PAUL
Paul was going to murder Jacob Black. Slowly. Painfully.
"You did what?" he snarled, slamming the car door hard enough to make the entire vehicle shake.
Jacob, the smug bastard, just grinned. "Made contact. Got her number. Offered a tour of La Push. Basic reconnaissance, like Sam ordered."
"We were supposed to observe, not invite them into our territory!" Paul snapped, a tremor running through his hands as he fought to control his temper.
"Relax," Jacob said, starting the car. "It's the perfect way to figure out what they're really doing here. Get them on our turf, watch them closely, see if they slip up."
Paul glared out the window, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The truth was, Jacob's strategy made sense. It was exactly what Sam would have suggested. But something about the idea of those women—particularly the blonde one—coming to La Push made his skin feel too tight, his wolf too close to the surface.
He hadn't slept at all last night, his mind replaying that brief glimpse of green eyes and golden hair, the inexplicable pull he'd felt toward the cottage. It was probably just territorial wolf instincts reacting to strangers near their boundary. That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.
"So what did this Pansy chick tell you?" he asked finally, forcing his voice into something resembling normal.
Jacob filled him in as they drove—British researchers studying the forests, planned to be in the area for a few weeks at least, seemed guarded but not overtly suspicious.
"She mentioned her colleague—Daphne," Jacob added, with a sideways glance at Paul. "Blonde, from your description last night?"
Paul grunted noncommittally. But inside his traitorous, godforsaken brain, he repeated her name over and over again. Daphne. Daphne. Daphne.
"Apparently she's the serious researcher of the pair. Pansy seemed more like the reluctant partner," Jacob continued. "High maintenance type, judging by the outfit and attitude. Looking at apples like they might bite her."
Despite himself, Paul snorted. "And you gave this princess your number? Glutton for punishment, Black?"
"She's hot," Jacob shrugged. "And we need information. Two birds, one stone."
"You're unbelievable," Paul muttered. "What happened to 'never getting involved with anyone again after Bella Swan broke your heart'? Thought you were sworn off women."
It was a low blow, and Paul knew it. Jacob's jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on the road.
"This isn't about that," he said finally. "It's just strategy. Besides, Pansy's not really my type—too sharp around the edges. I prefer—"
"Vampires' girlfriends?" Paul suggested acidly.
Jacob's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. "You want to walk back to the rez, Lahote? Keep it up and you will be."
Paul subsided, a grim satisfaction at having hit a nerve mingling with shame at his own cruelty. Jacob had enough shit to deal with without Paul poking at old wounds. But something about this whole situation had him on edge, making him even more of an asshole than usual.
They drove in tense silence for a few minutes before Jacob spoke again.
"Look, I know you've got some weird vibe about these women. I saw your face in the parking lot when you spotted Pansy. But Sam wants us to investigate, so that's what we're doing."
Paul stared out the window, watching the endless green forest blur past. The truth was, he didn't understand his own reaction. He'd always been territorial—it came with being a wolf—but this felt different. More personal somehow.
"Fine," he said finally. "But I'm not playing tour guide."
"Wouldn't dream of asking," Jacob replied, the tension easing slightly. "You can stand in the background looking menacing. It's what you do best anyway."
Paul flipped him off, but there was no real heat behind it. As annoying as Jacob could be, at least he didn't walk on eggshells around Paul like most of the pack did. It was... refreshing, in its own irritating way.
When they pulled up to Sam and Emily's, Paul was surprised to see his truck parked outside.
"Jared dropped it off," Jacob explained. "Emily called while you were sulking in the diner. Said to tell you Seth and Embry finished the roof on your place, so you can move back in tonight."
"About fucking time," Paul muttered, but there was genuine relief in his voice. After weeks on Sam's couch, the prospect of his own space—even a half-renovated one—was deeply appealing.
"You're welcome," Jacob said pointedly. "For, you know, organizing the whole repair project."
