ʚ lady rin ɞ

For the past month, the air in the Black household's garage had been thick with the scent of grease, gasoline, and a camaraderie that didn't include you. The space was constantly filled with the clink of metal tools and the easy laughter shared between Jacob Black and Bella Swan.

You sat on an overturned crate in the corner, a half-eaten sandwich forgotten in your lap. Jacob was bent over a rusted motorcycle frame, his face flushed with excitement as he explained the mechanics of a carburetor to Bella. She leaned in close, hanging onto his every word as if it were a lifeline.

"Hey, Jake?" you called out, your voice soft and tentative as you tried to bridge the miles of emotional distance that had settled between you. "Do you want to grab that movie later tonight? The one you said you wanted to see?"

Jacob didn’t even look up from the engine. "Can't tonight, babe. I promised Bella we’d finish mounting this block. Maybe tomorrow?"

Bella offered a small, apologetic shrug, but the gesture didn't reach her eyes. To you, it never felt sincere. Ever since Edward Cullen had vanished from Forks, leaving a wake of gloom in his departure, Bella had practically moved into Jacob’s garage. In the process, you had been effectively demoted from Jacob’s girlfriend to a silent background prop—an afterthought in your own relationship.

"Hey!" Quil’s boisterous voice cut through the tension as he swung into the garage, Embry trailing quietly in his shadow.

Embry walked past the busy duo—who barely acknowledged the newcomers—and immediately zeroed in on you. He pulled up a weathered plastic bucket, flipping it over to sit right beside your crate.

“Hey," he said softly, offering a lopsided smile that instantly warmed the chilly La Push air. "You look bored out of your mind.” he held out a pack of candy, “Want half my Twizzlers?”

"Hey, Embry," you sighed, forcing a weak, flickering smile that didn't quite hold. "No... I’m okay. Not really hungry."

His brow furrowed with a sudden, sharp worry. "Everything okay?"

"Just... the usual," you muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the center of the room where Jacob was now laughing at something Bella had whispered.

Embry’s jaw tightened visibly as he glanced at Jacob, a flash of fierce, protective frustration crossing his features. He looked back at you, his expression softening into something incredibly gentle, almost mournful.

"Come on," he said, standing up and offering you a hand. "Let’s get out of this damp garage. It’s too crowded in here anyway. I’ll walk you down to First Beach; the tide is coming in. You can tell me all about how much of an idiot Black is being, and I promise to agree with every word."

For the rest of the afternoon, Embry didn't leave your side. As the grey waves crashed against the shore, he talked effortlessly, shifting from complaints about a gruelling math assignment to a ridiculous, drawn-out argument he’d had with Quil over something completely trivial. He did everything in his power to keep your mind anchored in the present, far away from the image of Jacob, Bella, and those grease-stained motorcycles.

He was funny, intensely attentive, and he actually listened to you. Every time you managed a genuine laugh, Embry’s eyes would light up, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He’d had a crush on you since the eighth grade—long before Jacob had ever even noticed you—but he had buried it deep the moment you and Jacob became official.Standing on the sidelines, acting as the supportive best friend, was a specialty he had forced himself to master. But watching the quiet, persistent hurt in your eyes lately was rapidly testing his limits.

The breaking point came three days later.

You had just walked into the Black household when Jacob caught you by the arm, pulling you into the narrow hallway before you could even reach the kitchen. His expression was strained, and he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unable to hold your gaze for more than a second.

"Listen," Jacob started, rubbing the back of his neck, his knuckles raw from working on engines. "Bella’s coming over in a few minutes. She’s... she’s still really fragile, you know? With the whole Cullen thing. She feels kind of awkward and crowded when there are too many people around."

You blinked, a cold, heavy knot instantly forming in your stomach. "Crowded? Jacob, I’m your girlfriend. I live down the road."

"I know! I know," he said quickly, throwing his hands up in a defensive gesture. "But she just needs a safe space right now to distract herself. Could you maybe... just not come over when she’s here? Just for a little while?"

The slap in the face couldn't have been any clearer. The breath hitched in your throat. "You're banning me from your house so you can hang out with another girl?"

"It’s not like that!" Jacob shot back, his voice rising as frustration bled into his tone. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult? She’s falling apart, and she needs me right now!"

"And I need my boyfriend!" you shouted back, the sudden volume of your own voice startling you as tears of anger and humiliation pricked your eyes. "But clearly, Jacob, you’ve already picked your priority. And it isn't me."

You didn’t wait around to hear whatever hollow excuse he would try to piece together. Spinning on your heel, you bolted out of the hallway and slammed the heavy front door behind you, marching blindly down the gravel path. The thick La Push rain blurred the landscape into a grey haze, and you didn't see the tall figure jogging up the trail until you collided directly into a broad, solid chest.

"Whoa! Hey, careful—"

Large hands gripped your shoulders to steady you. You looked up through a veil of tears and into Embry’s startled face. The moment he registered your watery eyes and trembling lip, his entire demeanour shifted instantly.

"y/n? Hey, hey, what's wrong? What happened?"

The sheer gentleness in his voice broke the final dam holding back your composure. A sharp sob escaped your throat, the hot tears finally spilling over and mixing with the rain. Without a second thought, Embry pulled you tightly against him. He didn’t care that you were dripping wet or that your breath was coming in ragged gasps; he just held you, his body radiating a strange, intense heat that completely shielded you from the biting coastal wind.

"What happened?" Embry demanded, his voice dropping an octave into a low, dangerous rumble. "Did Jacob do this?"

You couldn't even force the words out. You just nodded against his chest, another sob racking your frame. Embry's grip tightened, wrapping his arms around you so securely that the rest of the world simply faded away. He rocked you slightly, pressing his chin to the top of your head as if trying to absorb your pain into his own skin.

