inadequacy—because she is a goddamn runner.

Because the spirits are not infallible—they get this imprint shit wrong more often than anyone wants to admit. Bella is not his perfect mate. She never was.

She belongs in Florida with N- …with the human.

Why the fuck did she come back?

To show you what's out of your reach, what you can no longer have.

An ugly growl rips through his chest and drowns the noise in his mind. Thrown into sudden silence, he taps into the heated anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Huffing out an irritated breath, he grabs his phone from the passenger seat and pulls up the list of emails. Bella keeps sending him messages, but masochist that he is, he can't stop going back for more.

Opening the note he received yesterday, he reads it for the seventh time.

.

From: Bella Swan
To: Jacob Black
Sent: Saturday, September 28, 2013; 2:58 PM
Subject: Another Thought

Jake,

I get that the club was overwhelming last night. I apologize, it was a lot to handle all at once.

I know we need to talk about why I left four years ago, I've always known this. Honestly, I was hoping we could get reacquainted with each other a little first—before we dove right into the hard stuff—but I realize now that that's probably not going to work. So, when you're ready, I'd like to talk about what happened and where I've been. Like I've said before, I'm not leaving you again. I've grown up a lot. I'm not the same girl that runs off when things get hard, Jake.

Let me be strong for you.

I'll be at the bonfire tomorrow.

-Bella

.

His reaction is customary to anything that is Bella—a persistent state of agitated energy knotting his stomach and compressing his chest.

But always on duty, Jacob focuses on the others gathered along the coast and enjoying the last few minutes of a carefree Sunday afternoon before the oppressive weight of his presence is sensed and turns their bodies sluggish.

The scraping sound of shuffling sand reaches his ears, the pack racing and pivoting on the beach, twisting and jumping to grab hold of the flying frisbee. The whoosh of displaced air when the disk cuts through the breeze mixes with the thundering crash of the waves, yet none of the lighthearted sounds twirling in the wind bring him joy. They only serve as reminders of a place he is no longer welcome—a world where he no longer belongs.

Random voices skip along the current, and he zeroes in on hers. Bella's gentle pitch reaches out and chokes his heart.

She's here.

…but he already knew that.

"What happened to them?"

Her hushed words are faint, but he can pick them out over the roar of white noise.

"To whom, Bella?"

"Well, Friday night in Port Angeles, outside the club, Jake told me… Uhh, he told me…" She expels a puff of stale air. "Just. Where are the Cul-"

Not daring to flutter a single breath, grinding the inside of his cheek between sharp teeth that summon blood, Jacob waits through Bella's pause. He knows the whom she is referring to, but he prays to whichever entity listening he doesn't have to hear that name part her lips.

"Why are there no new wolves, Emi? I've been gone four years…"

Allowing his starving lungs to fill again, he exhales his relief through flared nostrils because she has chosen a different tactic.

"Well, there hasn't been a need for them."

"Yes… I see that… But, why not?"

Dammit, Bella. Stop pushing.

"What exactly are you asking me?"

Jacob understands the clipped tightness overtaking Emily's tone. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing—to put Sam in danger by divulging too much information. Her caution comes from experience, from knowing someone is always listening.

And this time is no different. Her assumptions are correct.

"Emi, please. Just tell me what happened."

Her pleading rips through the thickened barrier of his scars, exposing the raw wound trapped underneath, and causing him to grip the steering wheel tighter. Waiting for Emily to reveal the secrets she holds. Waiting for Bella to understand how weak and pathetic he truly is.

Jacob is waiting for his world to come crashing down.

"I'm not really sure, but a few months after you took off… Well, the pack… They were gone all the time. Jacob had them running day and night—running 'til their feet bled, 'til they didn't have enough strength to walk through their own front doors without help. Something snapped in him the day you left, and it hasn't been…"

Emily releases a deep sigh, and Jacob recognizes the defeated tremor that laces her words when she continues.

"Look, you gotta understand. There wasn't anything I could do for them, no way I could help. God, it hurt to see the pack like that. So eventually, when Sam came home and said it was over, I didn't ask for details. I just held him. But there's one thing I can tell you. A new wolf hasn't phased since."

