CHAPTER FIFTEEN
death is centrifugal

VAGUELY COGNISANT OF THE CLAMOUR AND CLATTER OF THE BOYS PUTTERING ABOUT DOWNSTAIRS, bossing each other around and whipping each other in the ass with beach towels and wash cloths and then yelling about it like they were trying to wake something beneath the ground, Violet, Sage and Kit were holed up in Kit's room, where Sage had artlessly shoved Kit's many encyclopaedias and books of the scientific research variety to as many corners as they could find to clear up some space in the middle of the room for Violet to drag out an old whiteboard Kit stored under her bed for some inexplicable reason.

While Sage's room was a lesson in entropy, a chaos of character and tangle the three of them fought to swim through since there hardly was any room to sit, and Violet's room was four white walls entombing a space that was less lived-in and more carved into, a mausoleum of disconcerting emptiness and clinical silence that Sage claimed had the ability to kill all creative flow, Kit's room was a sort of medium between the two. A middle ground where they preferred to meet because it wasn't claustrophobic or daunting and they could actually sit in the floor. Though she never seemed to have a system of organisation for her books, which were scattered in little stacks over the floor like stalagmites in a cave, Kit kept her room neat and tidy, albeit, not as structured and bare-boned as Violet's maids kept Violet's room, dustless and blemish-free, and certainly not like Sage, who never cleaned out her room at all and still harboured relicts from the fourth grade in the name of sentiment. They'd tossed their skateboards behind the door, wedged into the corner. Plan first, skate later.

After they'd left Nino's with stomachs so full they thought they might puke (though Kit claimed she was still hungry, even after wolfing down a whole pizza and her milkshake) and more milkshakes to-go, Violet gave her father a call to let him know about her plans for tonight's bonfire, which Paul had invited her to, and then a sleepover with the girls, which Sage declared mandatory. It was a Friday night, and she'd promised to finish all her school work over the weekend in exchange for being allowed to stay the night at Kit's place, which he'd been fine with, as long as she let him know what time she would come home, so he could send Aaron to pick her up.

Outside, the overcast sky was still lined with silver, the sun, an eye of holy white poking out from a thin veil of clouds, keeping a vigil for the monsters lounging in the Lahotes' backyard, the whole pack of them, bronze-skinned and dust-born and glowing. Inside, the overhead fan whines, and Kit's body heat fills the space, their own personal radiator. They knelt around the whiteboard, an altar of strategy and schemes. At the very top, Violet had scribbled in block letters, OPERATION: LOOKING FOR LUKA—something about it sounding better with alliteration.

"Step one," Violet says, uncapping the marker and scrawling the first phase of her plan at the top left corner before turning to her friends, who looked back at her with earnest eyes, "we find Carlisle Cullen. He's Edward's father—and also a vampire—and my dad's colleague, so he should be easy to track down."

"Why Carlisle, again?" Kit asked, furrowing her brows.

"Edward won't give me answers, and my dad thinks Carlisle's a neat guy. He should be the one who's most willing to talk. If that plan fails—" Violet scrawls something else beneath Carlisle's name— "Edward's mom."

"Is your plan just to work your way down the family tree?" Sage arched a brow.

Violet shrugged. "Whatever it takes. Plus, there's always Bella to hold hostage if we want to extort information from Edward. We can make use of Kit's muscles. Anyway, moving on. Google can only tell me so much, and even through extensive research, I doubt that it's that accurate. I'd rather get answers from the primary source. What we need to know is absolutely everything about vampires. Their habits, their behaviour, how social they are—just to figure out Victoria's next move." Because nobody was telling Violet anything for the sole reason that they didn't want to set her off—she could tell. They still saw her as the hysterical little girl rambling on about monsters and blood and just listen to me—he's not dead, she took him she took him she took him. But Violet, despite the hallucinations plaguing her brain and the paranoia gripping her insides with an iron fist, wasn't fragile.

