JACOB
Jacob couldn't stop grinning.
"Would you quit that?" Paul growled from the passenger seat of the Rabbit. "You look deranged."
"Sorry," Jacob replied, not sorry at all. "Just excited."
That was an understatement. Since receiving Pansy's text last night confirming their tour, Jacob had been in a state of barely contained anticipation. The imprint bond hummed in his chest like a live wire, growing stronger with each mile they drove toward the cottage.
After dropping Paul off last night, he'd spent hours preparing—planning the best trails to show them, checking weather reports, even cleaning his car (a lost cause, but he'd tried). Sleep had been impossible, his mind racing with thoughts of blue eyes and sharp retorts and the absolute certainty that his life had fundamentally changed.
The pack had been merciless this morning when he and Paul had stopped by Sam's for final instructions.
"Look at him," Embry had crowed. "Our boy's in love. Like, fairy tale, Disney princess love."
"It's the imprint," Jacob had corrected, though he couldn't summon any real irritation. "It's not the same thing."
"Isn't it though?" Quil had asked, uncharacteristically philosophical. "Instant soul connection? Happily ever after? Sounds pretty Disney to me."
"Except these princesses might be vampire collaborators," Paul had snarled, his own pre-imprint anxiety manifesting as aggression. "So maybe save the lovesick puppy routine for after we know what the hell they're doing here."
Sam had been more practical, focusing on their actual mission. "Observe. Engage. Find out what you can about their research and why they're really here. Report back. No revealing tribal secrets—including what you are—unless absolutely necessary."
Jacob had nodded, already knowing he'd tell Pansy everything eventually. The imprint demanded honesty between them. But he could be patient, could follow Sam's lead for now.
"You sure you won't phase the minute you see her?" Jacob asked Paul now, half-teasing but half-serious. His packmate looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, tension radiating from every line of his body.
"I've got it under control," Paul snapped, though the slight tremor in his hands suggested otherwise. "Just focus on driving before you crash us into a tree."
Jacob laughed, too buoyant to be bothered by Paul's irritable mood. Nothing could dampen his spirits today—not Paul's attitude, not the lingering worries about what these women might really be doing in Forks.
As they turned onto North Fork Road, Jacob felt the pull of the imprint grow stronger, a warm certainty guiding him directly to Pansy. He didn't even need directions to the cottage; some primal instinct led him unerringly toward his mate.
"Almost there," he said unnecessarily, feeling Paul tense beside him. "Remember—friendly, normal, casual."
"Stop telling me how to act," Paul muttered. His attention was focused entirely on the road ahead, his body leaning forward slightly as if pulled by an invisible force.
Jacob understood completely. The imprint was the most powerful compulsion he'd ever experienced—stronger than hunger, stronger than fear, stronger even than the Alpha command. Every cell in his body was oriented toward Pansy now, his entire existence realigned around her axis.
The cottage came into view, a small structure nestled against the edge of the forest. Smoke curled from the chimney, and two female figures stood on the porch, apparently waiting for them.
Jacob's heart rate doubled instantly. Even from this distance, he could pick out Pansy—dark hair, straight posture, something emerald green in her outfit that caught the weak sunlight. The imprint bond flared hot and insistent, urging him toward her.
Beside him, Paul made a sound somewhere between a growl and a gasp. Jacob glanced over to see his packmate white-knuckling the dashboard, his entire body rigid with tension.
"You good?" Jacob asked quietly.
Paul didn't respond, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the blonde woman standing beside Pansy. The naked longing on his face was so raw, so unlike Paul's usual guarded hostility, that Jacob felt a surge of sympathy. Paul hadn't wanted this. Had fought it from the first moment. And yet here he was, helpless against a force of nature none of them understood.
"Just breathe, man," Jacob advised, parking the car in front of the cottage. "It gets easier once you're near her. Trust me."
Paul nodded once, a sharp jerky movement, and took a deliberately deep breath.
Jacob got out of the car with what he hoped was casual confidence, though his heart was pounding like a drum. The imprint sang in his blood as he approached them, a sense of rightness so profound it nearly took his breath away.
"Ladies," he greeted, flashing his most charming smile. "Perfect day for a tour."
Pansy arched one elegant eyebrow, her expression coolly assessing. "If by 'perfect' you mean 'not actively pouring rain,' your standards are concerningly low."
Jacob laughed, delighted by her sharp tongue. "Around here, we call that optimism."
His gaze traveled over her, greedily cataloging every detail—the perfectly tailored jeans, the emerald silk blouse under a black jacket that looked far too fashionable to be truly waterproof, those same exotic boots that somehow managed to look both expensive and practical. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, her features sharp and aristocratic, her blue eyes keen with intelligence.