…

Heart-clenching seconds pass before Bella utters a response.

…

Before he hears her lungs kick to life and force the next words out of her mouth.

…

"So…do you think…"

"I don't know, Bella! Are you worried about the damn leeches?"

"NO! God, no! Not them!"

"Then what is it?"

"It's Jake, okay? I'm worried about Jake! I don't know who he is anymore. I don't understand this man he's become. I just… I just want to help him. I wa-"

Jacob's head is spinning, trying to catch and grab hold of the truth his imprint is revealing.

"Dammit, Emily, I… I still…"

Still what? No, don't…don't say it.

Frisbee whooshing, sand flying, hearts pumping, blood coursing, bodies colliding…

"Go long, Paul!"

Shit.

His time is up.

Paul is crossing the tenuous threshold and will soon be alerted to Jacob's presence.

Cranking the car, he pulls onto the road and travels the last six miles along the coast toward the gathering. A blanket of silence covers the shore, and he feels the tension building. The uncomfortable seizing of the air—the jerky wariness that controls each of the wolves on the beach below—is infiltrating Jacob's consciousness.

Part of him hates the effect he has on all of them.

But part of him loves it…part of him revels in it…even as all of him realizes how fucked up and twisted his mind is.

Pulling into the small lot overlooking First Beach, he parks his 'Cuda in the spot closest to the exit—always positioned near an escape route, today is no different. Twisting the key, the roar of the engine dies, and he takes a steadying breath to prepare for what awaits him.

The draw of his imprint's energy is reaching for him, begging to close the distance between the two halves, but this is not a request he is willing to accept. He tried once before…to create a life with her…but he was shredded by her broken promise when she ran.

She ran because she is a runner. She cannot be trusted.

But, fuck…his weakness. It's relentless. Drilling through those thick layers of denial and resolve, its sobering hand slaps him with truth. She is the only reason he is here, sitting in his goddamn car, contemplating this shit that should have ended the night she left…

Who the fuck is he kidding? It never ended.

She never ended.

Grinding his teeth until a fine layer of powdered enamel coats his tongue, he attempts to grab hold of the control he is on the verge of losing.

Focus. Now!

Resting his forearms on his thighs, he curls his fingers into tight fists and concentrates on the stinging sensations stemming from the clawed nails digging in his palms. Unable to inhale a full breath because of the tightness gripping his lungs, he forces sharp pressure into the meat of his hands until a slight pop of taut skin liberates the tension clamping down on his body.

The sweet release of the tiny wave of warm crimson carries with it all the anxiety, all the fear, all the doubt, and all the pain that weighs on his mind, and a protective numbing cloak covers his soul.

Rolling his shoulders, he steps out of the car. Guarded behind a shield of indifference and disregard, it is time to face the onslaught of bleak despair from his pack.

Walking toward the edge of the steep embankment, he is overcome by the intensity of thriving imprints. Their numbers are growing.

A newly bonded human is here.

The incessant hum of energy is thrumming through his body, and Jacob scans the gravel lot—assessing each vehicle and idly wondering which one is responsible for delivering the recent addition.

Confusion momentarily stalls his steps as he realizes every car present has either a wolf or council member attached. Casting a furtive glance toward the shore, he quickly surveys the group.

The people littering the sand-covered plain below are those who show up at all First Beach functions. Looking around, there is no one new…except…

Shit! Not her!

Moving toward the weathered stairs that descend the face of the cliff, he feels the pull of one of the pack.

Positioned near the rocks farthest from the water, with a fold-up table splayed before him and speakers flanking each side, Embry is summoning him. Holding Jacob's gaze slightly longer than he should before turning to study the synthesizer, he manipulates the dials and buttons, and the speakers come alive with a soothing dubstep backlighting an angelic voice pleading to be kept in the dark. To have the truth withheld. To pretend it's all been worth the fight.

To be told lies.

The Alpha bristles at any hint of disloyalty, and speaking through the music—always through the music—this once docile member questions if they've all been misled. And though Jacob's leadership is clearly being challenged, the message is concealed enough to only be understood by him.

The peacemaker is becoming bold.