"And then there's always the news," Violet said, procuring a bunch of newspaper clippings she'd extracted from her father's morning papers, bound in a plastic folder which she'd labelled POSSIBLE LEADS in green sharpie. Headlines that read: ANIMAL ATTACKS ON THE RISE IN SEATTLE, TEENAGERS REPORTED MISSING AFTER A BONFIRE PARTY, HAVE YOU SEEN THESE PEOPLE?, UNIDENTIFIABLE SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE. And, of course, the MISSING posters she'd found online after insomnia-induced research in her father's study had led her to a network of sites reporting missing people, murders that weren't humanly possible, and whatnot. "I've been collecting these recently—"

"Holy fucking shit," Sage exclaimed, snatching the folder out of Violet's hands. Lips parted slightly in surprise, she flicked through the clippings. Kit peered over her shoulder, scanning the headlines and the body of text below. She let out a low whistle.

"If there's anything out of the ordinary—animal attacks that don't appear to have been committed by the human hand, suspicious disappearances, all that—we'll spot it." Vampire research paid off. Violet wasn't typically one to read the wires often because current events weren't exactly her point of interest, but this was necessary.

"All of these happened in Seattle," Kit said, dismay evident in her tone. She glanced up at Violet, brows furrowed, bottom lip snagged between her teeth. "Do you think that means something?"

"So many animal attacks in the city," Sage remarked, pulling up an article on a mauling in Seattle.

"They did that last year, too, when a bunch of vampires started killing hunters in the woods," Kit said.

"Yeah, but an animal in the city?"

Eyes ablaze, Violet snapped her fingers. The ball had begun rolling. "Exactly. Animal attacks in the city just doesn't work. Especially this frequently. It's fishy. It's Victoria."

"And that kid who went missing months ago," Sage added, as an afterthought. "What was his name again?"

"Riley," Kit said, voice quiet, a sadness tinging her eyes, which were fixated on an invisible point between them, distant and cloudy. "Riley Biers."

"She probably took him," Violet said. She tapped the white board, which she'd been scribbling little notes on, names and dates and potential leads, periodically between discussion. "Which postures the question: if she's taken all these people, what's her goal?"

Kit blinked.

"She's building an army," Kit murmured, realisation dawning on her. She blinked, frowning. "I should tell Sam. He needs to hear this."

"It's only a theory," Violet pointed out. "We don't have to say anything until we have concrete proof."

"What more proof do we need?" Kit insisted, firmly, frustration burning up in her eyes, the tight crease of her forehead. "People are dying. We know that these are all localised in Seattle. The numbers add up. Victoria is recruiting by force, and we have to do something about it before more people end up like..."

Kit pursed her lips, unable to continue. Sage sucked in a sharp inhale. Violet settled back on her haunches and swallowed down the urge to throw up. Every time she thought about the possibility of Luka fighting for Victoria, becoming one of her disposable pawns, an ugly, acidic burn washed up against the back of her throat. Her chest felt tight. All the air in her lungs turned to little icicles teething on her organs. Silence struck the room. Blood roared in Violet's ears. She pressed a hand to her solar plexus, as though she could force the wind back into her lungs. To no avail.

—WHERE IS ALL YOUR RAGE NOW? YESTERDAY IT WAS SO FRESH, AND NOW YOUR COMPOSURE IS COMPROMISED YOU SIT IN DEFEAT LIKE A COWARD—

Before either of them could say anything more, someone knocked on Kit's bedroom door. Three sharp taps. Sage shoved the whiteboard back under Kit's bed just as the door opened and Jared's head poked in. When his eyes—always warm, always smiling, always holding that impish glimmer—landed on Kit, his grin widened. Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, Jared arched a brow as he folded a piece of gum onto his tongue.

"Secret meeting?" Jared mused teasingly. He gestures at the trio. "Is this what all girls do during sleepovers?"

Barely concealing a smile, Kit rolls her eyes.

"No, we have a sexy pillow-fight in our underwear scheduled at midnight," Sage said, a sardonic bite in her tone.

Jared laughed. "Count me in."

"Sorry, it's girls only," Violet drawled, flatly, shooting him a lazy smirk. "Unless you'd like a sex change. My father would be happy to sponsor you."

"Oh, to be young and filthy rich," Jared said, sarcasm lacing his voice, though it was without venom. "Must be nice."