"I've got you," he whispered fiercely. He pulled back just enough to shrug off his heavy flannel shirt, draping the oversized, remarkably warm fabric around your shivering shoulders. "Come on. Let's get you away from here."

For the rest of that evening, Embry didn't leave your side for a single second. He took you back to his place, made you a mug of hot chocolate, and sat quietly on the couch while you poured your heart out. He didn't offer any weak defences for Jacob's behaviour. Instead, he just listened, gazing at you with such tenderness that it made your breath catch, his thumb reaching out to gently wipe away a stray tear from your cheek.

Over the next week, this became your new normal. You and Embry were practically inseparable. He took you on long hikes through the dense, green cliffs, walked you home from school every single day, and made sure you never felt like a third wheel even when Quil tagged along. Wrapped in his undivided attention, you began to notice the subtle shifts—the way his eyes would linger on your lips when you paused mid-sentence, the way his hand would warmly hover at your waist when guiding you through a crowd. Amidst the wreckage of your relationship with Jacob, a tiny, unspoken spark was beginning to ignite.

Then, exactly a week after the blowout, Jacob showed up on your porch.

He looked utterly miserable. His shoulders were slumped, and heavy, dark circles shadowed his eyes. He practically begged for your forgiveness, swearing up and down that he had been a blind idiot, that he loved you, and that he would balance his time properly from now on. Wanting desperately to believe in the boy you had originally fallen for, you let your guard down and accepted his apology.

Later that afternoon, you were sitting on the grey pebbles of First Beach with Embry when you casually brought it up.

"Jacob came by the house today," you said, tossing a flat pebble into the crashing, white-capped waves. "He apologized. We... we're going to try and work things out."

Beside you, Embry went completely, terrifyingly rigid.

"What?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

"I mean, we never officially broke up, so—" You cut yourself off, turning to look at him, and instantly gasped.

The temperature around him had skyrocketed, and Embry was shaking. It wasn't just a nervous tremor; it was a violent, full-body vibration that seemed to rattle his very bones. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscles jumped, his skin was flushed a deep crimson, and a strange, low growling sound was vibrating deep within his chest.

"Embry? Are you okay?" You reached out, alarmed, to touch his arm, but he flinched away from your hand with a sudden, violent jerk.

"You're going back to him?!" Embry snapped. When he locked eyes with you, they were flashing with a wild, erratic sort of anger that sent a chill straight down your spine. "After how he treated you? After he literally threw you out of his house for her?!"

"Embry, please, it's complicated—"

"It's not complicated! He's a fool!" Embry roared, surging to his feet so fast he kicked up a blinding cloud of dark sand. He gripped his head in his hands, gasping for air as his chest heaved and his body continued to shudder violently. "He doesn't deserve you! He doesn't even see what he has right in front of him, and you just... you just let him crawl back—!"

"Embry, stop! You're scaring me!" you cried out, instinctively scrambling backward on the stones.

At the sound of your frightened voice, he froze. He looked down at you, his eyes wide, wild, and bloodshot, filled with a mixture of agony, longing, and fury. He looked as though he were about to literally burst out of his own skin.

With a choked, agonized sound that was half-sob, half-growl, Embry turned on his heel and bolted into the tree line, disappearing into the thick, dark woods at a terrifying, impossible speed that didn't seem human.

That was two weeks ago.

You hadn't seen or heard a single word from Embry since. When you finally built up the courage to ask his mother, she vaguely told you he was down with a terrible, sudden "fever," but the silence had stretched on endlessly. It left a hollow, nagging ache in your chest that you simply couldn't shake. You missed him terribly. You missed his easy laughter, his grounding warmth, and the simple way he actually looked at you—as if you mattered.

Because despite Jacob’s grand, desperate apology on your porch, absolutely nothing had changed.

You sat on the exact same overturned crate in the corner of the garage, the familiar, suffocating smell of motor oil and grease filling your nose. Jacob was currently laughing at something Bella had just muttered, his hand casually, comfortably resting on her shoulder as he guided her wrench to tighten a bolt. He hadn't spoken more than ten words to you since you had arrived an hour ago.

Your stomach twisted in a sickening, heavy wave of realization. Jacob’s apology hadn't been about fixing his relationship with you; it had been about clearing his own conscience. It was a selfish bid to erase his guilt so he could go right back to doing exactly what he wanted.

You looked down at your hands, feeling a profound, crushing exhaustion settle deep into your bones. You were so incredibly tired of being the backup choice. You were so tired of being invisible.

As Jacob’s booming laugh echoed through the rafters of the garage once more, your mind didn't even drift toward him. Instead, your thoughts pulled you backward, as they always did lately, to Embry. Your fingers unconsciously traced the hem of your shirt, and looking down at your lap, you realized you were still wearing the oversized, faded flannel he had draped over your shoulders the day it rained—the only tangible thing you had left of him.

You closed your eyes, thinking of hot chocolate, a comforting embrace that made you feel utterly safe, and the gentle gaze of a boy who had looked at you like you were the only person in the entire world.

Standing up from the crate, the clinking of metal tools and the murmurs of the garage faded into distant, meaningless background noise. You didn't bother saying goodbye to Jacob—you knew he wouldn't notice your absence anyway. Stepping out into the cool La Push rain, you pulled Embry's flannel tighter around yourself, finally ready to go look for the one person who actually wanted you with him.

You went under the guise of returning the shirt, but when you reached his house, you found him slipping out through the back door. You stopped dead in your tracks. He had changed. He had grown—impossibly so—and his long hair was gone, replaced by a dark cropped cut. He was shirtless in the rain, revealing a physique of lean, powerful muscle, and a bold, circular tattoo was stamped onto the curve of his shoulder.

“Embry?” you breathed, the name more a question than a greeting.