"This is my colleague, Daphne Greengrass," Pansy said, gesturing to the blonde woman beside her.
Jacob turned, careful to keep his body angled so he could still see Pansy in his peripheral vision. "Nice to meet you. I'm Jacob Black. And this—" he turned to where Paul still stood frozen by the car, "—is Paul Lahote. He'll be joining us."
Paul finally moved forward, his movements stiff and controlled. As he approached, Jacob could practically feel the effort his packmate was exerting to maintain a normal appearance.
"Daphne," Paul said, the name coming out with an unexpected gentleness that made Jacob glance at him in surprise. "I'm Paul."
Something passed between them as their eyes met—a flicker of recognition, perhaps, or awareness. Daphne's cool expression remained unchanged, but Jacob noticed her pupils dilate slightly, her posture straightening incrementally.
"Mr. Lahote," she acknowledged with a crisp nod. "I understand you're familiar with the local forests."
"Born and raised here," Paul confirmed, his voice steadier now that he was in her presence. "Know every trail and creek."
"Excellent," Daphne said, all business. "We're particularly interested in the transition zones between coastal and inland forest ecosystems. The unique precipitation patterns create some fascinating biodiversity variations."
Jacob was impressed by how smoothly she delivered the scientific jargon, though his wolf senses detected the faintest acceleration in her heartbeat—a tell that suggested she wasn't entirely comfortable with the subject matter.
"We can show you both," Jacob offered, reluctantly tearing his gaze from Pansy to address them both. "La Push beach first, then some of the forest trails that connect to it. The coastal transition is pretty dramatic there."
"That sounds acceptable," Daphne agreed, reaching for a small backpack that looked suspiciously like high-end hiking gear. For researchers supposedly studying forests, they seemed remarkably unprepared for actual fieldwork.
"We'll take my car," Jacob said. "More room, and it handles the rougher roads better."
Pansy eyed the Rabbit with undisguised skepticism. "That rusted contraption? Is it even safe?"
"Built it myself," Jacob replied, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "Runs better than it looks."
"How reassuring," Pansy muttered, but moved toward the car nonetheless.
Jacob opened the passenger door for her, earning another raised eyebrow. "Chivalry? How quaint."
"Just good manners," he countered, breathing in her intoxicating scent as she passed close to him. The imprint bond practically purred in satisfaction at her proximity.
Paul and Daphne took the back seat, an arrangement that clearly placed Paul on edge, sitting so close to his imprint in the confined space. Jacob caught his eye in the rearview mirror, offering a small nod of encouragement. Paul's jaw was clenched tight, but he gave a barely perceptible nod in return.
"So," Jacob said as he started the engine, "how are you ladies finding Forks so far?"
"Precisely as expected," Pansy replied dryly. "Small, wet, and chronically deficient in decent dining options."
Jacob laughed, genuinely amused by her candor. "Newton's Outfitters has decent coffee, and the diner makes a great burger. Not exactly five-star cuisine, but it'll keep you alive."
"Good to know survival is the standard we're aiming for," Pansy said, but there was a hint of humor in her voice that made Jacob's heart leap.
As they drove toward La Push, Jacob kept the conversation flowing, asking general questions about their research while carefully noting every hesitation, every exchanged glance between the women. They were good—their cover story was detailed and well-rehearsed—but there were little inconsistencies that his enhanced senses picked up.
The way Daphne's heart rate increased slightly when discussing specific scientific equipment. The fact that neither of them had calluses on their hands like actual field researchers would. The strange electric scent that clung to them both, intensifying whenever they touched certain items in their bags.
Most telling was their reaction as they approached the reservation boundary. Both women seemed to straighten simultaneously, a subtle alertness coming over them like predators sensing prey. Or researchers detecting something they'd been searching for.
Jacob kept his expression casual, but internally, his suspicions deepened. These women weren't just random researchers. They were looking for something specific. Something on tribal land.
The question was: what?
And were they allies or threats?
The imprint insisted Pansy could never be a danger to him or his people. But Jacob knew from tribal history that imprinting didn't always mean an easy path forward. Sometimes it meant the hardest choices of all.
As they crested the final hill before La Push beach came into view, Jacob caught Pansy's eye and found her watching him with an intensity that suggested she was trying to solve her own puzzle about him.
Good luck with that, he thought with an internal smile. This was going to be an interesting day indeed.
*********
PAUL
Paul was in hell.
A beautiful, excruciating, intoxicating hell where Daphne Greengrass sat less than a foot away from him, close enough that he could count her eyelashes, trace the perfect line of her profile, breathe in her scent with every inhale.
