They had to stop! Charlie was out there in the woods. Would they care about that? I wondered… Up until now, only strangers had disappeared. Did that mean anything, or was it just chance?
I needed to believe that Jacob, at least, would care about that.
Either way, I had to warn him.
Or… did I?
Jacob was my best friend, but was he a monster, too? A real one? A bad one? Should I warn him, if he and his friends were… were murderers! If they were out slaughtering innocent hikers in cold blood? If they were truly creatures from a horror movie in every sense, would it be wrong to protect them?
It was inevitable that I would have to compare Jacob and his friends to the Cullens. I wrapped my arms around my chest, fighting the hole, while I thought of them.
I didn't know anything about werewolves, clearly. I would have expected something closer to the movies–big hairy half-men creatures or something–if I'd expected anything at all. So I didn't know what made them hunt, whether hunger or thirst or just a desire to kill. It was hard to judge, not knowing that.
But it couldn't be worse than what the Cullens endured in their quest to be good. I thought of Esme–the tears started when I pictured her kind, lovely face–and how, as motherly and loving as she was, she'd had to hold her nose, all ashamed, and run from me when I was bleeding. It couldn't be harder than that. I thought of Carlisle, the centuries upon centuries that he had struggled to teach himself to ignore blood, so that he could save lives as a doctor. Nothing could be harder than that.
The werewolves had chosen a different path.
Now, what should I choose?
1 3 . KILLER
IF IT WAS ANYONE BUT JACOB, I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, shaking my head as I drove down the forest-lined highway to La Push.
I still wasn't sure if I was domg the right thing, but I'd made a compromise with myself.
I couldn't condone what Jacob and his friends, his pack, were doing. I understood now what he'd said last night–that I might not want to see him again–and I could have called him as he'd suggested, but that felt cowardly. I owed him a face-to-face conversation, at least. I would tell him to his face that I couldn't just overlook what was going on. I couldn't be friends with a killer and say nothing, let the killing continue… That would make me a monster, too.
But I couldn't not warn him, either. I had to do what I could to protect him. I pulled up to the Blacks' house with my lips pressed together into a hard line. It was bad enough that my best friend was a werewolf. Did he have to be a monster, too? The house was dark, no lights in the windows, but I didn't care if I woke them. My fist thudded against the front door with angry energy; the sound reverberated through the walls. "Come in," I heard Billy call after a minute, and a light flicked on.
I twisted the knob; it was unlocked. Billy was leaning around an open doorway just off the little kitchen, a bathrobe around his shoulders, not in his chair yet. When he saw who it was, his eyes widened briefly, and then his face turned stoic.
"Well, good morning, Bella. What are you doing up so early?"
"Hey, Billy. I need to talk to Jake–where is he?"
"Um… I don't really know," he lied, straight-faced.
"Do you know what Charlie is doing this morning?" I demanded, sick of the stalling. "Should I?"
"He and half the other men in town are all out in the woods with guns, hunting giant wolves."
Billy's expression flickered, and then went blank.
"So I'd like to talk to Jake about that, if you don't mind," I continued.
Billy pursed his thick lips for a long moment. "I'd bet he's still asleep," he finally said, nodding toward the tiny hallway off the front room. "He's out late a lot these days. Kid needs his rest–probably you shouldn't wake him."
"It's my turn," I muttered under my breath as I stalked to the hallway. Billy sighed.
Jacob's tiny closet of a room was the only door in the yard-long hallway. I didn't bother to knock. I threw the door open; it slammed against the wall with a bang.
Jacob–still wearing just the same black cut-off sweats he'd worn last night–was stretched diagonally across the double bed that took up all of his room but a few inches around the edges. Even on a slant, it wasn't long enough; his feet hung off the one end and his head off the other. He was fast asleep, snoring lightly with his mouth hanging open. The sound of the door hadn't even made him twitch.
His face was peaceful with （deep sleep, all the angry lines smoothed out. There were circles under his eyes that I hadn't noticed before. Despite his ridiculous size, he looked very young now, and very weary. Pity shook me.