Hey, thanks for all the critiques! Sorry it took me so long, I just sort of forgot about this story. However, it is completely finished, so if I get comments I'll keep posting parts. Cheers!
JACOB
I stood for a moment, unsure of what to do now. “Why don’t you tell me what you need and I’ll lead you to it?” I suggested after a minute.
She nibbled her soft lips for a moment, that same pink blush stealing over her cheeks. She got embarrassed easily, I noticed. I was so glad I’d imprinted on such a beautiful girl. Embry had imprinted on a regular ogre of a girl - I never thought that in front of him, though. If I had I’d be dead bye now.
“Well…” Her voice was soft, hesitant. She turned away and I saw her reach up and dig around in the neck of her shirt.
I grinned, shaking my head. She’d stored her list in her bra. Typical girl. She turned back to me, staring wide-eyed at the ground, lips moving silently as she counted degrees. It was interesting to see how every step she took was calculated, counted, measured. I wondered if she was into math. As she faced me again, her face was really rosy now. Her delicate fingers clasped a stiff piece of white paper with raised dots - Braille. She ran her fingers across the top of the paper, frowned, and ran them across the same area again. Then a slight smile flashed across her lips. I caught my breath - when that sad expression was banished she was even more beautiful.
“Sorry,” she said, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’m still getting used to the whole Braille thing, and my machine thing sometimes malfunctions. It felt like this said ‘barfs,’ but I think I meant to write ‘scarf.’” She shook her head, smile widening.
When I found my voice again, I gulped and smiled back. “An understandable mistake,” I said. Reaching out, I ignored the dog’s baleful glare as I grabbed her hand and led her to the back of the store. There was a long rack of colorful scarves there and I hesitated. “Um, what kind do you want?”
“Long, wool, any color except pink or red,” she said briefly.
“Why not pink or red?” I asked as I surveyed the choices.
“Because of my hair.” She gestured to the damp, curling ponytail cascading down her back. “Reddish hair doesn’t go with those colors.”
“I… I really like your hair,” I offered, suddenly shy.
She blushed deeply and her sculpted eyebrows drew together briefly. “Thanks,” she murmured softly to the floor.
I turned back to the scarves and groaned. I was a guy, for goodness sake. I reached into the middle of a bunch of blue scarves and drew out a random one. It was dark blue, long and soft. I draped it around her neck and nodded. “Good enough,” I said. “What’s next?”
Her pale fingers crept up to her neck and she gratefully gripped the scarf more tightly to her neck. I longed to wrap her in my arms and warm her up, still her shaking. I had to remind myself that even though I had imprinted on her and she was now the focus of my entire life, she did not feel the same about me. Yet.
She cleared her throat and her fingers fluttered back across the stiff page. “Milk next,” she said quietly. I grabbed her hand again and led her to the refrigerated section.
“Fat free, or what?” I asked again. This was more complicated than I would have thought. I always ate a lot, but I’d never actually done any of the preparations.
“Skim, please.”
I snatched a big jug of skim milk. “Wait, I have to run and get a basket.” I dashed through the aisles to the front of the store and grabbed a cart. This was crazy. I knew what the big deal about imprinting was now - it was great. Euphoric. I felt like I could jump to the moon - if Heather wanted me to. Then I frowned. I couldn’t see her, and that bothered me. A lot. I felt that same gravitational pull, that call, telling me that I had to find her, see her, take care of her right now. This was bad. How could I ever let her go home if I couldn’t stand to let her out of my sight? I jogged to the back of the store again, putting the milk into the basket as I went. There she was, still standing there, gazing into space, one hand absently petting the dog’s head. Every once in a while she would blink deliberately, like she didn’t need to but reminded herself to do it anyway. A wave of relief swept through me and a broad grin crossed my face. She was in sight. She was mine.
“What’s next?” I asked, pushing the cart towards her. I watched in fascination as her sensitive fingers read the multiple raised dots. Then she blushed. I stared at her, frustrated. Why was she embarrassed this time?
“It’s… um… maybe Mrs. Dangly can help me with this one,” she said softly.
I laughed at how ridiculous that was. I would do anything for her, and she wanted to ask some old woman to help her instead. “No, really, it’s okay. You can tell me anything.”
“Well… feminine… products,” she said, words coming out so low even I had to strain to catch them.
Ah. Well, as I had said, I’d do anything for her. This subject, usually so awkward with guys, I found I could accept with ease. For Heather. I cheerfully lead her towards that particular aisle - avoided like the plague whenever Embry and I came here together. She gave me halting instructions and I found them for her, surprising myself at the lack of awkwardness.
“One last thing,” she said, sighing in relief as we exited the aisle. “Cat food.”
“You have cats too?” I asked, astonished. “How many?”
“Only four,” she replied, smiling hesitantly.
“Please, I hope you don’t think I’m really rude,” I said as I swung a bag of cat food into the cart, “but how do you keep up with all these animals? Especially because you’re…”
“Blind?” She grinned and shrugged. “Really, they help me out more than I help them. I’m a sucker for strays, but I’m also an animal trainer. Most of the animals I have right now aren’t even mine. I only actually own one dog -” she gestured to the faithful German Shepherd - “three cats, two monkeys, two turtles and a parrot.”
