To fireylight, lovably17, kimmmz, judyootori, Lena Tyrins, exquisiteabyss, KeepSteady, alicecullenisrealinmyworld, Izzy Rose, butterskew, IshaLane, GrumpySunshine, queenamz, Dragonic-blast, chocolateluver101, Jessica L, musicmakesfun, Geeky godess, jaredkimlover, and happinie93 – thanks for reviewing!

I'm terribly sorry that this took so long to get up – alas, I do have a valid excuse. I was at a pre-party last month and some jackass decided to take a stage dive. Right onto my right arm, and two of my ribs. Soooo… yeah. You won't fault a failed Southpaw for typing Allegro out at a snail's pace, will you?

10. Allegro

xxx

Sunday, January 29th

Okay.

I've thrown up three times since I got up today. The first time was to upend the scrambled eggs I'd managed to force down my throat at breakfast. The second and third time… was pure gastric acid.

I hope I'm done. Throwing up – glamorized by all that teenage crap they show on TV – really isn't my thing. The queasy feeling in my gut, the taste of acid in my throat, the uncontrollable reflex to gag whenever the thought of that thing crosses my mind…

Round 4, here I come.

Sunday, January 29th, later

As it turns out, when there's absolutely nothing left in your stomach, contents-wise, your body will make you pay a different sort of toll. By the end of all the dry retching and the heaving, I was borderline hysterical. So hysterical, in fact, that Benji came in, took one look at me, and promptly hauled me off to the car.

You have to give the guy some credit – I think I was kicking and screaming and being a general bitch to carry out the door, and considering how he's built on the wiry/lean side (whereas Danny and Charles are more of the "brick shithouse" variety), I was more than a little impressed at how he was able load me into the vehicle without anything getting broken or dislocated.

"Ma," I blubbered, only vaguely aware of Benji's hands grappling with the seat belt as he attempted to buckle me in. "I want Ma."

"She's at Sue's." Benji's voice sounded very far away. I curled into a tighter ball. "I can go get her, if you want."

Face buried in my knees, I shook my head. The tears kept coming.

"Kim." A hand came up to rest between my shoulder blades, and I instinctively flinched away. I felt Benji's hand retreat, though he continued talking. "What's wrong, kid?"

I didn't answer. Didn't know where to begin. Didn't know how to put it in words.

I heard the growing concern in his voice as he tried again, but it only made me cry harder. After what felt like ages, the familiar sounds of the engine starting hit my ears.

My head snapped up. "Where are we going?" (Except it probably sounded more like Berr arr be goan, thanks to the fact that my throat was raw from all the sobbing and throwing up.)

I caught a glimpse of Benji's worried profile – stiff jaw, furrowed eyebrows, lips tightly pressed together as he belted himself in – and the panic kicked in, full scale. "Benji, no! We can't leave!"

"I'm taking you to the hospital," was his reply. He shifted the car into gear.

"Stop!" I yelped, making a mad dive towards the wheel. "I don't want to go! I'm fine!"

He looked startled by my sudden shift in countenance - though it's hard to say what his exact reaction was, considering how I was halfway draped across his lap, frozen hands trying to peel his fingers off the steering to no avail. Then, firmly, he untangled my arms from the mess I'd made of my seat belt, but I refused to budge from my position, despite his attempts to extricate me from my death grasp on the wheel.

"Kim." The weight of worry in his voice had my eyes tearing up again. I kept my gaze resolutely on my fingers pressed over his, the digits criss-crossing over the cracked leather. Same shape, same shade… but his were longer, more calloused. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Mutely, I nodded.

"Then 'fess up, kid. What's all this about?"

I wanted so badly to say that nothing was wrong, that I was fine, that it was just PMS and he'd caught me at a bad time, but I had a feeling that he'd see straight through the lie and cart me off to the hospital anyway. We had insurance, sure. But I was pretty sure our brand of limited medical insurance didn't cover crazy.

So I did the next best thing.