He froze. His entire body locked up, the broad muscles of his back tensing beneath the light sheen of rain already misting over his bare skin. Slowly, he turned around to face you.

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn't the lanky, awkward boy who had sat beside your crate just two weeks ago. Embry had shot up several inches, his chest and shoulders filled out with a heavy, intimidating strength. The loss of his long hair made the sharp, hard lines of his jawline stand out with a newfound maturity.

“What do you want, y/n?” he asked. His voice had dropped an octave, vibrating with a depth that made your skin prickle.

You flinched at the coldness of his tone. You looked down at the soft plaid fabric clutched tightly in your hands, suddenly feeling very small and out of place. "I... I came to return your flannel," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You left it with me. Before you..." You gestured vaguely toward the woods, your words trailing off into the sound of the rain.

Embry looked down at the shirt, then back up at your face. As he took you in, his stony expression began to fracture. His eyes traced the faint redness around your eyelids and the damp hair clinging to your pale cheeks. He saw the way you were shivering, looking small and lost in the oversized fabric of his old life.

In a split second, the harsh tension left his shoulders, replaced by that familiar, fierce protectiveness that always seemed to ground you. The air between you was growing warmer by the second from the new-found heat he carried, and for the first time in weeks, the cold began to fade.

He knew Sam’s rules. He knew he was supposed to keep his distance, to keep the secret, to tell you to go home. But instead, he found himself crossing the distance between you in two long, impossibly fast strides. The heat radiating off him hit you before he even reached you—a wave of warmth so intense it felt like stepping toward a roaring hearth.

"You're freezing," he muttered, his voice a low, rough growl. His hands hovered over your shoulders for a fraction of a second, hesitation flickering in his eyes before he made a decision. He wrapped his large, burning hands around your upper arms, pulling you closer to his chest to shield your body from the biting wind. "What are you doing out here? Where's Jacob?"

Hearing the name made something inside you finally snap. The last remnants of your patience, of your agonizing willingness to be second best, evaporated into the mist.

"I left him," you stated, looking up at him with a clarity you hadn't felt in months. "He’s at the garage. With Bella. When he finally realizes I'm gone and calls, I’ll tell him it’s over. For good."

"You left him?" Embry's grip on your arms tightened, his dark eyes finally locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart hammer frantically against your ribs.

The world seemed to stop spinning. The steady, rhythmic patter of the La Push rain died out, replaced entirely by the loud, erratic thumping of Embry’s pulse. He didn't blink. He just stared into your eyes.

He was trembling, but it wasn't the violent, explosive shaking from two weeks ago. His gaze swept over your features—the curve of your jaw, the dampness of your eyelashes, the quiet determination hiding beneath your exhaustion—as if he were seeing you for the very first time.

"Embry?" you whispered, your voice catching. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't answer you. He couldn't even catch his breath. The invisible strings that had tied him to his mother, to his friends, to his duty on the reservation, all snapped cleanly in two.

It wasn't gravity holding him to the earth anymore. It was you. Everything he was, everything he would ever be—his strength, his loyalty, his very breath—belonged to the girl standing in front of him in the rain.

It’s you, Embry thought, a wave of awe washing over him. It’s always been you.

"Embry, you're staring," you said softly, shifting slightly under the sheer weight of his gaze. You weren't afraid, but the intensity in his eyes was unlike anything you had ever experienced with Jacob. Embry was looking at you like you were the sun and he had spent his whole life freezing in the dark.

The sound of your voice seemed to snap him out of his initial trance, but the burning look in his eyes didn't dim for a second. A shaky, ragged breath finally rattled through his broad chest.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. He didn't drop his hands from your arms; instead, his grip shifted. His touch became impossibly gentle, as if he were suddenly terrified that the slightest fraction of his new, terrifying strength might break you. "I didn't mean to snap at you when you first walked up. I just... I've been through a lot the last two weeks. But seeing you here..."

He trailed off, his eyes dropping to your shivering frame. Without another word, he reached down and took the damp plaid flannel from your hands. He didn't care that it was wet from the rain; he shook it out and carefully draped it over your shoulders, wrapping it around you like a cocoon before bringing his own massive, warm hands over the outside of the fabric, rubbing your arms to generate heat.

"You shouldn't be out here in the cold," he murmured, his face just inches from yours. The heavy scent of him completely enveloped you, instantly chasing away the lingering memory of gasoline and rust from Jacob's garage. "Especially not over him. He’s an idiot, y/n. I've told you that before, but he really is the biggest fool on this entire reservation if he let you walk away like this."

You swallowed hard, fighting a sudden, fierce flush at his words. The raw sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. Suddenly, a long, mournful howl pierced through the heavy La Push fog, echoing from deep within the forest. Embry tensed instantly. The muscles in his shoulders locked, and his head snapped toward the tree line.

“I—uh—I need to go do something for a bit," he said, turning back to you, his eyes darting anxiously between your face and the woods. "But do you want to wait here? Inside? I’ll try to be back as soon as I can, and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You blinked up at him, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I don't want to intrude…”

"You could never intrude," Embry said instantly. His voice was fierce, leaving absolutely no room for argument or doubt.

He didn't wait for you to hesitate any further. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the doorknob and gently guided you backward through the threshold, ushering you into the small, warm entryway of his house. The contrast between the freezing rain outside and the dry warmth of the kitchen was immediate, but it still didn't compare to the sheer, magnetic heat that had been radiating from Embry’s body.

He lingered for a fraction of a second, his large hands resting gently on your shoulders as he looked down at you, searching your face. Another howl pierced the air—closer this time, vibrating through the windowpanes. You felt a physical shudder ripple through Embry's frame, a sudden, tight tension bunching the hard muscles of his jaw. His eyes flashed with a frantic impatience, but the moment his gaze landed back on you, he forced his expression to soften.

