Okay. I know I've been MIA for like three years, and for that, I deeply apologize. No, I've never forgotten about this story and I'm terribly sorry if it ever came across that way. After I got married and moved south, my sister died from a fentanyl overdose. It's been a real struggle trying to snap my mind back into this fandom and these characters. Fortunately, I still had my outline and I still know what's going to happen in this story, right to the very end. I've had to read through the already posted chapters, so I did update this one a little. I tweaked it here and there. No plot-lines are changed. Just edited for grammar and punctuation.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original charters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Friday, August 13th, 8:04 A.M.

La Push Forest

The silence could only be described as deafeaning – a certain type of silence that thresholds a violent storm on the horizon. The foliage around was still; no leaf was rustling, no sparse grass swaying. He lifted his snout to the air and inhaled deeply. The air was cleansed of everything but the forest around him. He could feel the storm coming; the moisture in the air and the humidity. Creatures of the humid, darkened forest were silent. Birds chirping, small rodents scuttling around, the occasional snap of a branch from a larger animal; all these sounds were absent. The most he could hear was the sap escaping from the trees; Drip, drip, drip.

He remained frozen in posture and tilted his head to the north, listening. If he strained his senses far enough, he could hear the wind whipping through the trees about a mile out. He phased back to his human form and remained still in the trees - nude. His human mind tuned more on a strategic thought pattern than his wolf. His wolf-mind was instinctual.

His wolf mind would probably brush off the howling wind from the north as natural, but the man knew it was artificial. He turned his whole body this time, facing his dominant ear to the west. He could still hear the storm coming. He angled his body so one of each of his ears were facing both north and west. As he listened intently, his mind quickly supplied the morning's weather forecast: Severe thunderstorm warnings with possible chance of developing tornadoes. Record breaking highs for Washington. High Humidity. Emergency...

He growled deep in his throat, the motion sending deep vibrations to his chest. Without another thought, he took off towards the north in human form.

His bare feet pounded against the dirt, sidestepping rocks and just running through vines and roots from trees. His human form was slower than the wolf's - not by much - but his mind was sharper and clearer.

Paul didn't like the voices in his head. He often thought them a hindrance and a violating invasion of privacy. He could barely stand his own thoughts, let alone the thoughts of five other people. And all that testosterone of young, hot-blooded males; If he had to hear one more time about a certain somebody or a secret hidden fantasy, he was going to lose his head.

Or his form.

Literally.

When he ran about a half-mile, the scent of leech hit him hard. Forcing himself not to bend over and spew the contents of his stomach, he held his breath and slowed to a halt. His eyes darted between the trees and his ear faced the north once again. He waited thirty seconds.

He then counted down in his head; Five, four, three, two, on...

His sight caught the flash of red through the trees. He charged ahead, still human form, and leaned over. He kicked his legs out from under himself, and slid forward on his stomach - the roots, rocks and dirt cutting into his stomach and chest - and reached a hand out.

The parasite's red eyes were focused on the trees and her direction. East. That was her destination. He chuckled internally and grabbed her thin, cold ankle as he lie in the brush. She gasped and tried to untangle his hand, but he grinned wickedly and lifted his arm above his head and whipped her into a large tree.

The force of her frozen body hitting the tree caused branches and leaves to fall atop her and implant themselves in her wild hair. She shook her head as if dazed when she regained balance. She looked to Paul who was now standing, and gave him an evil smirk. She jumped in the air, kicked her foot off the same tree and now ran towards the south.

He growled and chased after her.

His human speed was no match for a bloodsucker, but he wanted his human advantage. As he chased her for a mile, when he had the opportunity, he purposely punched a sapling with extreme force as he passed. He could feel the blood ooze from his knuckles.

The bloodsucker slowed and scented the air. She continued running, but not before sending him a disgusted grimace behind her shoulder. Paul smirked and extended his arm. Her pause was all he had needed.

He grasped her red-flame hair in his hand and tugged. But she wasn't slowing. She screeched as the hair ripped from her granite skull. She continued running.

