𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒, emmett cullen

8 - A PACK OF MONSTERS ✓

CHAPTER 8 || CATLIKE, CLARET IRISES

EARNING HER LICENSE had been no easy feat. It had been her mother to push the matter, desiring each of her daughter's to be able to ferry her around the state to holler in the stands of Phil Dwyer's minor league baseball games. Still, Brooke finds herself grateful for the motivation given that she sits behind the leather of the steering wheel, worn by the late callouses of Billy Black's hands, of Bella's burnt orange Chevy. Clusters of wild pine interwoven with enormous evergreens thicken the roadsides and behind the shaded lenses of her sunglasses, Brooke's honeysuckle gaze tracks the greenery. Her tongue pokes into her cheek, and she rolls her head against the loose headrest behind in a leisurely tap of her slender fingertips.

It's the first time that Brooke slipped behind the wheel since Charlie announced the truck as theirs, since Brooke had given her older sister sole custody of the vehicle. Using every bit of time she could be walking to rain, pumping her arms fluidly at her sides. Still, with a desire for a change in scenery for her next run, Brooke had taken Bella to school hours before with a plot to truant and venture to one of the Olympic National Park's more quiet trails, with Bella's aversion to anything athletic excluding her sister from the voyage along Staircase Rapids. It's a triad of hours, but the journey draws to a close slowly with the roll of the tires crunching dirt roads and Brooke prepares for the arguably short circuit with a ploy to map it multiple times in a deft, fluent run.

The silence is welcome, with Brooke's busy head thrumming with homesickness whenever she gulps deeply. Her breath deflates her chest through the slight part of rosy lips and the plaid of Jared's shirt is looped high above Brooke's waist, the denim of her shorts sliding to slim hips with the pinwheel of her legs as they begin to thump beneath her. Gravel and dirt begins to crunch, Brooke's breaths heaving through her steady mouth as her high cheeks rush with blood in a blotchy hue of her heat prickled skin. In her ears, earbuds nestle with the beat of her downloaded playlists shuffling tracks and stray tresses of hickory dust her hollow cheeks in a tumble from the clumsy bun knotted at the crown of Brooke's head and she tilts her head with the tick of her fifth dawning her fourth circuit.

Eyeing the skies above, it's still early and Brooke admires the way that distant treetops kiss the skies overhead. Chiffon sponged clouds dust the baby blues of the sheet above and Brooke diverts from the path with the graze of her fingertips along the rough exterior of tree trunks as her aching thigh spasms with the clench of fatigued muscles as she hoists herself upon the risen root. She weaves through, ducking her head beneath the drooping limbs of the trees as they watch Brooke wander with her lovesick chase of the view ahead, trudging through the lush understory of ferns and moss whilst Brooke gathers her breath. Otherwise, she huffs breathlessly and she props her hands to her hips and as the smudged soles of her sneakers settle atop of a boulder, she drops to sit with a loop of slightly shaky arms around her raised knees.

A little distance ahead, the river rushes. Untamed waters crash against the slick rocks that grow slimy with the rapids underbelly. The ivory foam of rushing water is pearly against the otherwise gemstone surface, sapphire and lapis in a brilliant reflection of the royal blue riches and Brooke is transfixed until something horrid climbs up the columns of her spine. Like a grazing deer predicting the snap of a nearby stick, Brooke raises her head with a jerk over her shoulder and her breath hitches in the back of her throat. Dread drops into her gut whilst Brooke's breaths fall labored, knitting her sculpted eyebrows with the press of her palm into the stone beneath in a slow push to begin to rise. Her eyes narrow, and she bites at the inside of her cheek.

Superstition convinces Brooke of a plummet in temperature and she shivers, with a slow rise of Jared's shirt from her waist to pull her arms into the oversized material as she drags the open sides across her chest. Brooke lays weight to her toes and hops from the boulder she had been observing from, as flocks of birds rustle the trees overhead in a frantic flee from the peaks above. Goosebumps prickle along the nape of her neck and Brooke has long since ripped the earbud from her ear, and the eerie silence is crippling. As if the breeze is holding its breath, and Brooke feels her every muscle slack, turning to jello beneath paling skin with the bloodcurdling blur of something distant prancing through the trees in a mocking traipse.

