𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐈 :: paul lahote

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓿𝓲𝓲.

vii. VEIL OF DARKNESS.

FLEUR LOCKLEAR WAS NO STRANGER TO EXCLUSION. It was a feeling that had followed her for as long as she could remember. She never truly fit in anywhere, barely holding onto any friendships at all. But she had thought Bella Swan was different. Maybe it had been her own mind playing tricks on her, craving a friendship no one else had offered her—not even Embry Call, who had recently put an end to their bond. Fleur had allowed herself to believe Bella was different, that maybe this time she wouldn't be alone.

She was genuinely happy for Bella, who seemed to be in better spirits at school—thanks to Jacob Black. Fleur was grateful for him; he lifted Bella's mood so effortlessly. But even though she was always invited to their hangouts, Fleur couldn't shake the feeling of being a third wheel. The conversations always seemed to orbit around Bella or Jacob, leaving Fleur on the outskirts, forgotten or ignored. She found herself tagging along only for the bike rides. And even then, neither of them seemed to notice when she stopped joining the hikes.

So, when Bella invited her, their cafeteria group, and the guys from La Push to watch another horror movie the Friday after Valentine's Day, Fleur hesitated. As the number of people attending dwindled—until it was only Mike, Angela, Ben, and Jacob—Fleur quickly made an excuse to decline. She couldn't find it in herself to feel guilty. Bella was a wonderful friend, but right now, Fleur felt like a burden. Jacob was far better suited to help Bella through the darkness that Edward Cullen had left her in, and Fleur wasn't sure she had a place in that healing.

Fleur had picked up the night shift that evening, something she didn't usually do on Fridays. But her coworker, Claire, had come down with the flu, so she found herself stuck in the small bookstore in La Push. The shop was empty, leaving Fleur to prop her feet up on the counter, absentmindedly chewing strawberry-flavored gum while her science homework lay open in her lap. Twirling a pen between her fingers, she was deep in concentration when the soft chime of the door opening barely registered.

She jumped to her feet instantly, her heart skipping a beat as she bit the inside of her cheek, hoping it wasn't her boss, Madam Sasha, coming in to check on her. But relief didn't flood her when she saw the tall, brooding figure of Paul Lahote step inside. It was late, the night pressing in against the glass, and being alone in the shop made her uneasy. She was a girl, after all, and instinct told her to keep her guard up.

Fleur offered Paul a polite smile, though it was cautious. He returned it with a tight-lipped expression, polite but distant. His movements were swift and fluid as he stepped further into the store, having to duck slightly under the decorative archway as he made his way inside. Fleur's eyes followed his tall frame warily, tracking him as the top of his head bobbed above the shelves, always aware of where he was.

The store phone rang, slicing through the tense silence. Fleur's gaze reluctantly shifted from Paul, who was deep in the store, to the ringing phone. She picked it up with a hesitant hand.

"Madam Sasha's Bookstore, how can I help?" she asked, keeping a wary eye on the boy at the back of the store.

"Hey, sweetheart," her father's voice came through the line, instantly easing some of her tension. Fleur's lips softened into a small smile at the sound of his familiar tone.

"Hey, Dad," she responded, her voice gentle.

"Sweetcheeks, Jacob came back from Forks sick. Are you feeling okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Fleur furrowed her brows, chewing on her bottom lip. "Any fever, mood swings, feeling restless?" he probed.

"Um, no. I feel perfectly fine," she said, shrugging even though he couldn't see her. She tapped her index finger against the wooden desk, a habitual gesture of reassurance. "I'm okay, Dad," she added with a sigh. "But I've got to go. Talk to you later."

As Fleur hung up the phone, the comfortable warmth of her father's voice faded, replaced once again by the quiet tension hanging in the store. She glanced back toward the shelves, her eyes catching a glimpse of Paul's broad shoulders and dark head as he moved through the aisles. He was quiet, moving with a predatory grace, his gaze flicking over the books with mild interest. But there was something about his presence that seemed... off. Something that set her nerves alight.

Fleur leaned against the counter, pretending to straighten the stack of papers beside her as she stole another glance his way. She told herself that she was just being cautious; it was late, after all, and she'd heard whispers around town about some of the La Push boys getting involved in strange business. But Paul had always been an enigma—silent, brooding, a shadow with secrets she couldn't begin to understand. 

The quiet stretched between them, thick and heavy, and when she could no longer bear the tension, she cleared her throat, her voice breaking the stillness.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked, her tone polite but cautious.

Paul's head turned, his dark eyes landing on her with an intensity that made her want to take a step back. He took a few slow strides toward the counter, closing the distance between them. "Just browsing," he replied, his voice low and calm, though there was a trace of something unreadable in his gaze.

"Alright," Fleur nodded, trying to keep her expression neutral. She was used to customers passing through, but something about his energy felt sharper, more alive, almost electric.

He gave a small, humorless smile, leaning casually against one of the shelves, his eyes still fixed on her. "I don't see many people working this late. Not in La Push, at least."

Fleur shrugged, forcing a lightness into her tone she didn't quite feel. "My coworker's out sick, so it's just me tonight."

Paul's gaze darkened for a fraction of a second, almost as if he didn't like that answer. "Not exactly safe for you to be here alone," he muttered, almost as if to himself. Then, louder, he added, "You should keep an eye out. Things are... changing around here."

Her brows knit in confusion, his words pricking at a sense of foreboding that set her heart racing. "What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

But Paul only shrugged, his lips pulling into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Just be careful, Fleur."

With that, he pushed himself away from the shelf, his powerful frame moving toward the exit. He gave her one last, lingering glance as he left, leaving her alone with the hum of the fluorescent lights and the strange weight of his warning echoing in her mind.