"There's hot chocolate in the upper cabinet by the stove," he said quickly, his words rushing out as he stepped backward toward the door. "Make yourself some. Get warm. Use any blanket you find. Just... please don't leave. I'll be back, I promise."

Before you could even nod, Embry turned and slipped out the back door, closing it firmly behind him.

Moving instinctively toward the kitchen window, you watched him sprint toward the tree line. Your jaw dropped, and the breath caught completely in your throat. A cold spike of worry shot through you, especially after hearing that haunting, primal howl. You knew Embry was caught up in something big but you didn't know what. Yet, looking out into the empty, rain-swept yard, you realized something else: you trusted him completely.

You stood entirely alone in the quiet kitchen, the steady hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence. Wrapped in his oversized flannel, you could still smell him.

Slowly, your mind spinning, you moved over to the stove. Finding the hot chocolate where he said it would be, you set a mug to heat, your thoughts frantically replaying the last ten minutes. Embry’s sudden, massive growth spurt. The mysterious tattoo. The impossible, physics-defying speed. And most of all, the way he had looked at you right before the world seemed to stop. It felt like he had been looking into your very soul, anchoring himself to you in a way you couldn't even begin to understand.

By the time you finished your mug, sitting curled up on his living room couch with a thick wool blanket pulled up to your chin, nearly an hour had passed. The rain outside had picked up, drumming a heavy, rhythmic beat against the roof.

It was about another half hour later that you heard the back door click open.

You sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around your chest, your muscles tensing in anticipation. Heavy, muffled footsteps sounded in the kitchen, followed by the faint rustle of a wrapper, and then Embry stepped into the living room.

He had changed from his mud-splattered cut-offs to a pair of dark, low-slung sweatpants, but he was still shirtless, his copper skin glistening slightly with a fresh sheen of sweat and rain. His short hair was damp, sticking up in messy, dark tufts. He looked utterly exhausted, his broad shoulders slouching slightly under an invisible weight, but the exact second his eyes locked onto you sitting on his couch, a wave of pure, unadulterated relief washed over his face, erasing the strain from his features.

"You stayed," he breathed, a small, breathless smile tugging at the corner of his lips as if he had half-expected to find an empty room.

"I told you I would," you said softly, your heart doing a strange, nervous flip against your ribs at the sheer emotion in his voice.

Embry walked over, his massive movements heavy but entirely silent. He didn't sit on the opposite end of the couch to keep a polite distance; instead, he sank down right next to you, the cushions dipping significantly under his new weight. His furnace-like warmth immediately penetrated through your layers of blankets, chasing away the last remnants of the coastal chill. He looked at you, his eyes scanning your face with that same intense, magnetic focus from earlier, before he quietly pointed to the empty mug resting on the coffee table.

"Did you get warm enough?" he asked, his voice low, raspy, and incredibly intimate in the quiet room.

"Yeah. The hot chocolate helped," you murmured. You swallowed hard, gathering your courage as you looked at the sharp, mature line of his new jawline, then down at the striking black tribal tattoo on his shoulder. "Embry... what is going on? You're different. You're completely different than you were two weeks ago. And that howl... what's happening to you?"

Embry’s small smile faded, replaced by a solemn expression. He rubbed a large hand over his cropped hair, looking down at his own massive palms for a long moment before looking back up to lock his eyes onto yours.

"I know it looks crazy," he said quietly, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability that made you want to reach out and hold him. "I know I look crazy. I want to tell you everything. I swear I do. But..." He paused, his dark eyes searching yours, filled with a sudden, aching caution. "Before I explain the mess my life just became... I need to know about you. You said when Jacob calls, you're telling him it's over. Do you really mean that, y/n? Or are you just angry right now?"

“I meant it, Embry,” you stated, your voice firmer than you ever expected it to be, cutting cleanly through the low hum of the rain beating against the windows. “I deserve better than a guy who treats me like his last thought. I’m done waiting for Jacob to realize I'm in the room. I’m done competing with Bella for a single glance from my own boyfriend—well ex. If he wants Bella Swan, he can have her.”

You let out a ragged breath you felt like you’d been holding in your chest for the past month.

“I mean it. It’s over. I’m completely done with him.”

Embry swallowed hard. The muscle in his jaw twitched, not out of anger, but from an overwhelming, suffocating wave of relief. Hearing you say the words out loud, watching the absolute finality settle into your features, had him relaxing.

"You do," Embry whispered, his voice incredibly deep, rough around the edges. He shifted even closer, the sheer heat radiating off his bare chest completely enveloping you on the couch. "You deserve so much better than that, y/n. You deserve someone who looks at you and doesn't even see the rest of the world. Someone who treats you like you're the only thing that matters. Because you are."

The sheer gravity in his tone made your breath hitch. It didn’t feel like a sweet line from a boy who had carried a schoolyard crush; it felt like a vow. An absolute, unbreakable truth.

He reached out, his massive, burning hand hesitating for a fraction of a second in the air before he gently, reverently cupped the side of your face. His skin was incredibly hot against your cheek, but it was the most comforting, grounding thing you had ever felt. His thumb brushed just below your eye, tenderly tracing the delicate skin where your tears had dried, erasing the last remnants of Jacob's hurt.

"I've hated him for weeks," Embry confessed softly, his gaze burning into yours, completely stripped of any remaining defences. “I know he’s supposed to be my best friend, but every single time I saw you sitting in that dark corner, looking so small while he completely ignored you... it was killing me. I wanted to drag you out of there. I wanted to confess to you then."

"Why didn't you?" you asked quietly, instinctively leaning your face into his palm, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his warmth.

"Because you were his. And I was just... Embry," he said, a self-deprecating, bittersweet smile touching his lips. "But things are different now. I'm different."