He clenched his right fist, now full of foul smelling hair, and growled low and deep. He kicked her in the small of her back. After flying through the trees, she landed atop the steep cliff.

As she climbed to her feet, he smirked and walked towards her slowly. He held the hair up to her, smilingly wickedly as if showing her his priced piece.

She screeched, did a back flip and took off into the ocean. He laughed and threw the hair over the edge of the cliff. He was a little disappointed. He had wanted to play more.

He was good at hiding his thoughts, but if this had happened while he took on his other form, his pack mates would have known about it. It was a good thing he barely ever phased anymore. They would never know. He looked up from smirking at the ground and saw the red-headed leech standing atop James Island ironically and staring his way. He waved to her mockingly with a big grin. She scowled and soon disappeared.

He laughed out loud.

8:30 AM

Third Beach , La Push

Pulling on the basketball shorts that he had strapped around his ankle, he stared off into the ocean futilely hoping the leech would circle back. When she made no sign of her presence, he shrugged and told himself that there was always tomorrow.

He tasted the salty air on his tongue and sighed. He always loved the beaches surrounding La Push. People never crowded them. Only a few times a year, the palefaces from Forks would come and throw a bonfire and maybe surf. The locals didn't enjoy their company, but there wasn't much they could do. Third beach strictly forbade outsiders. But if they were so inclined, the 1.3 mile trek down a forested path was a good deterrent.

Paul faced away from the ocean and quickly jumped off the side of the cliff, landing with a muted thud into the dense packed sand. The sun beat harshly on his shoulders as he walked to the water and picked up a couple rocks in the palm of his hand.

He tilted his body sideways, flung his arm out and snapped his wrist. The greenish, gray rock skipped a few times before finally sinking.

He decided to kill time before he had to check in with the pack. His comrades needed to fill their duties at the moment – the circumstances such being sad. He no-doubt would get an oral tongue-lashing from Sam. He was to alert the others if he crossed paths with the red-head, not chase after her in human-form and play a cat and mouse game.

The ill-tempered wolf walked along the water, his feet barely sinking into the sand because of his light footsteps. He felt a sense of peace wash over him. His thoughts were his own and he didn't have any company. La Push residents stayed hunkered down in their homes, waiting out the storm that was sure to come, if judging by the rapidly darkening sky was any sign. He felt grateful for the violent oncoming storm - he liked to be by himself.

A snap of a branch followed by a heartbeat had his head snapping to look towards the path that gave access to the beach. A young woman with a cascade of dark hair came through the trees, squinting her eyes against the remaining rays of sunshine. He almost growled aloud, but stopped himself. How dare she invade his personal sanctuary? He was enjoying his peace.

She didn't look in his direction down the beach. She strode over to the water and put her bare feet in. He honestly had to give her a little credit. She walked down that mile path barefoot - though judging by her outfit, he couldn't blame her. She wore a black dress that rode above her knees and swished along her thighs. She probably took her heels off to get down the path.

She lifted her head to the darkening sky and took a deep breath. Something large and metal glinted against the sun as she held it to her chest. She walked out of the water and sat down in the sand, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her slim arms around them. The black dress rose indecently high up her thighs.

Paul knew who she was and could already guess what she was doing here. The woman - Bella Swan - had recently lost her father.

He had heard the story and even felt pity for her. She arrived home at night after a bonfire on second beach. Jacob had to run patrol that night and couldn't escort her home. When the Alpha had offered to have a different wolf escort her home, she thanked him but refused. Paul ran through Forks' forest that night after having left some nameless/ faceless girl's house for a romp.

And he had heard the screams.

Almost compelled, he had followed the yells to the Swan house. Littering the front yard and street were a load of police cars and an ambulance. The young woman was in hysterics and fought against police officers as they tried to escort her out of the house.

Turns out, when she arrived home, she had found her father slaughtered in front of the television. The police reports and the medical examiner obviously knew what she had saw, but she refused to speak of it. Although details remained little on the event, horrific is what police officers said.

Bella sniffed and Paul's eyes shot up from her thigh where they had been lingering. He thought she was attractive in her mourning dress but quickly shook the idea away. He couldn't admire Bella Swan. He had his opinions on her - none of which he would make known - but he did have them. And they all weren't good.