Violet cut him a cool look. "It is."

For a flash of a moment, Jared bared his teeth, affecting an over-exaggerated smile, before turning to Kit with a softer expression and saying, "anyway, we're heading down to the beach soon. Council meeting's starting in half an hour."

"Council meeting?" Violet asked, raising a brow. "I thought it was just a bonfire night."

Jared shrugged. "It's both. We do this, like, for every new wave of freshly transformed werewolves. This year we're doing it for you and Bella. Because, well, you know about us. But the elders want to give you guys a little more context. Besides that, we've got some pretty fire hot dogs and burgers."

Violet hums.

"Anyway, I'll see you girls downstairs. The boys and I are gonna bring out the coolers for the drinks."

Just as Jared vanishes into the hallway, shutting the door behind him, Violet glanced at the space under Kit's bed, where the whiteboard and its sprawling spiderweb of leads lay. When she came back to Forks, back to the place where it all fell apart in a flurry of madness and monsters, the only thing on her mind had been vengeance. And now, it was truth. Truth, buried beneath the shadows of the moon. But things weren't always as they seemed.

Uncovering one thing always seemed to send an avalanche down her way, like the incident with Victoria in the woods that'd led them to the wolves—and the fact that struck both Violet and Sage even harder that Kit, whom they've known so deeply and so fundamentally there would never be secrets laid between them, had a whole other life hidden under her skin she'd managed to shield from the both of them—and her hunt for the ugly truth, uprooting a past that was absent at its own burial in the first place, had evolved into a slow, brutal uphill battle of attrition. Granted, although Violet didn't have the answers now, she knew where her resources, and she knew where to pull her weight. If anything in her life stayed constant, it'd be the fact that everything fell into her lap. A little tug on the seams and the entire fabric would give. And so, she knows where the monsters are. She knows how they're moving pieces across the chessboard. She knows how they are made. But one last question remained.

Can they be killed?

☾

THE LAST TIME VIOLET HAD GONE DOWN TO LA PUSH BEACH, things hadn't gone down so well between herself and Paul. But now...

"Here," Paul said, lowering himself onto the empty foldable beach chair beside Violet, offering her one of the two campfire-roasted hotdogs skewered on a stick. "This one's yours."

In the flicker of shadows from the raging bonfire, Violet could vaguely distinguish Embry's stunned face, Leah's arched brow, and the way Jared's jaw dropped as Violet lifted her head off Kit's shoulder and accepted Paul's offering with the ghost of a smile—not her father's, but hers. Reminiscent not of death's shadow or falling meteors of destruction, but something graceless and un-poised and genuine. Kit and Sage traded surreptitious grins. Quil made a futile attempt to tease them about it, but stopped mid sentence when he caught Paul's murder-glare from his periphery and turned to talk to Sage about something entirely else.

Pointedly ignoring the onlookers, Violet bit into the hotdog, and studied Paul out of her peripheral vision. In the firelight, he was a stunning creature of sharp features gilded in gold, halo cast around his hair, shadows pooling in the hollows of his collarbones and the passive strain of his neck, dancing and shifting like desert sands over his face. Lounging with leonine arrogance on his chair, Paul watched his brothers-in-arms push and shove and heckle over the food, passing cans of soda and sneaking sips of beer behind their elders' backs.

Violet fiddled idly with the stick in her hands to resist the urge to reach out and brush a finger over his cheek. As a gentle breeze whipped against the beach, Violet decided she didn't like this feeling. She never fiddled. She'd always been certain of herself, and she couldn't stand fiddling.

It was hard to place him in the tarnished light of feral, mindless monsters that certain folktales painted werewolves as. As far as she'd seen—what she'd witnessed that day in the forest, that horrifying encounter with Victoria that'd invoked Kit's wolf form—they were nature's creatures, wild and free and howling at the moon, bound by a code of honour and ancestral blood that runs deeper than the earth. Raw and swift and ready to act, soft as a summer rain and cold as hail, hair full of leaves and wind, with feet covered in dirt from running around the woods all night, but their mind is clean and sharp. Full of static and power and that distinct animalistic energy you can feel at your core when they look at you.