He took a slow, deep breath, his hand sliding down from your cheek to rest gently on your shoulder, right over the edge of the blanket. He looked down at his own massive arm, at the striking black tattoo stamped into his skin, and then back at you.

"You asked what's going on with me," Embry said, his expression turning solemn, a sudden weight settling over his broad shoulders. "Why I changed." He leaned in a little closer, his gaze locked onto yours, terrified of how you would react but completely incapable of lying to you. "There are things about La Push—about our tribe—that people think are just legends. Old stories told around campfires to scare tourists. But they aren't stories, y/n. They're real. And two weeks ago... it happened to me."

He paused, looking down at your hands clutched tightly over the blanket.

“The legend of the protectors, of being able to turn into a wolf... it's all true.”

You stared at him, your mind racing as pieces of a bizarre, impossible puzzle suddenly began to fall into place. The massive growth spurt, the terrifying heat rolling off his body in waves, the haunting howl. If anyone else had told you this, you would have thought they were losing their mind. But looking into Embry’s fiercely honest, vulnerable eyes, you wanted to believe him.

"A wolf?" you whispered, your heart hammering frantically against your ribs. Under any other circumstances, you would have scoffed and told him he was losing his mind, but this was Embry. He didn't have a malicious bone in his body, and he would never lie to you like this. "That's why you disappeared? That's why you're so... hot?"

A small, genuine laugh broke through Embry’s serious demeanour, the familiar, boyish charm you loved instantly lighting up his sharp new features. “You think I’m hot?”

"Embry!" you huff, playfully smacking his arm to try and ignore your burning cheeks.

He chuckled softly, easily catching your wrist mid-air. His grip was entirely gentle as he guided your fingers up toward his right shoulder, pressing your palm directly against the smooth, dark ink of the tribal tattoo. Beneath your touch, his skin felt like a literal furnace.

He grinned, though a trace of that bittersweet emotion lingered in his eyes. “Yeah. Our body temperature stays around 108 degrees. And yeah, that's why I had to leave. When you first shift, you have absolutely no control. Your temper triggers it. Two weeks ago on the beach, when you told me you and Jacob were working things out... I lost my mind. I was so angry, so sick to my stomach at the thought of him taking you for granted again, that the sheer rage triggered the shift.”

You let out a shaky breath, looking from his intense gaze back down to the tattoo under your hand. “I want to believe you, Embry, but you know this sounds completely insane, right?”

“What if I prove it to you?” he asked, the playful grin fading into something earnest.

You raised a brow, your heart beating a little faster. “How?”

He held out his massive hand, palm up, waiting. “Do you trust me?”

Despite the sheer craziness of what he was saying, you didn't even have to think about it. You already knew the answer. Yes. Yes, you trusted him more than anyone else right now. You placed your smaller hand into his burning palm and let him gently pull you off the couch, leading you toward the back door.

The cool, damp air hit your face as you both stepped onto the porch. Embry suddenly stopped and cleared his throat, a rare, sheepish flush creeping up his neck.

“Uh... stay right here on the porch,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “When we shift... our clothes... they kind of tear to shreds. So I need to get out into the yard and...”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you quickly cleared your own throat, looking anywhere but his bare torso. “Oh. Okay... staying right here. Not moving.”

Embry offered a reassuring nod and jogged out into the yard, vanishing behind the thick trunk of a massive tree at the edge of the woods.

You stood on the porch, shivering slightly despite the oversized flannel still draped over your shoulders. The heavy scent of rain-soaked pine and wet earth hung thick in the air. The wind picked up, rustling the dense canopy above and sending a scattering of cold droplets onto your face. You wrapped the plaid fabric tighter around yourself, your eyes glued to the spot where Embry had disappeared.

Your heart was a frantic, drumming rhythm against your ribs. Part of your mind was screaming at you, insisting that this had to be a joke—a bizarre, elaborate coping mechanism for whatever severe illness had actually kept him isolated for two weeks. People didn't turn into wolves. It was a physical impossibility, a total violation of every law of nature you had ever been taught in biology class.

But then, your palm still tingled with the memory of his skin—that impossible, scorching heat. You thought of his sudden, massive height and the drastic physical changes that had occurred practically overnight. The sound of wolves howling and how he didn’t seem afraid to run into the woods.

Above all else, you trusted Embry. With your whole heart, you trusted him. He had never lied to you, never dismissed you, and never made you feel like an afterthought. If he asked you to stand in the rain and believe the impossible, you would do it.

The woods fell quiet again, save for the rhythmic patter of raindrops hitting the leaves. You pulled his soft flannel even tighter around your shoulders, breathing in his scent to keep yourself grounded.

A sudden, sharp rustle of ferns broke the silence from behind the tree.

You blinked, leaning forward over the porch railing. "Embry?" you called out, your voice a tiny bit breathless. "You okay?"

For a second, there was nothing. Then, a low, deep huff of air echoed from the shadows of the trees, sending a vibration right through the damp ground beneath your feet.

The sound didn't come from behind the tree where Embry had stepped, but from a dense thicket a few yards deeper into the shadows of the woods. You stiffened, your breath hitching in your throat as the leaves parted.

Your entire body froze as you stepped backward, your eyes widening to the size of saucers. Emerging from the thick undergrowth wasn't the boy you knew.

Your mind blanked, completely unable to process the sheer scale of what you were looking at. It wasn't just a wolf—at least, not any wolf that existed in textbooks. It was massive, the size of a horse, with a heavy, muscular build that looked entirely designed for power and speed. Its coat was a striking, sleek grey, dappled with dark spots along its back that mirrored the exact shade of the overcast sky above. The animal moved with a quiet grace, its enormous paws sinking into the soft mud without making a single sound.