"You know how …" I paused to lick my suddenly dry lips, my voice sounding hoarse and unfamiliar in the calm of the car. "You know how – this is hypothetical, yeah – you sort-of-like someone, and you have for an awfully long time, but then stuff happens and you think you're hallucinating things and people start acting weird, and just when you have the guy pegged down for being a complete lying asshole bastard who should rot in the fires of hell for lying to your face when you're only trying to be his friend, it turns out that he was telling the truth all along and you feel like the biggest idiot in the world?"

Benji blinked a few times. He looked like he needed some time to process. I didn't blame him, but my mouth wasn't giving him that option. The words tumbled out, unfettered, and it was all I could do not to unleash all that verbal diarrhea on the poor guy.

Then again… that brain-mouth filter of mine hasn't exactly been up to speed lately.

"And then you're just standing there while the two guys start brawling it out, and it's like watching territorial violence amongst the Alaskan moose on the Discovery Channel, only without the peeing and the antlers, and you end up shaking, too, and praying to whatever gods are out there for some sort of device that'll let you go back in time, or better still, teleport back home – but you can't get away, because the thought of leaving makes you feel sick and some part of you wants to cry and scream and throw up at the same time, so you're stuck watching the bloodbath between two supposedly mythical beasts unfold right before your eyes, and there's nothing you can say or do that can make it all stop, short of dressing in drag and doing the hula – which I did internally, by the way, since I was going to go crazy either way – and then –"

My diatribe was cut short by Benji's quick exhale of "Ma's back", and relief practically seeped off his pores as he slid out of the seat from under me and got out of the car, kicking the door shut behind him as he all-but sprinted over to a familiar figure making its way across our front lawn.

I sat up and stared gloomily at his retreating back, a little miffed that he hadn't stayed to hear the rest of my hypothetical story. Granted, it was a little out there, but out of all my family, Benji had always been one for sci-fi stuff, so I figured telling him a story about werewolves probably wouldn't freak him out as much as it would to say… Danny. Who'd probably bundle me up in a straitjacket and have me checked in at the nearest holding facility.

I was interrupted from my inner doom and gloom when the car door reopened, to reveal Ma. I felt something inside me settle, though the gut-clenching nausea was still there.

Deep breaths, Connweller. One step at a time.

I shifted slightly to make room as she moved into the spot where Benji had just vacated, then proceeded to bury my face in her lap.

Neither of us said anything for a long time. The only sounds were that of our breathing, and the rustle of her fingers against my hair.

"Ma," I finally said, breaking the silence. "We should move. Out of La Push, I mean."

Her fingers stilled, and the surprise was audible in her voice when she replied. "Why's that?"

"… It's not safe here."

She didn't laugh at me like I expected her to, but the voice took on a more serious tone. "Is this about the bear, sweet?"

I felt my heartbeat accelerate. "It's not a bear," I muttered.

Her fingers resumed stroking my hair, but I could feel the agitation building up inside me. After that experience, I'd have gladly snuggled up to an angry grizzly if it meant never seeing those two again. There wasn't enough therapy in the world to erase those images from my mind. All I had to do was close my eyes to have that scene replayed over and over in my head, like a broken record that wasn't going to be fixed anytime soon.

It was all spelled out for me. Jared and Paul were werewolves. Sam was their ringleader. They had the entire town in the dark about it. And Emily…

She'd never been attacked by a bear to begin with. It was Sam. Sam had done that to her.

The head of security on the reservation was a werewolf.

The bile rose in my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth and scrambled ungracefully through the open car door, hunching over miserably in the grass as I tried to ignore the taste of acid on my tongue.

"I'm alright, Ma," I groaned, holding up a hand as I glimpsed a shadow passing over my form. "I just… need some antacids. Maybe."

"Kim Connweller," a male voice rumbled. "We need to talk."

I swear, I nearly went into cardiac arrest then and there. In my weakened physical state, I couldn't even put up much of a fight as I gingerly got to my feet, studiously avoiding his gaze as I picked some invisible detritus off my sweater. This won't end well.

"Mrs. Connweller." Sam's voice was perfunctory in how it was completely neutral – nothing in it suggested that he was about to go on a crazy wolf rampage. That… that was good.