"Hey, Paul, are you gonna finish your burger?" Jacob asked, leaning over Paul with a broad grin and puppy eyes. Seems like he'd just arrived at the council meeting. To Violet's surprise, Bella trailed behind him, a tight smile on her lips as she surveyed the ring of chairs set up around the blazing campfire, as though she were a little overwhelmed by the warm energy of boys who never seemed to be able to settle and the judging eyes of the elders that seemed to have witnessed the rise and fall of Rome.

Paul flicked Jacob a hot look. "Get your own, loser."

Asshole, Jacob mouthed at Paul, who made as if to lunge out of his chair, causing Jacob to retreat with a devilish cackle. Shooting a meaningful glance at Bella, Jacob threw his hands up, lips twisting as though to say, I tried.

In the years that she'd known Paul, he'd always been a menace, a thunderstorm hanging over his head. So many pet peeves it could be called a menagerie. Uncaged, well fed, but not cruelty free. Always quickest to disaster from a bad mood, a temper nobody wanted to test. He had always been unknowable, a king of his own right in a fortress of omen and aggression, a body of impulse and hot anger. Kit always complained about him being short with her, always being at the end of his explosive irritation despite the fact that his love for his twin went deeper than the ocean. But something separated Violet from the rest.

"You're staring," Kit whispered in her ear, a tiny smirk glossing her lips.

Violet blinked. So she was. At some point, she'd began to openly admire him, like a painting in the Louvre.

"I zoned out," Violet said, bringing her eyes back to the fire.

Liar, Kit mouthed. It was true. Violet rarely ever zoned out. Her focus was always knife-bright and keen where she wanted it to be. Things rarely ever escaped her.

From the corner of her eye, Violet saw a flicker of movement as Paul turned to her. She felt his piercing gaze as Paul's blank brown eyes roved over her, glowing amber in the lights reflecting from the bonfire. But she didn't stare back like she might've if he were anyone else. He wouldn't back down like they always did, anyhow. A sharp whistle from Billy Black brought the calamity to a reverent lull as all eyes turned to the council leaders—Quil's grandfather, Billy Black and Sue Clearwater.

"The Quileutes have always been a small tribe from the beginning," Billy began, sweeping his eyes over the young teens gathered before him. "But we have always had magic in our blood. We were great spirit warriors, shape-shifters that transformed to the powerful wolf. This enabled us to scare off our enemies and protect our tribe. One day our warriors came across a creature that looked like man but was hard like stone and cold as ice. Our warrior's sharp teeth finally tore it apart, but only fire would completely destroy it. They lived in fear the cold man was not alone. They were right..."

To the white noise of the wine-dark waves lapping against the shore, the roar of the ocean and something ancient awakening in Billy Black's haunted eyes as the words took shape in the smoke rising from the bonfire. A history of magic and shifters and the undead, wolves and killers, honour and damnation, a clash of monsters. One born, another created. And finally, the answer to one part of Violet's endeavour for the truth: fire. A vampire's weakness. If that meant she was supposed to hock molotov cocktails at Victoria, she'd take her chances. A lot could be accomplished with fire. That's what had been her ticket home in the first place after she'd burnt down that frat house. For Livvy. This time, for Luka.

"...The third wife's sacrifice distracted the cold woman long enough for Taha Aki to destroy her. She saved the tribe. Over time, our enemies have disappeared but one remains. The cold ones. Our magic awakens when they're near and we sense it now, we feel the threat in our blood. Something terrible is coming and we must all be ready." Violet felt Billy's gaze linger on her a moment longer than everyone else. "All of us."

☾

IT WAS JARED WHO PROPOSED A SOCCER SCRIMMAGE ON THE BEACH, a challenge posed to Kit after she'd nitpicked at his passing skills. Whatever that meant—Violet wasn't too well-versed on any sport outside of skateboarding or martial arts, and it was evident when she turned down the offer to join Jared's team of three. The night air was humid and dark, rain-heavy clouds swallowing the stars, but the moon hung in full view. Violet couldn't imagine how any of them could see two feet in front of themselves, even with the moonlight casting a silver glow on the sand, but she supposed the advantage of superior eyesight, coupled with heightened senses, came part and parcel of their shapeshifter blood. Sage remained by the fire, probably trying to pitch a sale of her home-grown weed to the council leaders. Violet would've stayed, but the way Billy had glanced at her earlier, like she played a bigger part in all of this besides her relegated quest for the truth behind Luka's whereabouts, unsettled her.