The wolf in him was going insane, clawing at his insides with desperate need. Mine, it howled. MINE. Touch her, claim her, mark her.
"The annual rainfall in this region exceeds 100 inches in some areas," Daphne was saying, her crisp British accent making even weather statistics sound elegant. "It creates unique microclimates that support species diversity not found elsewhere."
"Yeah," Paul managed, struggling to form coherent thoughts through the imprint's relentless pull. "The rain's... constant."
Brilliant conversation, Lahote. Really fucking impressive.
But Daphne didn't seem to notice his pathetic response, her attention focused on the landscape passing outside the window. Paul couldn't tear his eyes away from her—the golden hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, the straight line of her spine, the delicate hands that moved with precise, controlled gestures as she spoke.
His imprint. His. The certainty of it thundered through his blood with each heartbeat.
When Jacob had pulled up to the cottage and Paul had finally seen her clearly in daylight, he'd nearly lost it right there. Only years of hard-won discipline had kept him from phasing on the spot, from giving in to the wolf's primal urge to claim what belonged to him.
She was perfect. Cool, composed, elegant in a way that made the women on the rez seem rough and unfinished by comparison. Even her research cover was delivered with such conviction that he might have believed it if his heightened senses hadn't detected the subtle tells—increased heartbeat, a slight dilation of her pupils when discussing technical details, the way her scent changed subtly when she was less than truthful.
She was hiding something. The rational part of Paul's brain—the part not consumed by the imprint—knew he should be suspicious, should be more focused on the mission Sam had given them. But the dominant part of him, the part ruled by the imprint, didn't care what she was hiding or why she was really in Forks.
She was his. That was all that mattered.
"You've lived here your entire life?" Daphne asked, turning those cool green eyes directly on him for the first time since they'd entered the car.
The full force of her attention hit Paul like a physical blow. His wolf surged forward, desperate to maintain this connection, to keep her focus on him and only him.
"Born and raised," he confirmed, struggling to keep his voice even. "Fourth generation on the reservation."
"And your tribe—the Quileute—they've been on this land for how long?"
Something in her tone caught Paul's attention—a deliberate casualness that didn't match the keen interest in her eyes. She wasn't asking out of polite conversation. She wanted specific information.
The wolf in him wanted to tell her anything she wanted to know, to hand over every secret if it would keep her attention on him. But the Protector in him, the part bound by tribal duty and pack loyalty, held back.
"Thousands of years," he said carefully. "We have legends that go back to the beginning."
"Fascinating," Daphne murmured, and Paul could smell the genuine interest in her scent. "Indigenous oral histories often preserve ecological information that predates written records. Changes in climate, species migration patterns, natural disasters—all recorded in story form."
"Our stories are more than just history," Paul found himself saying, an unexpected surge of pride in his heritage rising through the imprint's haze. "They're who we are. Where we came from. What we're meant to be."
The words came out with more intensity than he'd intended, and Jacob shot him a warning glance in the rearview mirror. Too close to revealing pack secrets. But Paul couldn't bring himself to care—not when Daphne was looking at him with new interest, her head tilted slightly as she reassessed him.
"You speak of legends as living things," she observed, something like respect coloring her tone. "That's... rather profound, actually."
Paul nearly preened at the approval in her voice, his wolf practically wagging its tail like an eager puppy.
Pathetic. He'd spent years cultivating his reputation as the pack's most dangerous member, the one even the other wolves approached with caution, and here he was melting like putty because a pretty blonde had paid him a compliment.
The imprint was going to be the death of his dignity.
"La Push coming up," Jacob announced, breaking the moment. "Beach first, then we can hit the forest trails afterward."
Paul felt a surge of irrational anger toward Jacob for interrupting, quickly followed by self-disgust at his own reaction. This was getting out of hand. He needed to focus, to remember why they were really doing this—to investigate these women, not fall at their feet.
Even if one of them was literally the center of his universe now.
The car pulled into the small parking area near First Beach, and Paul was the first one out, needing space, air, distance from Daphne's intoxicating presence in the confined vehicle. The salt breeze helped clear his head slightly, the familiar scents of home grounding him.
Jacob was already playing the perfect tour guide, pointing out landmarks to Pansy with a little too much enthusiasm. Paul hung back as Daphne exited the car, trying not to stare as the wind caught strands of her golden hair, blowing them across her face. She tucked them back with a precise movement, her expression thoughtful as she surveyed the beach.
"It's quite beautiful," she said, and Paul couldn't tell if she was speaking to him or to herself. "In a stark way."
