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LA PUSH-FORKS ROAD
The soft roar of the engine filled the air with a hypnotic constancy. Jacob had his left arm hanging out the window, feeling the cool wind crash against his skin. His hair fluttered messily, and for the first time in days, a smile curled his lips. One of those genuine smiles that show teeth and reach the eyes.
He was driving down the road connecting La Push to Forks, the forested landscape sliding past on both sides like a living postcard. He was alone, the windows rolled down, his fingers firm on the wheel of Nate's car. And even if it wasn't his, it felt like it was. That car had something... something hard to explain. Every time he drove it, his body relaxed. The anger that had been clenching his chest in recent weeks simply... vanished. As if the metal, the leather, the roar of the engine knew how to calm him.
Maybe that's why Nate liked it so much, Jacob thought. Maybe that was what kept him serene.
He sighed. It had been a while since Nate left, although only recently he'd learned—thanks to Nate's grandmother—that Alice had gone with him to D.C. That had been a surprise. He'd seen them together while Nate recovered from his accident. Though his father didn't care much for the Cullens, Jacob was happy to see his friend doing well.
But when he mentioned it to his father, Billy had grown tense. He didn't say much, as always, but each word landed with the weight of a stone.
"It'd be best if you distanced yourself from Nate. There are plenty of other kids your age on the reservation. You haven't seen Sam and the others in a while."
Jacob had clenched his fists when he heard that. The phrase didn't just annoy him—it hurt. Sam had started treating him differently in recent months, almost like he was being watched, as if he were about to get into trouble. But Nate had been like an older brother. Someone who treated him as an equal, who gave advice, who cared about what he cared about. And now he had to stay away? Why? Billy didn't explain much; he only hinted that Nate had made a decision about his life. That he might not come back. That his path no longer matched theirs.
That talk ended in an argument. The worst they'd had in a long time.
Jacob tried to shake those thoughts from his head. The forest air poured into the car, pushing his hair back. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the wind clean out the rage. No point in dwelling.
He decided to think of something else.
Bella.
It was automatic. His mind returned to her like an arrow always finding its target. He hadn't seen her in days. Lately, she has always been with her boyfriend, that... Edward. Just thinking of him made Jacob's stomach tighten. He'd never liked him. Not because he was handsome or mysterious or whatever. But because he'd taken her away. Jacob had always thought he'd have a shot with Bella. Since she moved to Forks, he'd felt they shared something—something that, with time and effort, could become more. But then that guy showed up, and everything changed.
Jacob swallowed hard, his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.
The sunset began to paint the sky in orange strokes. And as he drove in silence, memories arrived uninvited. Rainy days, aimless walks, shared laughs in a cheap diner. Bella, Nate, and he. Three pieces that fit together effortlessly. Friends. Companions.
He missed those days more than he cared to admit.
And it wasn't just Bella. It was Nate, too. When he was around, things seemed easier. More balanced.
Now... everything was changing.
Jacob swallowed that discomfort, but the memory of his friends made him more nostalgic than he would have liked. He figured the best thing to do was to fulfill his promise and visit Nate's grandmother. Mrs. Winter, with her sharp tongue and even sharper humor, was always a peculiar but welcome presence. Whenever he visited, she'd feed him like he might disappear at any moment.
She used to joke that Jacob reminded her of a stray puppy, which was why she fed him like she needed to fatten him up before winter. Her words only ever made him laugh. It was hard to take offense at Mrs. Winter. She had a way of speaking so bluntly that you just accepted her words as truth.
He kept driving until the scattered houses along the road gave way to the familiar, damp silhouette of Forks. The sky was already darkening. Night would fall soon. He decided to make a quick visit, just to check if she needed anything.
It took a few minutes to reach Nate's house. Seeing it filled Jacob with a warm feeling. The Porsche was still in the driveway. That made him smile. The car looked like it belonged there, like it had always been part of that house.
He parked carefully and stepped out calmly. He knocked on the door. From inside, he heard hurried footsteps and then the creak of the lock. The door swung open with unexpected energy. Mrs. Winter appeared, her white hair pulled into a messy bun and her expression anxious—but it vanished the moment she saw him.
"Well, seems you can smell when I'm about to eat, boy," she said with fake disdain, clicking her tongue. She turned without waiting for a reply, certain he'd follow.
Jacob smirked as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Good evening, Mrs. Winter. Just came to see if you needed anything."
She let out a dry chuckle. "Strays are all the same. Play cute so someone'll adopt them."
She nodded toward the old cat sleeping atop the armrest of the couch. "Get in line, Jake. The cat got here first."
Jacob laughed, a real laugh that shook him inside. There was something about that house, about that irreverent old woman, that made him feel like things might still be okay.