Instead, when everyone got up in a hurry, racing each other down to the beach as Kit procured an inflated soccer ball from under a pile of blankets, Violet followed them. Even though she'd wrapped up warm, a long-sleeved shirt under a thick green Thrasher sweater and baggy skater pants, couldn't shake the chill slithering down her bones. She shucked off her shoes and socks, rolled up her pants to rest above her ankles and strolled along the edge where the waves brushed the sand, trailing foam and flotsam, the roaring tide filling her ears, drowning out the agitated shouting and foul-calling.

Out the corner of her eye, the forest behind the beach loomed, festering in shadows and darkness where the moonlight didn't reach. She stuck close to the brightest side of the beach, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. She didn't dare look, just incase she found a pair of red eyes staring back at her. Paranoia gripped her, winding her muscles taut. Muscles tense, an uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of her mind, Violet stopped before she strayed too far from the group.

—SHE HAS TAKEN SO MUCH FROM YOU. SECURITY, YOUR COMFORT IN THE DARK, LUKA, WHAT ELSE WILL SHE TAKE?—

Anger licked at her chest, a set of claws flexing at her core. After Luka's disappearance, Violet had stopped going out at night. Even though she'd been relocated to California, miles from Forks, the paranoia followed. She couldn't think when the lights were off, too aware of the shadows gathering, growing teeth and eyes, the moving shapes in the corners of her vision, taking shape. Worst of all, despite the martial arts classes she'd taken, the many knives she armed herself with, the fear wouldn't leave her. Because she knew, at the end of the day, she could only fend for herself against humans. Humans, made of soft flesh and wrapped in tangible mortality pulsing beneath their skin. Humans, who had vital organs and soft points and too many physical vulnerabilities. She didn't know how to kill monsters.

In the midst of losing herself amidst her darker thoughts, Violet almost didn't feel the warm presence coming up behind her as she glared into the gaping waves lapping at her ankles.

"You wanna head back?" Paul asked, voice gruff, but a softness evident beneath. "We have hot chocolate."

Visibly relaxing, Violet pivoted on her heels. For the first time in her life, she didn't know what expression she wore. Usually, she was always so put-together, so sure that her face bore no trace of weakness. Now, her built composure seems to have evaded her, slipped through her hands like sand. But she didn't mourn the loss of control. Not while Paul was looking at her with curiosity rather than pity. A light sea breeze picked up, cutting across the beach, carding through Violet's hair and tugging at the edges of Paul's black shirt.

"Yeah," Violet breathed, crossing her arms over her chest. Something indecipherable flickered over Paul's face as he took her in, pursing his lips. "Yeah, that would be great. I'll, um, let Kit know first. I'm sleeping over—"

"I know," Paul said, nonchalantly. "She told me to take you home first."

Violet lifted a brow. "Don't you want to play?"

Paul shrugged. "Heart wasn't really in it. I'm more of a football guy, anyway."

Before she could help herself, her lips twitched into a small smile. Because she knew. She knew what Paul was really saying, even if he wasn't directly telling her: In the kitchen, you can turn on all the lights and it's not as dark. You'll be just as safe with all of us, but you're not so scared when it's brighter.

And so, minutes later, they'd washed the sand off their feet with the garden hose, flicked the lights on in the kitchen, and made themselves comfortable. While Paul was heating up the milk, back-facing her, Violet perched on the kitchen island, swinging her feet slightly, watching. Between them, the companionable silence they'd lapsed into was comfortable, permeated by the wind chimes in the backyard tinkling in the light breeze, the stove fire guttering once, the sound of drawers and cupboard doors creaking open and banging shut as Paul rummaged for mugs.

"So," Violet said, shattering the silence. She cleared her throat. "What's your deal?"