Lashing out at Embry with a growl, bare feet dropping into sand from the last step, his eyes are trained solely on the pack ahead.

Confident his rumbling warning was received, Jacob continues his even stride to the portable canopy. Bypassing the motionless imprints and council members huddled around the blossoming bouquet of food, he stops at the cooler and grabs a frosted bottle before casually walking to a large piece of driftwood upwind from the gathering.

From this vantage point, he can keep a watchful eye on every person present. Nothing will escape him—not a sound, not a single movement, not even a smell.

And definitely not Bella.

He can feel her assessing stare prickle the skin on the side of his neck. She has parted from Emily and is sitting on a blanket near the vacant end of the beach.

"Here's your soda." The silvery tone of the woman offering her a drink accompanies the cooling sensation washing through his body—the relief brought on by Bella's attention being whisked away.

Becoming accustomed to the nervous energy her presence causes, he lowers his guard and the wolf jumps, taking the moment to steal a glimpse of its imprint. Kim drops down next to her, handing over the can. Her sudden, breathy inhale from the cold metal touching her warm palm triggers a deep yearning in the beast, and knowing it is moments away from forcing his body to race to her side, Jacob fights to regain control.

Shutting out the animal, he jerks his head toward the ocean and tilts the beer to parched lips.

Isolation and solitude—his only companions—keep vigil by his side, while the clandestine wolves scatter across the scene before him and slowly resume the various activities Jacob's arrival stole.

Most of the pack attempts to focus on the flying frisbee with some semblance of exuberance, just to keep up appearances for the few tribal elders present. But they fall short in their charade…with despair replacing the life peeking from their eyes, and the weighted anchor of oppression dragging their steps.

Paul and Sam, having given up the game, make their way to the canopy in an attempt to sneak food from under Emily's watchful eye. Their tag team approach hinges on the ability of Sam to adequately distract his wife while his packmate executes a flawless snatch-and-grab maneuver.

Jacob can feel the excitement building as they close the distance. The bubbling energy could easily be mistaken for anticipation of their imminent hijinks had the Alpha not understood the electric, tingling signature of a budding imprint bond.

And he is sure—at this point, he knows beyond any doubt—Paul's mate is under the canopy with Emily.

Slowly raking his eyes across the sand, his anger quickly swelling to the point of consumption…

A calming presence attacks him from the left: the coolness of Embry's gaze washes through him, and he shakes off the impending lull.

The peacemaker is trying to diffuse the situation.

Switching tactics, the music changes, and Adele's sultry voice strums fires raging in the rain. This new dubstep mix—seemingly innocent in its timing, but screaming at Jacob with the well-placed intent of distraction—commands everyone on the beach to take notice.

Paul glances toward Embry with his trademark smirk and a subtle nod. The brief second is long enough to implicate both men in the conspiracy, and the Alpha is suddenly on alert. Indignation flares with the realization something is happening he is completely unaware of.

Ambling toward the small group of women huddled around the food, leaving Sam alone at the edge of the lapping water, he locks on his target.

Steps taken with the beat of the music before Paul pauses within feet of his imprint. He raises his arms in ticks, shoulders pop forward, knees drop in a deep bend, and he spins—his body moving at impossible angles. Slow motion tutting, waving, and locking, he is telling his story—professing his love—through mesmerizing movements set to the sensual downtempo.

Grains of sand spray from the slide of his gliding feet and shower the ground around him. Inhuman strength and balance combine to produce gravity-defying shapes with his lean form. Isolated jerks are strung together with fluid transitions, allowing the energy embedded in his soul—from the smooth pulsing of the electronic rhythm—to leak from extended fingertips and captivate those around him.

And his imprint is enthralled.

Prowling toward her, a satisfied grin takes possession of his lips, and lazy lids partially obscure dilated pupils. The wolf is close to the surface, stalking its mate.

Jacob senses the slight static discharge in the air that precedes a phase, but he will not act.

He will not interfere between animal and imprint.

This is the only sense of power the Alpha allows his pack to have over another, and Paul is strong; he must learn to control the beast near her.

Near Rachel.

Finally acknowledging the role his sister is destined to play, the overwhelming shock of this revelation shreds any light of hope that was forming in his dark soul.