Right?

"Well, if it isn't Sam Uley," I heard Ma say. "You've grown, haven't you? How's Emily doing?"

"She's doing fine, ma'am," was his smooth reply. "I came here today to discuss something with Kim, if it's alright with you."

Say no! I screamed internally. Say you need me for laundry duty! Anything!

My inner pleas fell on deaf ears. Before I could so much as protest, Ma was nodding, smiling at something Sam was saying, shaking his hand, and turning to leave. A final nail in the coffin: "Come inside if you're feeling worse, baby. I'll have the antacids and some cocoa ready." And then she was in the house.

I was alone. With a werewolf.

The way I turned to him was almost mechanical. Okay, he's wearing actual clothes this time. Shoes, too. I guess he wants to look as non-threatening as possible when he rips my throat out.

"Hello, Sam." I said hollowly. "Nice weather we're having today."

"Kim Connweller," he said, and the rich timbre of his voice sent a slew of goosebumps breaking free on my skin. "Have you recovered?"

"Just get it over with already, Sam," I said miserably. "You didn't come here to enquire after my health. Are you going to kill me or not?"

A pause. I thought I saw a fleeting smile pass over his face, but it must've been a trick of the light. That, and the hunger gnawing at my stomach was making me dizzy.

"I'm not here to kill you." A cough. "I'm here to let you know that I would have preferred if you found things out a different way – suffice to say that you would have found out on your own, eventually. But what's done is done."

"What's done is done," I echoed. My fingernails dug into the skin of my palms, hard. "If you're not here to kill me… What's going to happen, Sam? I mean… " Blood was pounding in my veins, and despite the cold, I knew I was starting to sweat. "I won't tell anyone about it, but please don't hurt my family – "

Sam's large palm came up to rest on my shoulder, effectively silencing me. "Kim," he said. "No one is going to hurt your family. We exist on this reservation to protect its people."

I must've looked skeptical, because he continued. "The men of our tribe share a common ancestry. We can shift to a lupine form at will, though certain… conditions may trigger the change, as well. We mean the people of this town no harm."

"… Okay," I finally got out. "Okay." My head was reeling from all this new information, but I tried not to let the confusion show on my face.

How will I know if he's lying?

"You won't," Sam said bluntly.

I gaped up at him. "You can read minds?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "I took a guess," he said affably. "You're easy enough to read."

A scowl escaped onto my face, unbidden, and he chuckled.

"Get inside," he said, releasing his hold on my shoulder – odd, I'd forgotten it'd been there to begin with. "Rest up for tonight."

"Tonight?" I repeated. "What's on tonight?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

And with all that said and done, he left.

Sunday, January 29th, late

What did I just agree to?

Oh, wait. I didn't technically agree, did I? It's not like he asked me, or anything. So it really shouldn't count.

Unless it was one of those unspoken agreement things, which is just… crap.

Fuck.

xxx

Sunday, January 29th, later

What if it's a trap?

What if… what if Sam Uley didn't kill me earlier because cleaning my entrails off the front lawn would've been too messy? What if the fake camaraderie was just a set-up to get me to go to some secluded, remote area where no one would be able to hear my screams of agony?

xxx

Sunday, January 29th, later later

CRAPCRAPCRAPCRAPCRAPCRA –

Monday, January 30th, very, very early

Well.

That was… that wasn't what I'd expected.

I haven't slept all night. But I'm awake. Wide, wide awake. It's like someone took a needle and shot caffeine into my veins.

I'll start from where I left off earlier – back when I was hyperventilating in my room, a few breaths away from passing out in the corner of my room. It was pitch dark outside (not too surprising, given that it was 10pm), and I'd excused myself from dinner early, barely escaping suspicion by saying that I was having a killer headache. Which wasn't exactly a lie. Images of recent events kept swirling around in my mind, giving me the oddest sensation of having pink soup filling my head.