The reason he was on patrol was because of Charlie Swan's belated funeral. The Pack and Council had prepared to attend the event for support. Charlie's likely attacker was a cold one, but everyone had been forbidden from the crime scene by officials and the brunette herself. They missed the scent because of this, but figured the red-haired vampire was responsible

He had heard the police contained Bella on a 48-hour suicide watch but didn't know for sure. It took her a while to even plan a funeral for the man, but with Billy Black's urging, she finally relented - albeit hesitantly – a whole two months later.

The paleface young woman cremated her father's body – by his wishes.

Paul really couldn't remember walking to her, but suddenly he was standing directly over her. She frowned at the shadow on the ground and looked up into his eyes. He nearly fell to his knees.

He didn't feel the ground move. He didn't feel invisible steel cables detach from the earth and attach themselves to her. She wasn't the sole focus of his world.

He did not imprint on her.

But the look in her eyes? He recognized it. He recognized it so well that he felt he was looking into a mirror. Devastation was the only word he could use to describe what was swirling in her brown orbs. He held back another growl for he didn't understand her making him weak. He didn't recognize the tight feeling in his chest that demanded sympathy from him.

"Go home," he told her harshly. "There's a storm coming."

She watched him for a moment and then looked to the sky. Her face was indecipherable – almost to him like an illegible piece of writing that contained scrawls or chicken-scratches. She bit the inside of her cheek, her gracefully arched eyebrows furrowed as she heaved a harsh breath. The wolf could hear it rattle her lungs almost like they have been unused for a while.

"I have to do this," she stated in a mumble. It sounded as if she was talking to her - convincing herself - rather than him.

"Do it another day," he bit out.

She jerked her head towards him, her eyes widening as if just realizing who he was. Her eyes trailed down his face, paused at his lips, and then trailed the rest of the way to his toes. She snapped her head back up, focusing on his eyes with a tinge of red coloring her cheeks.

Bella shook her head, almost like a defiant child who refused to listen. She looked so innocent in the moment.

"I won't be long," she exhaled sharply, her eyes crossing as she cranked her neck back and studied his own orbs. He noticed how her chocolate eyes focused in on a spot to the side of his nose. He realized she was pretending to make eye contact and any lesser being would not have noticed. But he did and he found it a clever tactic. Making eye-contact sometimes left you feeling vulnerable and anxious. Not to mention awkward; if you didn't know the person.

He had to give her props. He used the same exact maneuver.

"I want you to leave," he told her, his lip curling in a sneer, showing a glimpse of his white teeth. "There's a storm coming," he repeated as if she was a child, "and I don't want you here."

Bella gasped, her eyes widening. Her plump lower lip trembled before she quickly put it between her teeth. She looked down, breaking her fake eye-contact.

"I don't have anywhere to go."

Paul barked a laugh, "I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, this is my reservation. If I don't want you here, you should really just leave. I'm not kidding."

Her eyes welled with tears, but before they could fall from her eyelashes, she forcibly shook her head.

"What is your problem?" Bella sneered.

"You."

She stood up then, the urn still firmly clutched under her arm, her other hand on her hip. "I don't give a flying fuck. Charlie wanted his ashes spread here. It was his favorite spot to fish. And I'll be damned if you ruin that!"

Her chest heaved as she finished, her eyes now narrowed to slits. Her hands shook and he noticed she was furious.

But he was angrier and he had no idea why. "Go fuck yourself, leech-lover and fuck your dead father."

He didn't notice her take a step towards him. He didn't noticed her lift her arm. But the impact against his cheek disoriented him and his face swung to the side. As he tried to shake his head against the confusion, he saw out of the corner of his eye the now-bloodstained urn. She charged again before he could regain his balance and slammed the hard metal urn in an uppercut fashion. His neck and head snapped back. He stumbled on his feet and lost balance, falling on to his back side.

She laughed evilly and smashed the urn against the top of his head. He couldn't even will his body to phase and attack the little paleface. He sat dumbfounded, his cheek bleeding onto the white sand.