Every human survival instinct screamed at you to run, but then the wolf lowered its massive head. Its ears flopped slightly back in a remarkably submissive, familiar gesture, and those deep, intelligent, velvety dark eyes locked onto yours. There was no mistaking them. The earnest, protective gaze that had comforted you on the beach, the look of absolute devotion that had made your stomach flip in the kitchen—it was all there, shining through the gaze of the predator before you.

"Embry..." you whispered, the name slipping from your lips in a breath of pure awe.

Hearing his name, the massive grey wolf let out a soft, high-pitched whine. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, keeping his head low to the ground to make himself look as small and unthreatening as a horse-sized wolf possibly could. The heat rolling off his thick fur hit you in a wave, instantly cutting through the chill of the rain.

The sheer absurdity of the situation faded, entirely swallowed by the realization that this was him. This was the boy who had shared hot chocolate with you. The boy who had held you on the beach while you cried.

Slowly, you stepped off the porch. Your trembling hand reached out from beneath the sleeve of his flannel. You held your palm open, waiting.

The giant grey wolf didn't hesitate. He closed the remaining distance, gently nudging his massive, wet muzzle directly into your hand. His fur was incredibly soft, but beneath it, his skin was scorching hot. A shaky, amazed laugh bubbled up in your throat as you closed your fingers, burying your hand into the thick, dense fur behind his ears.

Embry let out a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated right through the soles of your shoes—a canine version of a purr. He leaned heavily into your touch, his massive eyes closing in pure, unadulterated contentment as you stroked the top of his head.

"You really weren't lying," you breathed, a brilliant, genuine smile breaking across your face as you looked at him. "You're just a giant, overgrown puppy."

The wolf opened one dark eye, giving you a look that felt distinctly like an affectionate, Really? before stepping even closer. He rested his massive, heavy head right against your shoulder, his radiating warmth wrapping completely around you in the rain, finally claiming the place he had wanted to be for years.

The two of you stayed like that for a few quiet minutes, your fingers buried deep in his incredibly soft fur while he soaked in your touch, leaning his massive weight into your side. Finally, he pulled away with a soft huff, giving you one last lingering look before melting back into the shadows of the trees. A few moments later, the brush rustled again, and Embry walked out, back in his dark sweatpants.

“So, now you know,” he said, running a hand through his short hair, his posture suddenly turning incredibly nervous. You stepped closer to him, a soft smile breaking through your lingering shock. “Embry, that’s... insane, but amazing. You turn into a giant wolf. If the ladies around here knew, you'd become some kind of supernatural heartthrob.”

Embry let out a loud, breathless laugh, the tense line of his shoulders finally dropping as a deep flush crept up his copper neck. Even with his intimidating new height and the fierce tribal tattoo stamped onto his shoulder, he still looked exactly like the boy who used to blush whenever you caught him staring at you in the school hallway.

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Embry joked back, his deep voice rich with amusement as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing screams 'heartthrob' quite like tearing through all your favourite clothes and smelling like a wet dog half the time. I'm sure the girls will be lining up around the block."

"Hey, don't underestimate the appeal of a guy who can act as a literal human space heater," you teased, stepping directly into his personal space. The rain was beginning to pick up again, but the sheer heat radiating off his bare chest was more than enough to keep the chill at bay.

Embry’s laughter slowly subsided, his expression softening into something incredibly warm. He looked down at you, his dark eyes tracing your features with that same intense, magnetic focus from before.

"I don't care about any other girls, y/n," he said softly. Then, he paused. His expression turned deeply intense, his pupils dilating as he stared down at you. That same supernatural stillness from the kitchen returned, trapping you entirely in his gaze. "There's... something else. Something I need to tell you."

You went quiet, sensing the sudden shift in the air.

"The elders call it imprinting," Embry continued, his voice dropping to a low, reverent whisper. "It doesn't happen to every wolf, but when it does... it changes everything instantly. It’s not like a normal crush, or even regular love. It’s like the universe suddenly pulls the ground out from under your feet, and it's not gravity holding you to the earth anymore. The only thing keeping you anchored, the only thing keeping you sane, is one specific person."

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sunk in. Your mind flashed back to the way he had stilled the exact moment you told him you were completely done with Jacob. The profound, soul-deep look that had passed over his face on the porch.

"Embry..." you breathed, a realization washing over you in a wave of sudden warmth that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the air. "Is that... did you...?"

"The exact second I looked into your eyes after you told me you left him," Embry whispered, reaching out to take your hand. His grip tightened with a fierce, possessive tenderness. "The last strings tying me to everything else in the world just snapped. It's you, y/n. It’s always been you. I don't belong to the pack, or to this house, or even to the earth anymore. I belong to you."

He stepped even closer, completely shielding you from the falling rain with his broad frame.

"Whoever you need me to be—a friend, a protector, or something more—I am yours," he vowed, his eyes burning with an absolute devotion that made your heart soar. "I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel like an afterthought ever again."

The raw, unfiltered honesty of his confession brought fresh, sweet tears to your eyes, but for the first time in weeks, they weren't born from pain. The hollow ache that Jacob had left in your chest was suddenly filled to the brim with Embry’s heat, his devotion, and the absolute certainty that you were finally exactly where you belonged.

You didn't say a word. Instead, you leaned forward, closing the final inch of distance between you, and buried your face into the warm crook of his neck. You wrapped your arms tightly around his broad, muscular shoulders, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

Embry let out a low, shaky sound that was half-sigh, half-growl, and wrapped his massive arms fully around you. Lifting you effortlessly from your feet, he carried you back inside, sinking down onto the living room couch and pulling you completely onto his lap. He held you so securely against his chest it felt like he wanted to press you right into his skin, burying his face deep into your damp hair as he breathed you in, grounding himself in your scent.