Which was how I'd ended up sequestered in my room at 8.30 in the evening. I kid you not, diary. I'd even changed into my jammies for authenticity, in case Danny decided to come in to check on me (Which he totally did. My fake snoring must've done the trick, though).

But then the most awful part was the waiting, by far. There's nothing quite like feeling ice in your veins when you're buried under three of your thickest blankets. The silence seemed to stretch on and on as I lay there, caught in between shaking from anxiety and staying as still as possible… maybe if Sam thought I was asleep, he'd let me skip the beheading ritual? I didn't want to think of the alternative, either – that it wouldn't be Sam crawling in to get me, but someone else – and that was when I heard the sound of knuckles rapping against the window.

I muffled my shriek into the pillow I was currently burrowed into, before getting up in the most dignified way I could manage (that is, with bed head and a slight stumble in my step when my bare feet hit the icy floor) and moving to the window to see… Paul?

My hand hesitated for a second before flipping the latch on the window – and in an instant, the window was jerked open.

I was face to face with a werewolf. And from the look on said werewolf's face, neither of us was exactly happy about it.

"Out," he snapped. His jaw was tense, and I could make out a vein pulsing down his neck.

This did not bode well.

All my instincts for self-preservation were screaming stay where you are! Spray some holy water in his face while you're at it! but I guess my body had other ideas. Numbly, I stepped forward and clambered up and out. Each movement felt concrete-heavy in the oppressive silence that hung in the air. I don't think the situation could've been any more uncomfortable if Paul and I had just found out that we were estranged siblings.

And speaking of siblings…

"I need to get back before my brothers find out I'm gone." My voice cracked a little, and it was a struggle holding his flat gaze. That is, if I'll be coming back to begin with.

A grunt. The closest I got to a reply was a fierce glare, before he stepped forward and scooped me up. In less than a heartbeat, I was off my feet and in the arms of a were –

Werewolf.

I… still can't get used to writing it. This is too unreal.

"Paul," I gritted out. His skin was searing hot, and it was only then that I realized that the increased body temperature thing had to be supernaturally-induced – there was no way a fever lasting that long would still have the guy vaulting over rotting logs like an overzealous Italian plumber.

When he failed to respond, I tried again. "Paul?"

No answer. The tightening of his muscles should have been a sign for me to change course, but I had to get it out of my system. "Pa –"

" – the fuck do you want?" he demanded. Looking at him, I could see the tense line of his jaw, the barely reined-in aggression, and a trace of… uneasiness?

And just like that, I felt myself relax a fraction, possibly due to the fact that I wasn't the only one weirded out about it all. Paul would never be the kindred spirit I needed, but having him not bite my face off at first sight was encouraging.

The words that came out of my mouth surprised me. "How did you become a werewolf?"

He snorted. It lacked any real hostility, so I wasn't too worried about the question possibly hitting a sore spot. It took a moment, but he finally replied. "I was born one, yeah."

"Born one?"

Another snort. "It's in our blood. My dad was one, so I'm one. It's not exactly rocket science, kid."

My voice was hushed when I finally took this all in. "Am I… am I one?"

He laughed. A real laugh, too, and not a forced one. It brought the tension down another level. "Not even close. We don't get she-wolves around here." A pause. "Although…"

I had to crane my neck to catch the smirk that spread across his face. "What?"

"You'd make for one crazy-ass she-wolf. So it's a good thing you ain't one then, eh?"

I let out a huff of outrage. "Excuse me? Who're you calling crazy, Paul Warnick?"

His resounding laugh rattled my bones. "At least I don't go around kicking weres in the family jewels, sweetheart. Didn't your Ma ever tell you to mind the jewels?"

I was still giggling when he set me down in the clearing outside Sam's house. But any lightheartedness we'd built up over the past few minutes dissipated with the arrival of one very tall, very intimidating Sam Uley.

… At least he had a shirt on this time.

"Kim." His tone was cordial. "All dressed up for the festivities, I see."

The panic returned, full force. He didn't say there was going to be a dress code! I felt incredibly self-conscious in my threadbare tracksuit and parka for a moment, before I caught sight of a twitch at the corner of Sam's lips. His eyes glinted with amusement.