She lifted her dress high on her thighs and ran away from him. Down the beach, urn still clutched under her arm, she stopped and turned around. From the distance he could see her tears, but her lips curled in a wicked smile. She gave him a one-fingered salute and then continued down the beach - her laughter trailing in her wake.

He stared towards her direction - flabbergasted.

A part of his mind whispered; You deserved it.

August 13th 9:04 AM

La Push - Third Beach parking lot

Bella heaved the door of her ancient truck open, her malicious laughs turning into hysterical hiccups. She pulled herself into the cab and banged her fists against the steering wheel in frustration.

The small brunette had a mix of emotions swirling in her – anger, fury, sadness, offense. She had never put a violent hand on anybody in her life. She hated herself, the ill-tempered asshole werewolf and the whole universe.

Bella never thought her life would turn out this way. She had big hopes and dreams before coming to this dreary side of the country. She would go to an ivy league school - god knew her greats used to be good enough - and major in English Literature. She wanted to become a teacher someday, sharing her love for books with innocent minds and souls. Maybe even make them love it as much as her. But these dreams wouldn't happen now.

She had failed, miserably. She did finish high school with above average grades, but never applied to any colleges. She had her hopes set on a certain future - even refusing to give it up after someone cruelly ripped it away from her.

Her thoughts were of the same mind-set when she found her father that ghastly night.

She shook her head and slammed the rusted door shut. She couldn't think of it. The crime was horrible, grotesque. You only saw that violence in movies and on TV. You never actually think it's going to happen to you.

It does happen in reality though. Then it's horrifying. The event feels like an out-of-body experience. Is this real? Am I dreaming? And when you finally realize it's real, you freak out. Shock is a crazy feeling – as if you're disconnected from your body and reality.

Bella was on suicide watch for 48 hours. Although many people assumed this and heard rumors about it, she never fully admitted to it.

She could never admit how she had failed miserably - just not at a future - but at life. How when people expected her to be calm and levelheaded she had lost it. She clung to her father's mutilated body and refused to let go or admit that he was dead. She fought police and gave a young rookie a good right-hook with her fist before she they detained her.

Neighbors had watched and she will always remember the high-pitched screams that she didn't realize were coming from her own throat.

A rumble of thunder boomed across the silent parking lot, causing Bella to jump and slam her back against her seat. A crack of lightning followed. The wind appeared out of nowhere like some foreign entity. Sand swirled in the air of the parking lot.

Looking towards the sky, Bella noted the lack of light. The horizon turned dark quickly, it looked like it was almost night. Her eyes darted to the swaying trees, watching the leaves tear from them.

She muttered unintelligibly, put her key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened. She stared muddled before trying again - with the same result.

She tired over and again, pumping both gas and clutch. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the silver urn, tears threatening to leak from her eyes.

"What do I do? What do I do?" she whispered at her father's ashes.

Bella couldn't think straight, let alone come up with some plan. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her thoughts and turned the key backwards. Country music came from her speakers - so the battery couldn't be dead.

She pushed the five different radio station buttons - hearing silence except for the first channel - when she got the last she stopped and listened to the crackling airwaves.

The wind picked up outside the truck - debris flying in the air; leaves, sand, grass, trash. A sudden beeping from the radio made her jump. To accompany the obnoxious sound, thunder boomed.

She turned the radio up. Beep. Beep. Beep. Emergency broadcast center. A severe storm with multiple funnel clouds found just five miles outside Forks, Washington. Tornadoes spotted in Port Angeles. Take cover now.

Bella gasped and tried to start her truck again but there was nothing - no wheezing, spluttering or groaning. Just complete silence.

Think. Think. She could come up with possible options. 1) Go to Jacob's house which wasn't too far. 2) Go to Sam and Emily's which was on the other side of the reservation. 3) Walk home.

She mentally crossed out the third choice. She couldn't walk fifteen miles home when Tornadoes were in Port Angeles and others on the way.

She pondered the first choice. She didn't know if Jacob would be home and the Black's didn't have a basement. Jake had probably taken his father over to the Clearwaters, which she had no idea of the location.