This revelation deadens his core.

Numbness—a void, an emptiness attacking his spirit and taking root in his mind—consumes him.

The sudden emotional withdrawal sets every member of the pack on edge, paralyzing them in their actions, and a chorus of soft whines echoes against the cliffs cocooning the beach.

A cold stare from graphite eyes bores into Jacob's awareness, and without directive, his head wrenches toward the assailant.

Ridicule and judgment tangle Old Quil's features into a grimace, and the Alpha idly wonders what concerns are weaving through his mind. But not considering the council member's worries relevant, he returns his focus to those few wolves who have thawed and are trying to salvage the afternoon with routine.

The pounding crash from the waves beating the shore is soothing, and he becomes lost in its undulating rhythm. Expanding his mind, reaching out with keen senses—searching for self-deprecation—he hones in on her.

"We've barely talked since I've been back."

"Girl, give it some time."

"Mmm… I guess." Jacob fixates on the slight suction of her lower lip slipping through parted teeth, her fidgeting fingernails scraping flannel. "I have a lot to be forgiven for. I just hope he'll listen."

"Me too, sweetie, I really do. But can I just say, I don't know how you did it… How you left. I mean, you're imprinted…the physical pain. When I'm away from Jared, even for one night, it's… And you're the Alpha's-"

"Kim!"

The stench of Bella's apprehension—sharp and acidic—spikes, soaring through the air.

"I'm sorry. That's not my business." Seconds pass. Trying to sedate the pace of her rapid breaths with gentle inhales, Kim searches for a new subject to detract from her recent blunder. "Well, wasn't it weird moving to a new town? Living under some guy's roof you barely knew. Did he tell you what to do—boss you around?"

"It wasn't like that! I did know him. And he wasn't bossy; he was nice." Bella pauses, her reminiscent tone lancing the scars of Jacob's withered heart. "He didn't deserve to be dumped like that—just abandoned in Florida. It was wrong, and it makes me feel horrible, if I'm being honest."

Enough!

A low rumble builds in Jacob's chest, and all organic sound ceases. Out of self-preservation, no living thing dares to breathe.

Slowly, methodically, he lifts his chin and turns toward her. The fire glowing through his eyes causes the pungent smell of fear to flee from her pores.

And she freezes.

Everything freezes.

Except for the slight, involuntary ripple that trembles her form the moment she realizes the predator is awake.

Every part of his being, every fiber in every muscle, jerks to attention and propels his body off the log. Flying to his feet without a single discerning thought, he is on the move.

Stalking.

Closing in on Bella when she comes to life.

Scrambling, her pedaling feet trying to find purchase in the wet sand—pushing the blanket into a clumsy pile and spraying pebbles that clink frantic melodies against the forgotten soda can—she is desperately trying to escape the prowling beast. Her back hits a large, random boulder resting on the beach, and she presses against its hard surface. In a primitive survival instinct, her thighs autonomously clench and force her body to a standing position.

Jacob not only hears her escalating heart rate, he feels it with every pump of blood shooting through his veins. He tastes the bile rising from her stomach on his own tongue. He catches her soft whimpers in his throat before she releases them from hers. Yes, she is scared, but by refusing to cast her gaze down to the broken shells and rocks littering the ground, she is challenging him.

The small part of the Alpha still functioning with clarity appreciates the strength she possesses. She is a fierce mate.

But he is livid nonetheless.

He is the leader; Bella cannot make him seem weak in front of his pack. This betrayal will not be tolerated.

He stops just out of arm's reach. The tug of the imprint pings off each of his sizzling nerves, flooding his mind with masochistic want and sending the wolf into a frenzied state of need.

This is as close as he can get.

With hands methodically fisting and flexing in a languid, rhythmic pattern meant to self-sooth, he glares at her from under a hooded brow—his voice becoming eerily quiet.

"You told her about Noah."

"Wha-?" Releasing a burst of stale air through parted lips, her honeyed irises search his for a glimpse of something familiar. Not finding comfort in her assessment, a tear begins to form as her words come out husky and dry. "How did…? No, I… It was Phil, I was talking about Phil. Renee left him."