This doesn't look like a ritualistic execution. Inner Kim sounded dubious. In fact, the décor's kind of… cheery for anything involving evisceration.

She was right. From where we were standing, I could glimpse the kitchen through the gaping hole where the door used to be. I could make out what looked like a lot of food on the table, and… balloons?

I pinched myself. The resulting twinge of pain was so unexpected that I actually looked down at the offending hand and scowled at it for a full five seconds.

"You're not dreaming," Sam assured me, his voice a disconcerting rumble as he steered me towards the house. Paul had loped off into the kitchen and was currently circling the table – I could see Emily laughing and swatting his hands away from a plate of cookies.

"…I have to be," I mumbled, acutely aware of Sam's palm on the small of my back as I made it up the deck stairs (barefoot, I might add. Hindsight's 20/20).

"Kim!" The unscarred half of Emily's face lifted up in a smile as she came towards me for a hug. Still a tad overwhelmed, I settled for dazedly patting her on the back as I took in the surroundings: balloons, flowers, pastries, cookies, cake… this looked suspiciously like a party.

My gaze was still darting about the room when I finally formulated a sentence. "What's the occasion?" Besides my disembowelment, of course.

Paul had taken the opportunity of Emily's momentary distraction to stuff an entire muffin into his mouth. Sam cuffed him on the back of his head before dropping a fond kiss on the atop Emily's forehead (he had to bend a fair bit, considering how his six-foot-something frame dwarfed her completely), murmuring an apology before crossing the kitchen to head into the living room.

Emily positively glowed with happiness. "It's your welcome party, Kim."

"Er… come again?"

She made a sound that could've been impatience – or slight annoyance, given that she'd caught on to Paul's food-stealing and was shooing him away with admirable vigor. Paul managed to wrangle a final handful of chocolate cookies before he was physically pushed out of the kitchen amidst laughing protests ("There's not going to be any food left for the party if you eat it all, Paul!" "Geez, Em… there's enough food to feed the entire town in there!" "Out!")

And Emily was back, clasping my palms in her warm ones, her eyes dancing with mirth. "I'm so glad you're finally in on the secret, Kim – it's kind of lonely being the only girl amongst a pack of boys."

"Uh –" I blinked a few times, overwhelmed and trying to get my bearings. "That's… great?"

She beamed, and wrapped me up in another hug.

Through all this, my brain was working overtime. So this isn't a pre-execution party. I'm not going to die. Emily's happy that I know about the whole werewolf thing. But where's –

"Kim."

Standing in the open doorway behind me (how had I missed his approach, and how long had he been there?) was Jared. He looked the same as when I'd seen him last – shadows under his eyes, a slight pallor underlying his normally russet skin. And considering what had happened the last time…

Snap out of it! Inner Kim chided.

"Jared." My voice sounded very far away. My mouth opened, but I was at a loss for words. I wondered it must've looked like to Emily: Jared hunching his shoulders in the ruined doorway, my posture a direct mirror of his, except I probably looked… I don't know. Anxious? Worried? Scared, maybe?

The silence seemed to stretch on forever, interrupted only by Emily's "I'll let you two have some privacy" and a hasty retreat. She took in my widened, pleading eyes and gave me a reassuring smile in a return, which only made my stomach sink even lower.

Breathe, girl.

Stiffly, I moved to the table (which was groaning under the weight of the assorted pies and pastries) and mechanically picked up a raisin muffin. Open mouth. Bite. Chew. Chew. Swall –

"So." Jared's voice was even, his expression impossible to read. "You know about the wolves."

I knew it was coming, though that didn't stop the piece of muffin from getting lodged in my throat. The coughing fit that followed was alarming in more ways than one: the tickle in my throat became a full-blown itch and I genuinely thought I'd empty the entire contents of my stomach onto Emily's efforts, and with the added sensation of Jared's searing-hot hand running along my back… I didn't know whether to curse the muffin or hope it'd stay lodged in my throat forever.

