I Bet on Losing Dogs

𐒡ɘㄷꝈוֹℴր ¹: ℬɘɡוֹրրוֹրɡꕶ

Beginnings Pt. 1 : 

Three and a half months later, I was holding hands with Jacob Black everywhere I went, and letting him follow me like a lost puppy. It was easy to get close to Jacob, and surprisingly, finding out he was a werewolf was one of the first things I asked him about. I remember the suspicion I had formed. In the first month of getting close to Jacob, and by close I mean desperately trying to be as obvious as possible that we liked each other.

By month 2 week 1, I had no reason to not have the suspicion. Yes, I had come to Forks for a potential vamp lead, but that doesn't mean I wasn't on a constant high alert for the supernatural. It was kind of my schtick. No, he wasn't like the werewolves I'd had 90% of my interactions with. Of course, depending on the bite and the trigger and the lineage that follows a particular tribe, the breed is different. Most werewolves aren't shifters. Only the old old families have any traces of shifters in their blood. And even in those cases, most shifters abide by the calendar of the full moon. Somehow, I got lucky enough to find the oldest family lineage, tracing back to the original line of lycanthropes. The ones who don't abide by the laws of the full moon.

My first clue was the very obvious tell-all; accelerated healing. Spending nearly every day with someone usually means you see them in all different situations. I know he thought I wouldn't notice. However, as I continue to reiterate, supernatural is my schtick.

Billy- Mr. Black- was having a small tribe get-together, and I was honored when Jacob called me to ask if I could help. We spent three hours in his kitchen, making sandwiches and cooking this pot roast I remember Dean saying was his absolute favorite. When I stirred the meat in the crockpot, I tried to remember him fondly. It wasn't easy.

I remember I had put the lid back on and turned the pot on simmer, turning to see if Jacob was going to need any help cutting tomatoes. I watched him slice for a second, but as I pushed myself away from the counter, the knife in his hand slid right through his skin. Reflexively, I turned to grab a towel before he bled out all over the cutting block. It had taken me seconds to be at his side with the towel, but somehow, when I looked down, there was nothing on his hand except tomato seeds. While I spent a minute thinking I was going insane after being assured that he was perfectly fine, I happened to notice a very bloody towel in the trash can when I was husking corn.