He stayed for dinner, more at her insistence than his own idea. It had started to drizzle outside, and the soft tapping of the drops on the windows created a hypnotic rhythm that contrasted with the silent atmosphere of the dining room. The antique hallway clock marked the hours with a serene, almost ritualistic tick-tock.
Mrs. Winter looked distracted, almost absent. She hadn't eaten much and just stared out the window, her chin barely resting on her hand, her gaze fixed on some lost point in the past. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes held years of silent memories.
Uncomfortable with the melancholic air that had settled at the table, Jacob tried to lighten the mood. With a somewhat forced smile, he asked while cutting a piece of bread:
"You know, every time I visit lately, you open the door like you're rushing. Is everything alright?"
Mrs. Winter didn't take her eyes off the window. Her voice came out serene, almost a sigh:
"Years ago... when I saw that car out front, I knew my son was home. It was a comfort. Now, when I see it, my mind no longer expects my son... but the shadow of my grandson."
Jacob looked down, feeling like he was intruding on something too intimate, too fragile. Nate had said he was traveling to handle inheritance matters, but he hadn't mentioned how his absence would leave Mrs. Winter so hollow. A knot of guilt formed in Jacob's stomach. When Nate returned, he thought he'd tell him exactly what he'd left behind.
Trying to shift the mood, Jacob started talking about his everyday life. He told her about school, the latest engine he'd helped fix at the local garage, even asked for advice on how to approach a girl he liked—just to make her smile.
And it worked.
In that sense, Mrs. Winter was like Nate. She listened with noble patience, and when she answered, she did so with a mix of wisdom and dry humor that broke any tension. For a while, the house felt warm again.
But then the doorbell rang.
The sound sliced the air like an unexpected chime. Mrs. Winter blinked, snapped out of her trance, and then gestured calmly toward the door.
"You can get it, Jacob."
Jacob stood, frowning slightly with a mix of curiosity and distrust. As he walked toward the entrance, he turned and asked:
"Are you expecting anyone?"
Mrs. Winter closed her eyes slowly and tapped her temple with a knowing smile.
"The aura I sense behind that door is... the unmistakable awkward aura of Charlie."
Jacob let out a disbelieving laugh.
"Come on. No way."
He opened the door.
And it was Charlie.
Soaked from the drizzle, in his slightly disheveled uniform and holding a bag, the older man blinked at Jacob and muttered a greeting as he shook water off his shoulder.
Jacob stood frozen for a second, then slowly turned toward the dining room, where Mrs. Winter looked at him with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression.
"How did you know?" Jacob asked quietly, almost afraid of a supernatural answer.
Mrs. Winter tilted her head calmly, wearing a smile that was half tenderness, half mischief.
"I saw his patrol car through the window, dear."
Jacob snorted, a bit embarrassed, shaking his head as he waved Charlie in.
Charlie stepped inside with slow steps, brushing off his uniform shirt as a gust of cool air briefly entered the room. He adjusted his belt with a sigh and looked up, meeting Mrs. Winter's mischievous smile from her usual seat by the window.
"The sheriff of Forks should know better than to go out without a jacket," she teased, her eyes sparkling with warmth that belied her age.
Charlie chuckled, closing the door behind him as he crossed the room with measured steps. The creak of his boots echoed lightly on the polished wood—a soft but steady sound.
"In my defense, the weather wasn't like this when I left work."
At the table, he pulled a small paper bag from his coat and placed it in front of the old woman. Inside glistened some fresh apples and a handful of perfectly ripe pears, still beaded with dew.
"You're spoiling me, Charlie," Mrs. Winter said gratefully, taking the fruit. "You're saving me all those trips to the market. My knees are celebrating your visit."
Charlie smiled as he settled into a chair with the ease of someone who'd been there many times before.
"It's the least I can do."
From the doorway, Jacob watched the scene with a faint smile. He'd stayed silent since Charlie arrived, feeling part of the room without needing to speak. He checked the time on his phone, hesitating. It was getting late, and his dad didn't like it when he was late... but after another second, he decided to stay. After all, if he told Billy he'd been with Sheriff Swan, he couldn't complain too much.
He approached the table just as Charlie gestured toward the empty seat beside him. Jacob sat down, stretching his legs and letting out a relaxed sigh.
"And how are you today, Mrs. Winter?" Charlie asked warmly, taking a cup of coffee that the woman offered with a smile.
The old woman sighed dramatically, though her expression remained bright.
"Amazing, as always. Lately, I'm drowning in attention," she said just as her old cat stirred atop the couch's backrest and gracefully jumped down to approach her. She pulled it into her lap with a soft, familiar stroke.