Outside, the La Push rain continued to pour, washing away the ghosts of the past and the cold neglect of the garage. But inside, wrapped securely in Embry's arms, you had never been warmer.

“Hah!? What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Katsuki stares. “How do I feel about you ordering things?”

You shrug sheepishly, feigning, to your credit, a very convincingly nervous look. “I just didn’t want to upset you.”

The look on Masaru’s face twists immediately to heartbreak—like he can’t believe his son would turn out this way. Meanwhile, Mitsuki’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. Katsuki waves a hand gesturing at you in shock as if to ask, are you seeing this? as he stares at his parents helplessly.

“She’s messin’ around, I swear, she always does this—”

“Katsuki.”

“Don’t Katsuki me—I haven’t done anything!”

“You know,” Masaru says carefully, eyeing his son in disappointment, “sometimes people don’t realize they’re behaving a certain way until there are signs. But we have to look at the signs for what they are, son.”

“Dad—”

“No, let me finish.” Masaru holds up a hand. “You’re supposed to be equals in a relationship. If she’s worried about upsetting you over something as simple as ordering a drink, maybe you should ask yourself why she feels that way.”

“Because she’s insane!”

“Katsuki!” Mitsuki hisses, pointing a finger at him as she says, “don’t call her that! The only reason for that is because you’re driving her crazy—look at her! The poor thing! She’s shaking over there, and it’s because of you!”

“She’s not shakin’ for shit! Look—look at her! She’s fighting back a fuckin’ smug little look on her face because she’s—”

Mitsuki suddenly reaches across the table and catches him by the ear. “What have I told you about making girls feel respected, huh? This is why they’ve never liked you! And now one finally does and you’re scaring her off?”

“Ow—you fucking hag!”

She gives his ear a sharp tug. “Language.”

“Ow! Let go, you old—”

You look up innocently, “Please don’t scold him, he’ll be in a bad mood when we get home.”

Mitsuki yanks his ear harder at that, steam practically pouring from her own ears, and Masaru holds a hand to his chin in deep, concerned thought.

“Just what happens at home when it’s just the two of you, huh? Why is she scared about what’ll happen when you’re home?!”

“Nothing! Literally fuckin’ nothing, she terrorizes me at home, if anything! Look with your eyes, you old hag!”

Finally taking mercy on him, you chuckle, reaching over to ruffle Katsuki’s hair. He gives you a nasty side glare, but it softens just a smidge when you lean into his side and kiss his cheek.

“I was only kidding,” you beam at Mitsuki, “I just wanted to make him sweat a bit.”

She looks at you with a cautious gaze, her fingers still tightly wrapped around Katsuki’s poor (and red) earlobe as she asks, “Are you sure you’re not just protecting him?”

“Oh don’t worry,” you hum, patting your boyfriend’s chest as he shakes his head in irritation, “you’d be the first to know if he acts even the slightest bit out of line.”

“I never get a chance to be out of line, cause you’re the bossiest—”

Just then, the waitress arrives with your drinks. She sets yours down first. “Here you go, honey.” Then she places Katsuki’s down. The sour look she gives him could practically curdle milk. “Sir.”

Katsuki stares after her as she walks off, and you giggle as you pinch his cheek affectionately. “We should come back here next week, huh baby?”

“Yeah, if my face isn’t on a wanted poster at the door,” he grumbles under his breath.

You reach over with a cheeky grin, grabbing his drink and taking a sip before taking another from your own glass. After a moment of contemplating, you hum, “I like your drink better. I’m taking it. Here—” you slide him yours as you pull his own glass to your side of the table. “You take that one.”

He turns to his mother and waves a hand. “See?! She terrorizes me!”

“I’m not seeing a problem,” she says, giving him a less than impressed look. “All I’m seeing is a poor girl finally realizing her worth after dealing with your nonsense.”

He slumps into his seat, giving up, and you lean your head onto his shoulder, beaming up at him victoriously as he gives you a tired look. (And, much to your pride, you know are getting very, exceedingly good at getting under Katsuki’s skin—it’s a hobby you’re quite talented at.)

The first mistake the Night Court made was assuming you were decoration.

Not intentionally or obviously.

They were too polite for that.

But you saw it in the way their eyes moved over you when they entered the meeting room.

Briefly, if not dismissively.

A female beside Eris Vanserra.

Something ornamental, perhaps.

Something placed at his side to soften the image of Autumn’s new High Lord.

You did not correct them.

Eris noticed.

Of course he did.

The corner of his mouth shifted just barely. 

You didn’t look at him.

“Try not to look so pleased,” you murmured.

“I am not pleased.”

“You are nearly smiling.”

“That would be unbecoming.”

“Then by all means,” you said softly, folding your hands in your lap, “continue suffering.”

Across the table, Cassian’s brows rose.

Azriel’s shadows shifted once behind his shoulders.

Rhysand, to his credit, noticed the exchange for what it was.

A warning.

Mor noticed something else entirely.

Her gaze lingered on Eris with the same familiar disdain it always held.

Cold and sharp. Nothing if not practiced.

“You’ve redecorated,” she said, glancing around the council room. “How charming. I almost forgot where we were.”

Eris did not respond.

He only looked down at the treaty papers in front of him.

You watched the movement.

The restraint it took him not to bite at her.

Rhysand cleared his throat.

“We’re here to discuss the border villages.”

“Then let us discuss them,” Eris said.

His voice was smooth.

It always was in rooms like this.

The meeting began as most meetings did.

With maps and numbers. Along with men pretending history had not shaped every inch of land they were negotiating over.

Rhysand spoke well.

You would give him that.

Azriel said very little, but missed nothing.

Cassian shifted in his chair like diplomacy physically pained him.

And Mor…

Mor watched Eris like she was waiting for a monster to show its teeth.

You let it continue for twenty-three minutes.