Paul rolled his eyes, but managed a gruff, "Thanks."
"He speaks! And expresses gratitude! Alert the media!" Jacob clutched his chest in mock shock.
"Fuck off, Black," Paul growled, getting out of the car.
Jacob's laughter followed him up the path to Sam's house. Inside, the smell of Emily's cooking permeated everything. Despite his foul mood, Paul's stomach growled appreciatively.
"There you are," Emily greeted them, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Just in time for lunch. Sam wants a full report."
Great. More talking. Just what Paul needed.
Sam was already at the table, reading what looked like tribal council documents. He looked up as they entered, his expression expectant.
"We made contact," Jacob reported immediately, sliding into a chair. "Got their names—Pansy Parkinson and Daphne. British researchers, supposedly studying forest ecosystems."
"Supposedly?" Sam picked up on the qualifier.
Jacob shrugged. "Cover story seems solid enough, but there's definitely something off about them. That weird scent we picked up on patrol? Up close it's even more noticeable. Not exactly threatening, but definitely not normal."
Paul remained standing, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, trying to look bored rather than inexplicably agitated.
"Paul?" Sam prompted. "Anything to add?"
"The dark-haired one—Pansy—came out of the store while we were waiting," he said reluctantly. "Looked at us like we were something she'd scraped off her designer boots."
"Charming," Emily murmured, setting plates of sandwiches on the table.
"She's high society," Jacob explained. "You can tell by the way she holds herself, speaks. Doesn't seem thrilled to be in Forks."
"And the other one?" Sam asked, looking at Paul.
Paul shrugged, aiming for casual. "Didn't see her today. Just through the cottage window on patrol last night. Blonde. Looked serious."
Why didn't he want to tell Sam more? It wasn't like he had anything significant to report anyway. Just a glimpse of a woman looking at maps. And yet, something made him hold back, keep the memory private.
"I invited them to La Push," Jacob continued, grabbing a sandwich. "Figured it was the best way to keep an eye on them, see what they're really up to."
Sam nodded slowly. "Good initiative. When?"
"Haven't set a date yet. Got her number though," Jacob replied through a mouthful of food.
"Keep me posted," Sam said. "I want to know immediately if anything seems off. If they're connected to the bloodsuckers we've been tracking..."
"We'll handle it," Jacob assured him.
Paul remained silent, picking at a sandwich without really tasting it. His mind kept drifting back to the cottage, to cool green eyes and that strange, compelling scent. There was something nagging at him, a feeling he couldn't identify or shake.
"Paul."
Sam's voice snapped him back to the present. From Sam's expression, it wasn't the first time he'd called his name.
"What?" Paul asked, more aggressively than he intended.
"I asked if you're available for patrol tonight," Sam repeated, his tone even but with that edge of Alpha authority that never failed to grate on Paul's nerves.
"Can't. Moving back to my place," Paul replied shortly.
Sam raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Tomorrow then. You and Embry can take the eastern perimeter."
Where the cottage was. Paul's stomach tightened at the thought.
"Whatever," he muttered, dropping his half-eaten sandwich and heading for the door. "I'm going to check my roof before the rain starts again."
He could feel eyes on his back as he left, could practically hear the silent exchanges—'What's his problem now?' 'Just Paul being Paul.'—but he didn't care. He needed space, air, distance from the suffocating weight of pack scrutiny.
Outside, the clouds were gathering again, the brief morning sunshine already surrendering to the perpetual gloom of the Olympic Peninsula. Paul got into his truck, the familiar smell of motor oil and leather seats somewhat grounding.
His house was on the outskirts of the reservation, a small place he'd inherited from his grandfather and had been slowly renovating when funds and time allowed. The roof had been leaking for months, but between pack duties and his job at the garage, he hadn't had time to fix it properly. Jacob had organized the repair project without being asked—one of those annoyingly thoughtful things he did that made it hard to despise him completely.