There's laughter and Brooke's palm shoves against a nearby trunk with a push from the earth underneath as she pivots sharply in a preyed mindset that insists on only one thing: run. A shrill scream shreds Brooke's vocal chords with the stony chest she collides into, every nerve is startled by the sheer chill of the surface, glacial skin and Brooke sprawls backward with hardly a stride gained. Scrambling feebly backward with wild eyes, Brooke releases a pathetic cry, whimpering in a childish manner until her shoulder blades knock into a pair of lean, marble pillars and in a smear of cardinal, a redhead squats beside the first male. Catlike, claret irises raise Brooke's hackles with a lodged sob buried in the back of her closing throat as the woman's smile curls crookedly, a smear of something bloody with a vile clot of gore across her chin and jaw as she tilts her head.

Her hand surges in a motion that Brooke cannot see as the demon with wild, tight ringlets of fiery curls latches her clawed fingers around the denim of the male's splattered bootcut jeans, tattered fabric and her giggle makes Brooke squeamish. His grin is cruel, laced with malice as he bares his teeth in an animalistic crouch as he inches toward her with a flick of his slitted stare to the towering presence that cages Brooke from behind but it's a challenge above that of permission. It's all a matter of moments, short seconds but time appears to be entirely halted for Brooke as if Father Time had torn the Grandfather Clock to his knees and Brooke's tears rush down her face with a hollow space beneath her chest where her heart should be hammering. It probably is. But everything seems quiet, and numbness is all that rushes through Brooke's iced veins.

Until the predator cocks his head, chillingly and with a horrid, grotesque smile upon thin lips, he grants his blessing. Vicelike is the grip that wraps Brooke's shoulders as her back hits the dirt, smudging grime up the nape of her neck as the earth seems to shake and her muscles throb with her choked scream ripping from Brooke's mouth and the villain recoils. A retched noise and she's heaving, ripping herself away as if scorned as her upper lip curls lethally above nasty incisors and disgust thickens the snarl tearing from her mouth with the fabric draped over Brooke's pulsing shoulders until their attention is snatched from her in a jolt of their refined senses. For a moment, a fraction of a beat, they're watching the trees until they're gone as Brooke aches the sockets of her eyes with the clench of them closed in wait. It doesn't come.

Brooke's eyes flutter open with a pour of hot tears from wet lashes until a blood-curdling shriek rips from her tongue with another blur of motion. Their shoulders are coiled, and a snarl wracks their wide chest in a guttural, almost roared noise. Without the leering statue behind, caging Brooke from escaping, she's frantic, clumsy in her thrash backward until her trembling, blackened shoulders hit the rough bark of a tree behind. Her chest caves as Brooke heaves her wretched sob, trembling her every limb as she hangs her head forward and in horror, Brooke's quivering hand cradles her mouth as a familiar face veers their head in a snap toward her. Emmett Cullen's shoulders are hunched with the low growls still vibrating his chest and Brooke cries.

As hot coals char scorned hickory, Emmett's sable eyes meet Brooke's, web with bloodshot spindles and he softens with the warmth returning to his possessive snarl as it smears from his expression into something gentle. He coos a soft noise and Emmett falls into a squat, trying desperately to make himself smaller as he raises his large hand to her soothingly but Brooke flinches, a louder cry of her yelp spilling muffled into her palm as she shoves her shoulders further into the wood. Emmett seems to bite at the inside of his cheek before he spares a helpless glance to his side, with a quieter footfall tumbling gently to the moss and shrub with a small, tentative stride forward and Brooke's head spins, her neck aching with a pulse of agony electrifying her nerves as she finds Esme, her familiar, heart-shaped face rounded with soothe.

Waves of something warm seem to blossom beneath Brooke's rattling ribs, as she comes undone until her muscles begin to grow lax in her weaker slump backward and Esme seems to spare a thankful, encouraging smile beyond Brooke's shoulder before she's raising her hand to cradle Brooke's blotchy face. The woman coos, and her skin is as icy as the first but Brooke cannot conjure the energy to try and flee as she desires with her limbs prickled with pins and needles as she grows exhausted, eyelids heavy as they droop as if dosed with sedation to even her unacquirable breaths and Brooke is half relieved for what she supposes is a loss of adrenalin as she tumbles helplessly against Esme's shoulder.

authors note.
bats out of the bag.
surprise.