“Oh, that’s all,” I said, grinning. “You’re right, that’s a much more sane number.” I was delighted that she seemed to be loosening up. Perhaps the secret was to talk about animals. “What are their names?”
Her face lit up and she stuck the list back into the front of her shirt without even blushing. “Oh, well this here is Meth.” She felt around for the German Shepherd, who came up and licked her face. She laughed and held up her fingers. “Shake, Methuselah.”
The dog held up its paw politely and I reached down and shook it, trying to be gentle. I gave it my Alpha look again and it rolled its eyes as if to say, I already know, you’re in charge. “I wondered about the Meth thing,” I said, straightening. “I somehow doubted you’d name your dog after an illegal drug.”
“No, she’s Methuselah,” Heather replied, smiling fondly. “The cats are Esther, Twitch and Bells, the monkeys are Sugar and Monkey, the turtles are Cally and Lypso, and the parrot…” she paused and grinned, shaking her head. “Disclaimer,” she said holding up her hand. “It was named by my little niece.”
“Just spit it out,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Copy Cat,” said Heather, stifling a giggle. “We call her C.C. for short.”
“We?” I asked warily. Please don’t tell me Heather was married or something.
“Yes. Um.” A shadow crossed her features and she unwrapped the scarf from her neck and threw it into the cart. She missed, and before I could stop myself my arm shot out in quick reflex, caught the scarf and deposited it safely in the cart. I cursed inwardly, glad for the first time that she was blind. “I’ve got to go,” she continued, feeling for the cart handle.
I set her hands on the handle and rested one hand on the side, steering it forward to the counter. I wasn’t sure what to do now. A rising panic in my chest threatened to stifle me, and I knew I had to convince her to give me her number, or address, or something. I had to keep in touch. I had to keep her in sight. I was developing an obsession.
I watched silently as she paid, using carefully folded bills pulled once again from her bra. “Would you like help carrying this stuff home?” I asked hopefully, following her measured steps to the door.
“Oh. Well…” She paused, torn. I could tell she wanted to say yes, she wanted to like me - maybe she could imprint on me even without eye contact, who knew? “Sure, thanks,” she said softly, smiling.
I did a fist pump silently in the air, feeling another flash of heat. It was harder to contain this time, and I had to take several deep breaths to maintain control. She wasn’t ready for me to explode into a wolf just yet. “My car’s over here,” I offered. Then I remembered her long line of dogs and grimaced. “Or not.”
“No, it’s all right,” she assured me. “Just bring me over there, and I’ll show you.”
We made our way to my car and I stuffed her groceries into the back. Meth jumped into the back seat and sat there, panting and staring at me. I shrugged - there was already a lot of hair back there from when Paul got into fights and phased accidentally. Heather was rolling down her window. I frowned - in the rain? - but didn’t argue. She leaned out and let out a piercing whistle. The row of dogs bounded towards us abruptly and lined up underneath Heather’s window. She smiled down at them.
“Follow. Follow,” she repeated in a firm voice. Keeping her arm stuck out the window, she nodded at me. “Just drive slowly.”
“Where do you live?” I asked as I turned the ignition.
“Just three blocks down and to the left,” she said. “It’s the old Johnson place.”
I grimaced. She was right near the edge of Pack territory. Luckily, she was still inside it, so I’d be able to visit her. “I love that house,” I offered as we slowly proceeded down the street. The dogs followed her dangling hand, keeping up without difficulty.
“I hear it’s beautiful,” said Heather wryly.
“Like you,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I said aloud. “So how long have you been here?”
“We just moved in last week,” Heather explained absently. She turned her face towards me, searching the air with her empty eyes.
“I wish you could see me,” I said abruptly - then I bit my tongue. I just knew that if she saw me, just once, a glimpse, everything would be all right. She’d know we were soul mates, we were meant to be. I could tell her about the Pack, and me being a werewolf.
She sighed and dropped her head, blinking twice. “I wish I could see you, too,” she said softly.
I couldn’t resist another fist pump - another flash of heat. This had to stop, or I’d end up phasing and getting the love of my life into a car crash.
“You can stop the fist pumping,” she said in an amused tone. She was biting her lip to keep a smile from creeping across her face.
“How could you tell?” I asked, astonished, dropping both hands to the wheel.
“The wind whistling past those big hands of yours,” she said, restraining a laugh. “It’s hard to be subtle when you’re as enormous as you are.”
“Too true,” I said ruefully. I flipped on the blinker and turned left onto the quiet street. The Johnson place was quite a ways down, I thought triumphantly. More time with Heather. I looked over and watched her profile, her constantly blushing cheeks and eyes so alive I couldn’t believe they didn’t see. I reached over with one hand and, watching her carefully, placed a hand on her cheek, caressing her cheekbone with my thumb. I just couldn’t help it.
She stiffened, then relaxed her face into my palm, sighing. “You’re so blessedly warm,” she explained. “I usually don’t let strangers touch me like this, but -”
“We’re not strangers,” I protested, cutting her off. We’re soul mates, I continued to myself.
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