"What the fuck?" Pausing his search for a second mug, Paul twisted round to face Violet, holding the overhead cupboard door open as he shot her a bewildered look.

Violet shot him a flat look. "It's just... you're always the one coming to save me from myself, or whatever. I don't even know how you're dealing with all this. I mean... I'm barely handling the Victoria thing. Plus, you're a kid, too. And you're expected to be this almighty warrior always ready for some supernatural war. How do you feel about all that?"

Procuring a mug and nudging the cupboard door shut, Paul let out a mirthful laugh. "Violent, I'm eighteen. Technically, not a kid."

"Technically not quite an adult either," Violet pointed out as Paul evenly poured the hot chocolate into the two mugs with the proficiency of someone who'd done this a hundred times, not spilling a single drop. Probably for Kit, too. "And you've been doing this since you were a kid, so—"

"Exactly," Paul interjected emphatically. He dumped the pot in the sink and handed her the purple mug and leant against the edge of the counter, peering at her over the rim of his mug as he took a small sip of the still-steaming drink. "I've been doing this since I phased. It's practically nothing to me now. So don't worry about me, okay?"

"I'm not worried," Violet protested. At the sight of Paul's infuriating smirk, Violet narrowed her eyes. "I don't worry. About anyone."

Paul shrugged. "If that's what you believe."

Violet scowled.

At the same time, they took a sip of their hot chocolates.

"Night or day?" Paul asked, abruptly.

Without questioning where this random query came from, Violet said, "day."

"Why?"

Violet tapped her fingernails against the mug as she wrapped her hands around it, the heat searing into her palms. "It just... seems like nothing bad can happen in the day. Y'know, it's dark at night. It's easier to get dragged into some scary shit then. Nothing good happens in the dark."

Paul's silence was pensive. She felt his gaze on her, a look so steadying it could cure nightmares.

"I can think of one non-bad thing that happens at night," he said, quietly, voice strained with some unchained emotion.

"And what's that?"

Violet watched him closely. The air in the room seemed to stiffen, a bleeding tension as honey-thick as heatwaves in the summer. Suddenly, Violet was all-too aware of the prickling in her blood, a pleasant heat in her skin as Paul's searing gaze drilled through her skin. His eyes darted down to her lips.

That was enough of an answer for her.

Before she knew it, she was moving, practically leaping off the kitchen island, crossing the space between them until she's there and there's nothing left but Paul and the fire in his darkening eyes. A chemical reaction, a collision of atoms. Violet bunched her fists in the collar of his shirt, pulling him down and crushing her lips hard against Paul's. Adrenaline surged through her blood when he kissed her back and she tasted hot chocolate. It was a languid drink sipped by a man who'd been thirsting for years. It was a game changer and Violet felt it, vibrant and thrumming, in every single one of her arteries. Letting out a low growl, Paul curled his fingers in her hair and turned them around as she pressed flush against him. He lifted her onto the countertop, pressing between her knees. Time ran until the seconds meant nothing in the violent heat taking them apart and putting them back together. It could've been hours, minutes, an eternity, but none of it mattered when she felt his heartbeat pounding through his shirt, hammering against her palm, something coming alive.

Lost in the heat of the moment, they barely heard the door slam shut as Sage yelled, "honey, I'm home!"

Their footsteps thudded against the floorboards too loud for comfort.

Paul pulled away first, breathless and panting slightly. He let out a soft groan. Dazed, Violet blinked back into the present as he pressed his forehead against hers, breaths spreading against friction-kissed lips like ripples in a pond.

"To be continued," Violet said, smirking, heart reeling.

"You bet," Paul grunted, cutting a glare at Kit and Sage—or, at least, in their general direction on the other side of the wall.

When the two girls came moseying into the kitchen, wandering through the doorway with twin impish grins on their faces, Paul and Violet had recomposed themselves, smoothed down their clothes and sat separated, with Paul leant against the kitchen island and Violet seated on the countertop, taking sips of hot chocolate from the wrong mugs.

Granted, neither of the two intruders had to know that.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.
violet pining........... and then receiving

ur welcome