And finally, I managed to clear my throat and look up at the boy I'd been in love with for as long as I could remember. My eyes were a little watery from my earlier bout of coughing, but the image of the smiling, laughing young Quileute boy I'd become accustomed to had already been replaced with someone a little bulkier and a lot taller; someone who presently looked more of a man at sixteen than others would ever hope for in their mid-thirties.

Jared was no longer a boy, that I knew. I felt ridiculously young and small next to him, like some little kid playing at love.

"Are you okay?" The concern in his eyes made my heart hurt.

"I –" don't break down, don't cry "- I'm fine, Jared. Really."

"Oh." A brief moment of awkwardness that followed when he finally stepped away, his arm falling from where it rested on my shoulders.

Biting my lip, I braced my arms on the edge of a kitchen counter and tried to will the rawness in my throat away.

Silence.

"You're my imprint."

The look on my face must've been reminiscent of the blankest canvas in La Push, because a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth in response.

"You're my imprint," he repeated, like it was supposed to mean something.

Imprint. I turned the word over and over in my head, feeling the weight of it tug on the threads of my consciousness. Somehow, that word sounded familiar… My brows furrowed.

The question was on the tip of my tongue, but he must've seen the question coming. "It's… hard to explain. You're the one, Kim."

You're the one.

I was definitely dreaming.

And suddenly, he was moving closer. I wanted to step away, but the counter pressed hard into my back. My fingers were gripping at the edge in my anxiety, and I could feel my heart rate accelerating as his fingers moved to cover mine, effectively caging me in with his broad form as he bent down, our faces inches apart –

"- Getting the party started without us, Redds?"

It was Paul, of course. His grin was so wide; he could've made for a good Cheshire Cat.

I heard Jared mutter a curse under his breath, and the warmth of his body left mine as he strode over to Paul and took a good-natured swing at him. Paul dodged easily, and there was laughter all around as Emily and Sam returned, Emily shooting me a curious glance as they came back into the kitchen – they'd apparently missed the… moment.

Did that really happen?

The events that followed passed in a blur of activity. I simply nodded a lot and watched the pile of food before me diminish at an alarming rate. I couldn't get what had nearly transpired out of the chaos in my head, and I think my distraction must've shown, somehow.

The party came to an abrupt end sometime around midnight. A sudden silence enveloped the table, and Sam, Paul, and Jared tensed up simultaneously – a collective, unrehearsed motion that set my nerves on edge.

"What's wrong?" Emily's voice was steady, though I could see the lines of worry etched onto her face.

Sam sounded a little strained in his reply. He murmured something I didn't quite catch into her ear, then turned away and nodded imperceptibly towards Paul and Jared.

"Kim," he said cordially. "I trust you enjoyed the party? We'll have to introduce you to the council some other time."

He was out the door before I could formulate a reply, Paul at his heels. My gaze locked with Jared's as he paused in the ruined doorway. Some unspoken message passed between us as he tilted his head ever so slightly in the direction of the clearing, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Just like that, my legs were moving, unbidden, bringing me to the back porch. The floorboards creaked under my feet, and the battered railing looked like it couldn't take more damage, but I pressed my palms against it anyway. Expectation surged through my veins as I leaned forward, wide eyes alighting on the moonlit silhouettes in the clearing before me – three impossibly tall Quileute boys standing together were a sight to behold, even on this reservation – and then, they changed. I don't know how to describe it. One second, they were human, though it looked like their forms were blurring at the edges… and the next, they were wolves.

Not bear-hippos. Actual wolves, with razor-sharp incisors and features that were inarguably canine. I recognized the Paul- and Jared-wolves, though Sam's was a first for me. His wolf was black as the night, and there was an eerie intelligence in its golden eyes that belied the man underneath.

I watched as they headed off into the forest, my throat thick with an emotion I couldn't name.

I didn't speak for the rest of the night. I think Emily understood. She packed up some leftover pie for me in a container and drove me home.

I really should be sleeping, but…

What on earth's an "imprint"?

Thanks for reading!

xxx

Malice Cat

Next: Accelerando