"I feel like a teenager," she added playfully. "With so many handsome young men visiting me."
Charlie laughed.
"You're talking about me, of course."
Jacob snorted, rolling his eyes as he picked up an apple from the bag, spinning it in his hands without biting it.
Mrs. Winter looked at them with affection before changing the subject.
"And how's Bella, Charlie?"
The name caused a subtle reaction in Jacob. He looked up discreetly, waiting for the answer.
"Out with her boyfriend," the sheriff replied, rubbing his neck with a resigned air. "They're always together, like magnets, but today they left early. Think he took her shopping or something. She said she'd be back late."
Jacob pressed his lips into a thin line, lowering his gaze to the fruit, still untouched.
"Edward's a good kid," said Mrs. Winter, trying to ease the atmosphere. "Polite... though frankly, my Nathaniel got the best Cullen."
Jacob raised an eyebrow, curious. Though he'd seen them together, something about her tone intrigued him.
"What's Nate like with Alice?" he asked with a mischievous smile, leaning back in his chair.
The old woman laughed genuinely, stroking the cat's back with affection.
"My grandson likes to act tough, you know. Always with that serious, aloof air... but every time Alice isn't looking, he stares at her like she's the last good thing in the world."
Laughter spread across the table, light, breaking the tension in the air.
"And the girl's no different," she added, with a softer, almost melancholy gaze. "When Nate was recovering, she never left his side. Like a machine, tireless. I haven't seen that kind of devotion since my husband died."
She paused, her eyes lost in a memory that seemed to wrap around her.
"That girl is a blessing," Mrs. Winter said with a gentle smile. "She did what I couldn't: made Nathaniel smile like a normal boy again. I'll always be grateful to her for that."
Charlie, visibly moved by her words, lowered his voice while sipping his coffee.
"And you're okay with those two alone in D.C.?"
Mrs. Winter shrugged with an amused, almost mocking smile.
"If Dr. Cullen's fine with his daughter going, I don't see why I should worry about my grandson."
Charlie slowly nodded, acknowledging she had a point. He took a long sip, as if trying to digest more than just the warm drink.
"Besides," Mrs. Winter added quickly, her eyes gleaming with mischief, "if they come back with a surprise and I end up with a great-grandchild, nothing would make me happier."
Charlie choked, coughing sharply as he jerked forward. Jacob burst out laughing, leaning over the table.
"Don't you think they're a bit young for that?" Charlie asked between coughs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
Mrs. Winter laughed softly, gently stroking the cat.
"You'd better get used to the idea, Charlie. Both my Nathaniel and Bella are nearly adults. And though it's sad to see kids grow up, there's no greater joy than watching them build their own lives."
Jacob stayed silent, staring at the table's surface without really seeing it. The old woman's words sank into him like stones in water. Bella. Nate. They'd leave. Study. Live. Change.
And he... he'd stay in La Push.
The thought wrapped around him like a heavy, damp blanket. It wasn't just the age gap that set them apart. It was fate itself. His dad grew up here. So did his grandfather. And while Jacob didn't complain about life on the reservation, a deep, almost shameful part of him wanted more. Something he might never reach if he stayed.
Charlie seemed lost in similar thoughts. He made a small face, a gesture of resignation masked as humor.
"Wouldn't mind if Bella waited a few more years before leaving... but I guess college makes it inevitable."
Jacob nodded slowly, not daring to look at him. The room fell silent for a moment, suspended under the weight of unspoken words. The only sound was the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
Then, without warning, the cat on Mrs. Winter's lap sprang up with tension, as if it sensed something in the air. A second later, it leapt nimbly up the stairs, its fur bristling.
All three followed the movement with their eyes.
Then the doorbell rang.
Jacob raised an eyebrow, still staring at the stairs.
"More visitors?"
Mrs. Winter stood calmly, though her steps were slower than usual.
"He probably just dropped Bella off at your place, Charlie. It's probably Edward."
Charlie frowned, puzzled.
"What would Edward be doing here?"
Mrs. Winter walked toward the front door, speaking with the careless tone of someone recalling an unimportant anecdote.
"I don't know what Nate told him, but I've seen him around now and then," she said without looking back. "So I told him he might as well come in directly. He just stops by, chats a bit, then leaves."
Charlie furrowed his brow slightly, turning his coffee cup between his hands. "Like a cat," he murmured with half a smile, though there was a slight tone of disapproval in his voice.
Mrs. Winter chuckled softly and winked at Jacob, a complicity that didn't go unnoticed. "Lately, I think I prefer dogs," she added playfully.
Jacob couldn't help but smile. He caught the hint immediately and felt a flicker of relief—like he suddenly felt a little more welcome in that home.