As Paul drove, his thoughts returned to the blonde woman—Daphne. The name suited her somehow. Cool, elegant, slightly old-fashioned.
Shit. What was wrong with him? Since when did he care about women's names or notice things like elegant?
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the practicalities ahead—checking the roof, moving his stuff from Sam's, finally sleeping in his own bed. Normal things. Concrete things. Things that had nothing to do with strange British researchers and their even stranger effect on him.
Whatever was happening with these newcomers, whatever they were really doing in Forks, Paul was determined to keep his distance. Let Jacob play friendly tour guide. He had enough complications in his life without adding mysterious women to the mix.
But as he pulled up to his small house, the nagging feeling persisted—a sense that something significant had changed, that some invisible thread had been pulled taut, connecting him to a future he couldn't yet see.
Paul slammed his truck door with force, as if the sound could drive away the unsettling thoughts. He had a roof to inspect and a house to reclaim. The rest was just wolf instincts and lack of sleep talking.
It had to be.
********
DAPHNE
Precision was everything.
Daphne adjusted the detection charm on her map with a delicate flick of her wand, recalibrating to filter out ambient magical signatures below a certain threshold. The resulting display was cleaner now, showing only the most relevant activity points—three distinct clusters that warranted investigation.
The largest concentration was northeast of town, a stable pattern suggesting a permanent magical presence. Not their primary target, based on the signature type, but worth noting. Perhaps a small magical community unknown to the British Ministry? America had different record-keeping systems for magical populations, often with significant gaps in rural areas.
The second cluster was near the shore, scattered points indicating movement rather than a fixed location. This aligned with their target's last confirmed sighting.
The third and most intriguing pattern was along the border between Forks and the La Push reservation—intermittent pulses of magic unlike anything Daphne had previously cataloged. Not vampire, not human wizard, but something... different. Something ancient and primal that made her detection spells react in unusual ways, the magical equivalent of static interference.
Fascinating.
She made meticulous notes, cross-referencing with the standard topographical maps of the area. The border pattern coincided with forests that were technically part of the reservation, which meant access might be restricted. Having a local guide, as Pansy had suggested, could prove tactically advantageous.
Speaking of Pansy...
"I still can't believe the state of the bathtub," her colleague complained, emerging from her bedroom in yet another impeccable outfit—dark jeans, emerald silk blouse, and those ridiculous dragon-hide boots that were about as subtle as a Blast-Ended Skrewt at a tea party. "Would it have killed them to include proper water pressure?"
"I've enhanced it twice already," Daphne replied without looking up. "Any more magic and we risk detection."
"By whom? The squirrels?" Pansy scoffed, examining her reflection in a small hand mirror. "We're in the middle of nowhere."
"By whoever is causing these magical signatures," Daphne said, gesturing to her map. "The area has significantly more magical activity than our briefing suggested."
This finally captured Pansy's attention. She moved to examine the map, her expression shifting from bored disdain to professional interest.
"Three distinct patterns," she observed. "And the border one..."
"Doesn't match any standard magical signature in our database," Daphne confirmed. "Which is why we need to maintain low profiles and minimal magic use until we understand what we're dealing with."
Pansy's lips pursed slightly. "Could it be our target experimenting with the stolen artifacts? The Resonance Sphere could potentially create signature distortions like this."
"Possible," Daphne acknowledged, "but the pattern suggests something more... organic. Less contained than artifact magic."
She didn't add that the signature reminded her of something she'd read in her family's private library—old magic, tied to land and blood rather than wands and incantations. The kind of magic that existed before wizards tried to codify and control it. The kind that operated by its own rules.
"Well, our helpful local guide might provide insights, intentionally or otherwise," Pansy said, returning to the kitchen area to make tea. "When should we arrange this tour?"
"Tomorrow," Daphne decided. "I want to investigate the shore cluster first, tonight if the weather permits. According to local patrol patterns, that area has the least muggle activity after sunset."