The second alternative seemed too hard. Sam and Emily's house was across the reservation - almost the same distance as her walking home.

She banged her head back against her seat. She had run low on luck.

A loud knock on her window had her ducking her head, covering it with her arms and preparing to hide under the seats of her old truck. She peeped up under her arms and cautiously looked towards the window.

Paul was staring through her truck window, his shaggy ebony hair blowing fiercely in the wind. The wolf's face had healed flawlessly –without a scar or mark, but drops of crimson blood had stained his cheek, lower lip and chest. She ducked back down under her arms and clenched her eyes closed.

If the storm didn't kill her, he surely would.

La Push, Third Beach Parking lot.

9:31 A.M.

The violent paleface ducked down in her car, her arms covering her head. Paul could smell her fear and see her shoulders slightly quaking.

When he finally recovered from the couple of blows to his head, his anger had subsided and then he just felt bad. The violent wolf should have never said anything to that young woman. The fight was his fault. However, he thought wryly, had it been anyone else, they wouldn't have survived his wrath.

She stunned him. No one had ever stuck up to him in such a violent way - not even his family. He hated to admit it, but he had to respect the little paleface.

He was intending to walk across the parking lot and up in to the woods to his cabin. He planned on waiting in the old fallout shelter with a bottle of tequila.

But he saw her truck there and her frustrated face as she stared out the window. He watched her arm fiddling with something and figured she was trying to start the car. He had heard the faint protest of the engine with his lupine ears but he doubted she heard it.

When she banged her head against the seat, he was moving towards her window.

He tapped on the glass and she ducked quickly down. She peeked up at him, her gasp caught in her throat and ducked back down.

Didn't she realize if he was going to hurt her, he would have already?

He tapped against the glass again and she slowly straightened, her eyes trained on the side of his nose through the glass. He motioned for her to roll the window down.

She did, slowly, the wind invading her truck and swirling her hair and scent around rapidly. When he saw her widened, scared eyes, he tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace.

"Car trouble?" he questioned in a monotone voice. He wasn't waiting for an answer since he already knew it.

"Yeah," she mumbled, biting down on her plump lower lip. He ignored the action and studied her eyes. She recently cried, that was for sure. There was no amusement on her face - like the last time he saw her.

The wind picked up speed, blowing the legs of his basketball shorts tight against his thighs. He saw her eyes dart down to the movement and then look to the sky. Thunder rumbled loudly, followed by a blinding flash of lightning.

He tried not to notice how the flash had lightened her eyes to an almost hazel-green color.

"I...I..." She stuttered and then stopped - taking a deep breath. She was looking at his hair now. Which he could no longer feel blowing in the wind. Her head jerked around in different directions, her lower lip now trembling. Her eyes couldn't focus on something certain.

The wind had stopped. The atmosphere became still.

"Shit."

"Oh god."

They both whispered at the same exact time as heavy golf ball sized hail beat down from the black sky.

"Come on," he told her urgently. "Get your stuff."

Bella nodded frantically and cranked up her window. She ripped her keys from her ignition and grabbed her large duffle bag from the passenger floorboards. He vaguely wondered why she needed a duffle bag and where she could have been going.

She jumped from the truck - accidentally slamming the door into his hip - and rushed to his side. He slammed the door with his palm. He took the duffle from her and strapped it over his shoulder. Taking her other hand, he pulled her across the parking lot and towards the tree line, both of them barefoot.

As he went to tug her into the woods, he felt her stop and pull on his hand. "Wait," she called over sound of the hail.

The wind picked again. In the distance he could hear a funnel-like sound. The winds from the tornado sounded like a large train on it's way.

"What? Let's get going. This is bad." he spoke harshly - questioning her sanity.

Tears gathered on her lashes. "My dad's ashes. I forgot them."

He couldn't ignore her. He couldn't ignore this. They both would never forgive themselves.

He swore loudly and turned her body towards the tree-line. "Head straight up the hill, as fast as you can. I'll be just a minute. Keep moving."