"Most beautiful place on earth," Paul replied automatically. It was what the elders always said, what he'd been taught since childhood. Though he'd spent most of his youth dreaming of escape, some part of him had always known it was true.
Daphne glanced at him, something like surprise flickering across her features. "You really believe that."
It wasn't a question, but Paul nodded anyway. "When you belong somewhere—really belong—you see it differently than visitors. It's not just land. It's..." he struggled to find words that wouldn't sound ridiculous, "...part of you."
"Integral to identity," Daphne supplied, her gaze moving from him to the shoreline with new consideration. "Yes, I can understand that concept."
Could she? Paul wondered. This perfectly put-together woman with her precise speech and foreign mannerisms—could she really understand what it meant to be bound to a place by blood and magic and centuries of history?
The irony—he'd spent years resenting that very connection, fighting against the constraints of tribal obligation. Yet now, trying to explain it to her, he found himself speaking with unexpected conviction.
"We should catch up to them," Daphne said, nodding toward where Jacob and Pansy were already making their way down to the shoreline. "I'd like to see the tidal pools Pansy mentioned."
Paul nodded, falling into step beside her, hyperaware of the small distance between them. Every instinct urged him to move closer, to touch her, to eliminate any space separating them. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to resist the urge.
"Your friend is quite the enthusiastic guide," Daphne observed as they watched Jacob gesturing animatedly to Pansy about something in the distance.
"Jacob's good with people," Paul admitted grudgingly. "Always has been."
"And you're not?" Daphne asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Paul snorted. "Not exactly known for my people skills."
"I find directness refreshing," Daphne said. "Social niceties often waste time and obscure truth."
Something warm bloomed in Paul's chest at her words—a sense of being seen, of being understood in a way few people ever bothered to try. His wolf practically purred with satisfaction.
They walked in surprisingly comfortable silence after that, making their way across the beach toward Jacob and Pansy. The sand was wet from the morning's rain, dotted with driftwood and tangles of seaweed. Offshore, the small islands stood like sentinels against the gray horizon.
Paul found himself watching Daphne more than the scenery, cataloging every reaction, every small shift in her expression as she observed his homeland. When her eyes widened slightly at a particularly dramatic wave crashing against the sea stacks, he felt an absurd surge of pride, as if the ocean were performing specifically for her approval.
Fuck. The imprint was turning him into an idiot.
"So what exactly are you researching?" he asked, trying to regain some semblance of his mission. "Jacob mentioned forests, but that's pretty broad."
Daphne's expression became more guarded, though the change was subtle—just a slight cooling in her eyes, a fractional straightening of her already perfect posture.
"We're conducting a comparative analysis of temperate rainforest ecosystems," she replied, the explanation flowing with practiced ease. "Specifically, we're interested in how isolated forest communities respond to climate variations differently than connected systems."
It sounded legitimate enough, but Paul's enhanced senses detected the slight acceleration in her heartbeat, the subtle change in her scent that suggested not outright deception but careful omission. She wasn't lying exactly, but she wasn't telling the whole truth either.
"And that brought you to Forks specifically because...?" he pressed.
"The Olympic Peninsula provides an excellent isolated study region," Daphne explained smoothly. "The unique combination of rainfall patterns, diverse elevation gradients, and relatively undisturbed forest makes it ideal for our research parameters."
Again, plausible but incomplete. Paul was about to push further when Jacob called out to them from near a cluster of tidal pools.
"You guys have to see this! Pansy found something weird!"
Paul tensed immediately, his protective instincts flaring. Weird in Forks usually meant dangerous. His pace quickened unconsciously, placing himself slightly ahead of Daphne as they approached—a protective position his wolf approved of wholeheartedly.
When they reached the tide pool, Pansy was kneeling beside it, pointing at something beneath the water's surface. Jacob stood close beside her, their shoulders nearly touching as they examined whatever had caught their attention.
"Look at the coloration," Pansy was saying, her typical haughty tone replaced by genuine curiosity. "It's not natural."
Paul peered into the pool and saw what had captured their interest—a cluster of small, iridescent shells that seemed to shimmer with colors that shifted depending on the angle of view. They weren't like any shellfish he'd seen around La Push before, and he'd grown up exploring these very beaches.
"Unusual," Daphne agreed, kneeling gracefully beside her colleague. "The phosphorescence pattern suggests..."
She trailed off, exchanging a quick glance with Pansy that made Paul's suspicions spike. They recognized something about these shells—something that fit into whatever they were really investigating.
"Suggests what?" Jacob prompted, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
"Possible chemical contamination," Daphne recovered smoothly. "Similar patterns have been observed in marine life exposed to certain industrial pollutants."