Pansy nodded, the strategic Auror briefly visible beneath the high-maintenance façade she cultivated. Again—for all her complaints and dramatics, Pansy Parkinson was an excellent partner in the field—quick-thinking, magically gifted, and surprisingly resourceful when the situation demanded it. A perfect Slytherin duo.
"I noticed something else about our friendly local," Pansy added, bringing two cups of tea to the table. "He moved like one of us."
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
"Awareness. Physicality. The way he scanned everything without seeming to," Pansy elaborated. "Not like a muggle. More like someone with combat training."
This aligned with Daphne's own observations from her morning reconnaissance. While mapping the forest trails, she'd noticed signs of regular patrols—not official forest service routes, but systematic sweeps by someone familiar with the terrain. Territorial behavior, almost.
"The reservation has its own governance structure, separate from the local muggle authorities," Daphne noted. "They may have their own security protocols."
"Perhaps," Pansy conceded, sipping her tea. "But there was something else—his friend, the scowling one. When he looked at me..." She paused, frowning slightly.
"Yes?" Daphne prompted.
"It was strange. Like he saw through me somehow," Pansy said, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I don't think they're ordinary muggles, Daphne."
Coming from anyone else, Daphne might have dismissed this as paranoia or imagination. But Pansy had finely-tuned instincts for deception and concealment—skills honed during her complicated post-war position in wizarding society.
"All the more reason to proceed cautiously," Daphne decided. "Accept the tour, learn what we can, but reveal nothing beyond our cover story."
Pansy nodded, her usual confident smirk returning. "I'll text him later. Set it up for tomorrow afternoon."
"Text?" Daphne repeated.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "With the mobile phone the Ministry provided for our cover? Honestly, Daphne, did you even read the equipment list?"
"I assumed we'd be using magical communication methods," Daphne admitted. Technology had never been her strong suit, despite the mandatory Muggle Integration training all Aurors now received.
"And reveal ourselves immediately?" Pansy shook her head. "No, we play by their rules for now. Besides, I've gotten quite good at texting. It's like passing notes in Potions, only less likely to explode in your face."
Daphne made a mental note to familiarize herself with the communication device before tomorrow. She disliked being unprepared for any aspect of a mission, no matter how seemingly trivial.
"I'm going to prepare for tonight's reconnaissance," she said, gathering her maps and notes. "We'll leave after sunset, around nine."
"Trekking through American forests in the dark. Delightful," Pansy sighed dramatically. "The things I do for magical law enforcement."
Daphne retreated to her room, closing the door on Pansy's continued complaints. The space was simple but adequate—a bed, a desk, and a small dresser that she had organized with military precision. Unlike Pansy, whose belongings tended to expand to fill whatever space was available, Daphne preferred minimalism.
She laid out her field equipment for the evening ahead—dragonhide gloves, a charmed compass that pointed toward magical disturbances rather than north, detection lenses that revealed trace magic invisible to the naked eye, and her personal wand holster, designed for quick-draw combat situations.
As she checked each item methodically, Daphne's mind returned to the strange magical signatures along the reservation border. There was something familiar about them, something that tugged at the edges of her memory—a passage from an old book in her family's library, perhaps, or a lecture from her advanced magical theory coursework.
Whatever it was, she had the unsettling feeling that they were dealing with magic beyond the standard Ministry classification system. Old magic. Wild magic.
The kind that didn't play by wizarding rules.
Daphne Greengrass appreciated order and control above all things. But her intellectual curiosity was piqued by the mystery unfolding on her map. Something extraordinary was happening in this unremarkable American town, at the precise time that a vampire with stolen magical artifacts had chosen to hide here.
Coincidence seemed increasingly unlikely.
As she fastened her holster and checked her wand—rowan with dragon heartstring, perfect for precise spellwork—Daphne felt a rare flicker of anticipation. For all its apparent mundanity, Forks was proving far more intriguing than expected.
And Daphne had always enjoyed a good puzzle.