She nodded and began to run into the trees barefoot, her dress blowing up and disclosing tiny strips of black lacy fabric. He shook his head and ran back to the truck in a full sprint. He ripped open the door and clutched the urn under his arm. Looking towards the sky, he noticed the tornado. A dark funnel obliterating everything in it's wake. He swore again and ran back to her.

She was still sprinting in the woods, up the hill, panting wildly. He called her name and she nodded in acknowledgment, never stopping. He had to give her credit - give her a task and she completed it with wild abandon.

He again took her hand and she squeezed tightly and ran alongside him up the hill. Her bag over his shoulder, her father's urn under his left arm and her hand firmly clasped in his, he pulled her along as fast as she was capable.

Her long dark hair whipped behind her, along with the black dress. Lightning cracked a tree a couple feet to their left and he pulled her body into his arms and quickly dodged the now falling tree. He placed the urn in her lap as he held her bridal style and she clutched it tightly to her.

Without her slowing him down - he could run a lot faster. She breathed heavily in his arms.

They arrived at the shelter shortly after – just two metal doors rising a couple of inches above the ground. He jumped down into the shelter without using the stairs. He tossed her body and her bag onto a nearby bed and flew back to the door, where he bolted it and then shoved a large piece of wood between the two handles.

As he slung chain through the two steel handles of both doors, he could hear her moving around and talking to herself. Was she crazy?

Light suddenly lit a small space of the darkness as he bolted the chains to the cement walls. He secured them in middle when they met with a padlock.

His lupine eyes could easily make out darkness in a forest or house. But this place had no sense of natural lights. He was as blind as she.

He could see the light from her cellphone as she rummaged through the space. Her heart was calm as she looked for something. He could almost see a flash of her white teeth as she smiled and held something to her chest.

"Lighter." Bella suddenly said, softly. He could see the whites of her eyes facing him.

"Okay?"

"I need a lighter. I found a couple of candles."

He scoffed in a teasing way. "What makes you think I have a lighter?"

He could vaguely see her put her hands on her hips, or something. "I heard about how you're the best fighter in the pack. Why would the best fighter - who fights vampires by the way, not have a lighter on him? Which kills vampires, by the way."

He laughed aloud and stalked towards her. She held her hand out to the left of her body. He pulled the gold Zippo lighter from his pocket and pulled her wrist in the right direction. He placed the warm metal into her hands. Bella flicked the Zippo open and it lit it like a pro with only two fingers, impressively. The darkness filled with a soft, warm, glow. She snapped her wrist and the lighter flipped closed. Her eyes concentrated as she took the old, tall white candle in a gold saucer and used it to light others she had collected.

"There. Now I can see." she placed them strategically around the space.

Paul studied the now-lighted room. The smell of mildew flowed through the air like a scented candle, making his sensitive nose scrunch in disgust. He had the urge to sneeze.

The wolf quickly cataloged the room. Four cement walls – dark gray and rough in texture. The wall to his left displayed a bunch of slash marks – almost like a tally. To the left was a hand-built wooden shelf. The top housed cans of various sizes – all unlabeled. Blankets and sheets lined the middle shelf and water in old milk jugs decorated the bottom. Directly in front of Paul stood the tiny brunette in front of a wrought iron full sized bed adjourned with a dirty mattress and took up most of the space. A small wooden table with two plastic folding chairs completed the look.

"Interesting," he commented, "Exactly how I pictured one of these storm shelters looking like. Except the bed"

"You would think the place would have cots." she agreed, walking to the wooden shelf.

"You haven't been down here?" she questioned curiously as she pulled a blanket from the shelf and lifted it to her nose. She scrunched her face and snapped the blanket out in front of her, dust swirling in the air.

"Nope. Never a reason to."

Bella walked back to the bed and bent over, placing the blanket over the dirty mattress and tucking it into the side. "No time like the present."

She locked eyes with him from across the tiny space. His lip twitched. A slow smile spread across her face. They both burst out laughing.

She fell back on the bed, her small body shivering with laughter. "My life sucks. Seriously, what else could possibly happen?"

Paul didn't want to know.