It was a good cover, but Paul didn't buy it for a second. There was no major industry near La Push that could cause that kind of contamination. And the women's reaction had been too specific, too knowing.
"We should take samples," Pansy said, reaching for her bag. "For analysis."
Before Paul could object—tribal regulations prohibited removing anything from the beaches without proper permits—a voice called out from further up the shore.
"Jake! Paul! Thought that was you guys!"
Paul turned to see Seth Clearwater jogging toward them, his perpetually sunny expression in place. Great. Just what they needed—the pack's most talkative, least discreet member crashing their reconnaissance mission.
"Seth," Jacob greeted, straightening up. "What are you doing here?"
"Patrol break," Seth replied, his eyes widening as he noticed the women. "Oh! Sorry, didn't realize you had company."
Paul watched with growing concern as Seth's gaze traveled from Pansy to Daphne, then back to Jacob and Paul with a knowing grin spreading across his face.
"So these are the, uh, researchers you guys mentioned," Seth said, barely containing his excitement. "Cool! I'm Seth Clearwater. Welcome to La Push!"
His puppyish enthusiasm was going to ruin everything. Paul shot him a warning glare that would have sent most pack members running for cover, but Seth just grinned wider.
"Nice to meet you," Daphne replied with cool politeness, rising gracefully from her kneeling position. "I'm Daphne Greengrass, and this is my colleague Pansy Parkinson."
"Awesome! British accents and everything," Seth enthused. "You guys studying the weird stuff that's been happening around here lately?"
Paul could have strangled him. Jacob's smile froze, and Paul saw Pansy and Daphne exchange a quick, alert glance.
"Weird stuff?" Pansy asked, her tone deliberately casual.
"Yeah, you know, the—" Seth began.
"Seth needs to get back to his patrol," Paul interrupted forcefully, stepping forward. "Don't you, Seth?"
The younger wolf finally seemed to register Paul's murderous expression and the tension radiating from Jacob. "Oh! Right. Yeah. Totally. Patrol. Super important. Can't be late. Sam would, uh, kill me."
"Sam?" Daphne inquired, her attention now fully engaged.
"Our... boss," Jacob supplied quickly. "Seth works with us at the garage part-time. And he's got school projects to finish too, right Seth?"
"Totally," Seth agreed, backpedaling awkwardly. "School projects. Garage work. Very busy. Nice meeting you ladies! Hope you find... whatever you're looking for!"
With a final wave, Seth jogged back up the beach, but not before shooting Jacob and Paul a thumbs-up and exaggerated wink that made Paul want to bury his face in his hands.
"Enthusiastic friend," Pansy observed dryly.
"He's young," Jacob said with a dismissive laugh that sounded forced even to Paul's ears. "Still figuring out social cues."
"What did he mean by 'weird stuff happening lately'?" Daphne asked, her green eyes sharp with interest.
Paul silently cursed Seth to every hell he could think of. The kid had just handed these women an opening to their real purpose here.
"Probably the animal sightings," Jacob covered smoothly. "We've had some unusual predator activity in the area recently. Nothing dangerous," he added quickly, "just not typical for the region."
"What kind of predators?" Pansy pressed, exchanging another of those meaningful glances with Daphne.
"Just... larger than normal wildlife," Paul said vaguely. "Nothing to worry about."
"I see," Daphne said, in a tone that suggested she didn't believe them for a second. "Well, shall we continue? I believe you mentioned forest trails connecting to the beach?"
The subject change was welcome, but Paul knew the damage was done. Seth's careless comment had confirmed something for these women—something they were already suspicious about.
As they made their way back up the beach toward the trailhead that would take them into the forest, Paul fell into step beside Jacob.
"Seth's dead," he muttered under his breath, too low for human ears to catch.
"Get in line," Jacob replied just as quietly. "But they were already looking for something specific. You saw how they reacted to those shells."
Paul nodded grimly. "They know more than they're saying."
"So do we," Jacob pointed out.
Fair enough. Both sides were playing their cards close to the chest. The question was—what game were they really playing? And what would happen when all the cards were finally on the table?
As they reached the forest edge, Paul glanced back at Daphne, who was examining a piece of driftwood with scientific interest. The sunlight breaking through the clouds caught her hair, turning it to molten gold, and the sight made his chest ache with a strange feeling of desire, protectiveness, and growing certainty.
Whatever secrets she was keeping, whatever her true purpose here, it didn't change the fundamental truth that had rewritten his existence: she was his imprint. His mate. His destiny.
The wolf in him was absolutely certain of that. The man was still catching up.