Twenty-three minutes of clipped words. Quiet tension. Little glances that held nothing but daggers. Along with subtle jabs dressed up as moral certainty.

The last straw was when Mor finally said, “Forgive me if I find Autumn’s sudden interest in protecting vulnerable people difficult to believe.”

Eris’s fingers stilled on the paper.

Only for a moment.

You gently set down your tea.

The cup barely made a sound against the saucer.

But somehow, the room noticed.

Mor’s eyes flicked to you.

You smiled.

Not warmly. Not cruelly. Politely.

The sort of smile court ladies were taught to wear even if swallowing poison.

“Difficult to believe,” you repeated.

Mor lifted her chin.

“Yes.”

“How interesting.”

Cassian leaned back slightly.

Azriel’s shadows went still.

Eris did not move beside you.

He knew better.

Mor’s gaze narrowed. “Do you have something to say?”

You tilted your head.

“I was deciding whether it would be rude.”

“And?”

“Oh, it’s terribly rude I’m afraid.”

Rhysand’s attention sharpened.

You turned your cup once, slow and deliberate, before looking back at Mor.

“But since we are clearly past the point of pretending this room is governed by courtesy, I suppose I might as well.”

Eris exhaled once through his nose.

Almost amused.

You continued.

“You speak of Autumn’s cruelty as though anyone at this table intends to dispute it. We do not. Autumn has teeth. It has always had teeth.” Your gaze swept briefly toward Eris. “Some of us have spent years removing them one by one.”

Mor’s mouth tightened.

“But what fascinates me,” you went on, voice still calm, “is the Night Court’s remarkable talent for selective outrage.”

Cassian straightened.

Rhysand’s face went very still.

There it was.

The shift.

The moment they realized you were not decoration.

You smiled again.

Softer this time.

“You condemn Autumn for what it allowed to happen beneath Beron’s rule. Fair. You should. But I do find it curious how rarely that same scrutiny turns inward.”

Mor’s eyes flashed.

“Careful.”

You looked at her then.

Truly looked.

“I would advise caution, Morrigan,” you said softly. “Not because I fear what you might say, but because I know what you have chosen not to.”

The room went still. 

You leaned back slightly in your chair.

“Careless would be asking why the Court of Dreams feels entitled to sneer at every cruel tradition in Prythian while still ruling over the Hewn City.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed.

Azriel said nothing.

Rhysand did not look away from you.

Good.

At least one of them understood where this was going. 

Mor’s voice was low. “You know nothing about the Hewn City.”

“No,” you agreed. “I know what survived the retelling.”

You tilted your head slightly before continuing 

“Interesting that you speak so confidently for someone whose version of events requires several omissions to survive.” 

Mor stood slowly.

“You have no right to speak to me about what I survived.”

There it was.

The part you had been waiting for.

Your smile faded.

Not because you were afraid.

Because some things deserved seriousness.

“No,” you said. “I do not.”

The room stilled.

Even Eris glanced at you then.

You met Mor’s gaze without flinching.

“What was done to you was monstrous. No one in this room should deny that. I certainly will not.” Your voice lowered. “But your pain does not make every omission holy.”

Mor went utterly still.

“You have allowed them to believe one version of the story because it is easier than dragging the whole thing into the light,” you said. “And perhaps you had reason. Perhaps silence was all you had. I will not fault a girl for surviving the only way she could.”

A breath.

Then another.

“But I will fault a court for building policy around half a truth and calling it justice.”

Rhysand’s eyes flicked, briefly, toward Eris.

Eris remained expressionless.

But his hand had shifted closer to yours on the table.

Not to stop you.

Not to guide you.

Just there.

Mor’s voice was colder now.

“And what truth do you think you know?”

You folded your hands again.

“The kind men leave out when the facts are inconvenient.”

A sad smile played on your lips. 

“The kind women bury because being believed costs too much.”

For the first time, Mor had no immediate response.

Good.

You had not wanted to hurt her.

Not really.

But you were very tired of watching Eris bleed quietly under everyone else’s certainty.

“You may hate my mate,” you said, and only then did your tone sharpen. “That is your right. Hate him forever, if it comforts you.”

Eris’s gaze moved to you.

You did not look at him.

“But do not sit in his court, at his table, beneath laws he bled to change, and pretend your hatred is the same thing as truth.”

Silence pressed against the walls.

Cassian looked between you and Mor, unusually quiet.

Azriel’s shadows curled close to his shoulders.

Rhysand leaned back slowly, expression unreadable.

You picked up your tea again.

It had gone cold.

Mor did not sit.

Not immediately.

Her face was pale with anger, but beneath it there was something else.

Something older. Something less certain.

Eris finally spoke. Calm and measured.

“My mate raises a wonderful point.”

Rhysand looked at him.

Eris’s eyes did not leave Mor.

“Do you intend to discuss the border villages,” he said, “or continue mistaking personal history for governance?”

Your mouth twitched.

Only slightly.

Mor saw it.

Cassian definitely saw it.

Rhysand looked as though he was reevaluating several decisions at once.

Good.

That meant they were listening.

You took one careful sip of cold tea and set it back down.

“Now,” you said pleasantly, as though you hadn’t just gutted the room and asked for the next topic. “Shall we return to the villages, or would anyone else like to confuse emotion with policy first?”

Cassian muttered something under his breath.

Azriel looked down.

Rhysand looked at you for a long moment.

Then, finally, he said, “The villages.”

You smiled.

“Excellent.”

Beside you, Eris reached for his wine.

Not to drink.

To hide the fact that he was smiling.

You leaned toward him just slightly.

“Poorly done,” you murmured.

His gaze slid to you.

“What was?”

“Hiding your amusement.”

Then, so quietly only you could hear:

“I wasn’t trying very hard.”

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