He needs answers. The pieces of overheard conversation do not interlock; the puzzle is incomplete.

Jacob cuts his eyes to Kim. Jared stands in front of her—chest heaving, muscles taut, leaning forward—ready to protect.

Defensive stance.

"Then who needs to forgive you, Bella?"

"Uhh…" She momentarily stumbles over her words and recaptures his focus. "Charlie does. I didn't talk to my dad while I was gone. I didn't talk to anybody here. I, I…" She snaps her lips shut.

Tilting his head, the predator always near the surface, he scents salt from the moisture clinging to her lashes.

Tremors lace her raspy whisper, "Jacob…how did you know about Noah?"

"You're our fucking imprint, Bella."

His answer, quick and angry like a reflex, evicts the color from her cheeks and trembles the cadence held in her final question.

"Our?"

Lupine hearing registers her response as the wolf rises, coming to the surface too fast for Jacob to pin it down. His muscles ripple in anticipation of the phase, nails turn rigid and sharp—ten precise razorblades, primed and ready to slash.

The sound that grates against his throat in its release—leaving a raw trail in its wake—strikes terror in Bella's wavering eyes. Instinctively, she drops her gaze and exposes her vulnerability—the harsh pulse a hummingbird, beating its wings into the silken skin of her neck.

And Jacob is a landmine waiting to be triggered, living in the timeless space between breaths where anticipation builds.

So easy would it be to end her existence. Right here.

Right now.

But for all that she is, and all that she is not…she is still his world.

Escape! NOW!

Aware of every available exit, giving in to his natural reaction, he sprints across the beach. His feet slam into the sand, pummeling small rocks and shells into splintered fragments which split his soles in hairline scrapes that quickly heal before the next touchdown of skin to earth. Running straight at the cliff wall sheltering the coast, he hears a soft gasp behind him, and the wolf pulls hard on Jacob's reins.

But the man is stronger.

He will not be forced to return to his imprint…not this time.

Scaling the rock's face, nails hooking into the hard surface, the urgency driving his momentum rockets his body up the wall. He leaps over the top of the precipice and silently lands on the grassy shoulder of the passing road.

Not pausing…never pausing…he dashes across the asphalt, disappearing behind the line of towering pines guarding the forest.

Finally giving in to the beast's incessant call, the first blinding sear of pain echoes through his limbs as the animal is unleashed and branded onto his skin. Bones crack, muscles rip, and tendons snap, fusing back together to create a new species—one not of this earth.

One of the spirit world.

One with its own set of primitive laws and desires. One more powerful and unimaginable than the vampires it was destined to kill. Because without a human façade, its true form can shine, and there is nothing more dangerous. In all its magnificent glory, it was made to reign.

It was made to dominate.

Speed increasing—dodging branches and following unmarked paths through the trees—the wolf is fast. The draw of the imprint screams, begging them to turn back, crumbling the man's precarious hold and strengthening the animal's tenacious grip.

Its overwhelming spirit further weakens Jacob with each passing second, further pounds his mind with uncertainty. It threatens to return them to the beach, to return them to Bella. The beast wants to grovel at her feet.

Because she makes them both weak.

Aware of the plan when the gait slows, human pride will not allow this body to be dragged to her. He cannot be flayed—hardened mask peeled back and vulnerability exposed—in front of the witnesses gathered along the shore.

This is where he must make his stand. This is where he must fight.

Hunched in the corner of his psyche, the naked man—dirty and unclean—rises. The task arduous and slow, each movement full of purpose and intent. Not an ounce of energy wasted on any miniscule shift of his body that won't allow him to overpower the wolf currently in control. Determination allows him to slink in the periphery of the beast's awareness. Stealthy maneuvers give way to the surprise attack against its thickly pelted back. Fists pummel the wiry coat and knees hammer the barreled ribs.

Catching it off guard because the animal is still focused on the imprint's lure, Jacob is able to force it into submission.

Teeth retract, illuminated eyes darken, and he rears up on two legs. Within seconds, the phase back to mortal is complete.

And he aches. Every part of him aches—his body, his soul…his mind.