Mrs. Winter turned the knob and opened the door.
But it wasn't Edward standing there.
It was a tall young man, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and large sunglasses that almost completely hid his eyes. The cool night air seemed to slip in with him the moment the door opened. Jacob felt his chest tighten. He didn't know why, but something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way.
The guy had an athletic build, solid. In some ways, he reminded Jacob of Nate: the confident posture, the strong presence. But there were subtle differences. Blonde hair peeked from beneath the hood, and something about how he stood—too upright, too comfortable—made it seem like he believed he had a right to be there. Like the house belonged to him.
Jacob clenched his jaw, uncomfortable.
The young man spoke, his voice low and velvety, but with a quiet confidence that didn't quite match his casual appearance.
"Good evening, ma'am," he said with a brief gesture of courtesy, though his eyes flicked rapidly behind the glasses, searching for someone beyond the threshold. "I'm looking for Charlie Swan."
Mrs. Winter narrowed her eyes and, without opening the door further, kept her body firm—an unmoving, calm barrier.
"This is the Winter house, young man. Why would you be looking for the sheriff here?"
The stranger's smile curved slightly, like someone who'd just been told an inside joke. It was so subtle that only Jacob seemed to catch the arrogant undertone behind it.
"Could it be," he asked, a note of restrained joy in his voice, "that this is Nate Winter's house?"
Mrs. Winter's expression shifted, just barely—softening with a hint of genuine curiosity.
"Are you a friend of my grandson?" she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.
The young man smiled—a quiet, confident curve of his lips.
"I wouldn't say friend, exactly," he replied in a relaxed, almost easygoing tone. "He did my girlfriend a favor… and I figured it was time to return the courtesy."
From the dining room, Charlie looked up and rose from the table, suddenly alert.
"Everything alright, Mrs. Winter?" he asked loudly, tuning in to the tone at the entrance.
Mrs. Winter turned her back to the young man and looked at Charlie with a soft smile meant to dispel any worry.
"I think he's a friend of my Nathan—"
She didn't get to finish the sentence.
The blow was brutal—fast and unforgiving. A single sideways strike from the young man sent her flying like a ragdoll. Her body twisted unnaturally in the air, feet leaving the floor, until she crashed against a wooden bookshelf that shattered with a loud crack.
Charlie froze for a split second, his face shifting from shock to sheer panic. His hands moved instinctively to the gun at his belt. He drew it and aimed.
"Don't move!"
But he didn't stand a chance.
The young man was already in front of him.
Charlie hadn't even heard the steps—just a blur of motion, a whoosh through the air. In a blink, the stranger had him by the throat, lifting him effortlessly with one hand as if he weighed nothing at all. The gun slipped from his fingers.
The dark glasses hit the floor next to the weapon, revealing eyes that blazed—intense, glowing red like burning coals.
Charlie kicked and thrashed, trying to break free, his fingers clawing at the other's arm, uselessly. His face began to change color. His eyes bulged. Every second dragged out like visible torture.
Jacob stood frozen, watching everything. The world had turned distant, muffled, like he was witnessing it all from underwater.
He turned, slowly, toward Mrs. Winter.
She was on the floor, semi-conscious. Her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. A thin thread of blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. She was breathing… but it was labored, wet, broken.
The sight of her broken body hit Jacob like a bullet straight to the heart.
Something ignited inside him.
Jacob felt a click deep within. Not a thought. Not a clear emotion. Something more primal.
First came the heat—a searing wave rising from his gut to his chest, to his skull. Like he was burning from the inside out. Like his blood had turned to molten lava.
Then came the pain. He doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping. His back tensed, his ribs cracked. Everything hurt. Like something inside him was pushing to break free.
And he was afraid.
A kind of fear he didn't recognize. Primal terror, unnameable and ancient. He thought he was going to die. That he was going to split open. That he'd melt like butter in a hot pan.
But then he saw him.
That guy. That damn bastard with the red eyes, still holding Charlie in the air with a look of amusement—almost boredom.
Rage tore through Jacob like lightning.
It wasn't human. It wasn't logical. It was something else. Wild. Absolute. A fury so pure it made him scream silently.
His body snapped.
His ribs stretched with the wet sound of tearing flesh. His hands lengthened, fingers twisting into black claws. His skin split in strips like soaked paper, giving way to something larger, darker. His face contorted with a sickening crunch—jaw broken, eyes displaced, fangs emerging.
His senses exploded. The smell of sweat, of fear, of blood soaked into the wood. Everything was sharper. More real.
With a deafening growl, he lunged at the intruder with all the fury of thunder made flesh.