Arsenic-laced thoughts beckon him to surrender to total detachment, but he doesn't want to fall into that pitch black abyss.

Jacob simply wants peace.

The responsibility—those demands thrust upon him by the pack, by the council—has stretched him too thin.

And his imprint—the one person in this fucked-up world who could have reinforced his strength—left.

Now, he only desires a quiet space to rest his weary bones and lay his unforgiving armor. An escape route for all the pain and confusion…for all the turmoil. Such a cooling release is what he craves, yet with this knowledge comes fiery images that flirt with his memory, images that twist his mind in weeping submission.

But he can't go back…not to that.

Not again.

Yes! It's been done before. Do it again!

Jacob grazes his scalp with hands that clutch, trapping fistfuls of ebony strands in their vice grip. Piercing stabs dart from his scalp, the hair yanked taut.

Slamming his back against the mighty pine, he slides down the trunk, and the rough bark scratches irregular patterns into his flesh. Strong muscles, working together in unison, hold his body off the forest floor as he belts out a guttural growl of anguish. The snarling roar echoes through the forest, and nearby animals scamper to hide from the predator's threat of violence. Labored breath heaves in the deep rise and fall of his chest. Wild eyes flash around the scene in bewilderment. Frantic mind tries to focus on the one fleeting thought that can bring him some semblance of peace.

And the skin of his naked body is smeared with dirt and blood.

Run! RUN!

Jerking, he catapults off the tree, his body acting on instinct even before he realizes a decision has been reached.

Jacob is headed home.

Racing through the dense woods, dodging tall pines and hurdling fallen trunks, his strong calves punch the balls of his feet against the mossy floor. Toes digging into the cold earth, his grip takes root, pushing him faster with each stride.

Choice made, his breathing losses its erratic edge. The rhythmic draw of his toiling lungs conceals the true intent hidden in his thoughts.

Entering an alert state swathed in a calm embrace, crisp concentration overtakes him. His awareness is unparalleled while his body reacts to the high rushing through his veins.

The enticing promise of what's to come lulls him into a placid state of relief.

Soon. Almost there.

Cutting through the last tree line of defense blocking him from the desecration he desperately seeks, Jacob reaches the clearing that brings his unassuming house into view.

He dashes across the yard and leaps up the steps of the dilapidated back porch, thrusting his body into the bemoaning door. It swings wide on screeching hinges.

Resistance is futile. The Alpha knows what he wants, what he needs…

Peace. Quiet.

Release.

Entering through the kitchen, raw eyes scan the counter and momentarily pause on the set of knives taking residence next to the stove. A single image is trying to form through the thick, muggy fog of his consciousness. Jacob feels the crash from the high coming. Still unaware of the decision made, still reacting on instinct, he passes through the room.

The kitchen—the set of knives—is not his target. Of this much he is sure.

Continuing the pursuit of…what? He fights for control, for understanding.

An internal war is mounting and the being at the surface is not completely man nor animal. A mix of bestial self-preservation and human self-deprecation intertwine and tumble into one another, wrapped so tightly, so intimately that the edge of each demand blurs into the next. Swirling on the canvas of his awareness and creating new colors of loathing and mistrust, the two halves can no longer fit their shapes into a single body.

Only one will prevail tonight.

Wolf. Or human.

And as the intent becomes clear…as the bathroom comes into view…Jacob realizes for the first time that he—the man—cannot be the one to win. That he—the man—must fail.

Legs that won't halt, carry him down the hall; arms that won't yield, push open the door.

Darkness that won't relent, smothers his mind.

He can feel the ice cold prickle as it rises from the depths of his tainted soul. This place is ugly. And gritty. And it violently wrenches the wolf free of its grasp.

Tears track down Jacob's cheeks. He feels it coming.

There is no stopping it this time.

There is no ignoring it this time.

All that's left is to witness this scene as it unfolds, to watch it seek its slithering form and take shape in the reality of his presence. The gripping dread leaves him writhing in this hopeless state of despair.

His mind twists and something solid cracks. A tentative smile leaks through the crevice and finds solace on cradling lips.

His last coherent thoughts slice through his awareness.

Maybe this time, death will come.

Maybe this time, the healing won't be fast enough.

Stepping into the room bathed in blinding white porcelain, the premonition of red smears convert this small space into the physical manifestation of his agony. Spatters of blood will litter the floor, giving light to the depravity, displaying its wicked glory.

Locking onto his mirrored reflection, sable eyes turn malicious

And all forethought vanishes.

Action, no longer hampered by indecision—questions, no longer plague his mind—the sweet release is coming.

The wolf, not ready to end the fight, rises on compressed haunches. A final stand to ward off past demons.

But the animal inside doesn't have a chance.

Jacob tilts his head and gazes at the hand extended in front of his chest. Admiring the weapon —admiring himself—he methodically bends each finger in succession, tension dispersing from the knuckles in loud pops.

Flexing the digits, power is instinctively leached from the beast, and the sharpened nails extend. A low, appreciative rumble echoes in his chest at the capabilities this body possesses.

This will be easy for him…

Yesss, just like it was before.

The internal thrashing of the wolf does nothing to disrupt the calm exterior of the man. Flicking the thickened nail of his index finger against the pad of his thumb…

Nicking the plump tissue…

The first drop of blood is released.

Eyes closed, inhaling deeply, the biting, copper aroma fills his senses—invading his lungs and calming his frantic heart.

This will give him a sustainable peace.

Heated crimson streaks down his palm and splatters across the white tiles of the counter, and the animal balks at the visual traces of pain.

The intent is clear. Jacob will desecrate this body—he needs this—but the reason for the coming violence is too complexly human for the wolf to process. It is not logical. It is not strategic. It is wrapped in emotion and suffering and it is nothing the beast can comprehend.

But still, it must fight. Even in this weakened state, the animal is dangerous. It is primitive and selfish.

Eat.

Sleep.

Imprint.

Its only objective is to survive. And right now…in this moment…the man in control is a threat to its basic goal.

Lunging. Scratching at the imprisoning, interior walls of Jacob's skull, the beast's claws scrape down the solid bone, leaving ragged etchings in the tomb. Marrow seeps through the fissures, dripping around the wolf, and the slippery mess left in its wake causes the massive spirit to stumble.

Anything to try and stop the inevitable, it struggles to gain traction. The desperation to change direction—to take control of the living vessel—beats frantically in the animal.

Anxiety swells.

The full extent of the dark ritual will soon be unveiled.

In a matter of seconds, Jacob's world will collapse, and the wolf watches, frozen in horror, because nothing can be done. It submits. The point of no return has been reached, and once again, the man is faster—stronger—than the beast.

Demented images flood his mind, ushering him to a new level of depravity. Figurative demons from his past—with their horned crowns and molten skin—circle the final traces of his innocence. Fidgety movements precede the pounce, and a thousand hungry mouths feed off his misery, spewing a mix of blood and spittle in their ravenous pursuit. Tearing the flesh of his soul with jagged and razored teeth, the last of his naivety is devoured.

Lost in a confused state of delirium, the man rakes mutated claws down the firm skin of his forearm.

Deep crevices are ripped into taut flesh, and the initial tendrils of peace, miniscule and teasing of the serenity to come, begin cooling his raging heart. Internally thrashing in a desolate abyss, externally calm and exhibiting impressive restraint, he raises his arm and…slowly… Ever. So. Slowly…drags his tongue over the wound, tasting the scarlet anguish weeping from the gash—an act that sets off a primitive bloodlust impossible to control.

Jacob is the predator—his own predator, because he is now also the prey—savagely attacking this body. The display becomes ugly and primal and aggressive, but there are no feelings attached. The man inside can't feel. This mix of skin and bones doesn't feel.

Nothing feels.

This lack of emotion is as close as he will ever come to true peace.

And before the dark curtain closes on his consciousness, he has one fleeting premonition: tonight, after he has been punished, after all his pain has been sprayed on the walls, he will collapse in the once pristine tub finally stained red from violence.

Tomorrow, he will clean up the evidence of his sins.

But today, on Sunday—the holy day—the last remaining angels watching over Jacob will surrender to the raging devils determined to consume the last shreds of his humanity.

* Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. ;-)