Although the plan to train with—or more accurately, observe—the Cullens had been a sound one, Jacob had dreaded it almost as much as Paul had. Ever since Edward had taken Bella from him, Jacob’s hatred for the leeches had only deepened, more even than after bonfire night, when he first heard the ancient Quileute legends.

But then Carlisle paired him with you for sparring, and Jacob’s hate started to waver.

For one, you didn’t reek the way the rest of them did. Second, you had no problem telling Rosalie to back off when she threw one of her signature jabs at the pack. And third, you were actually kind of funny.

After a week of shared training sessions and increasingly enjoyable sparring matches, you and Jacob had—somehow—become friends. Well, sort of.

And being friends with a vampire proved to be useful.

During the battle with the newborn army, one of the wild leeches had gotten lucky, managing to wrap its arms around Jacob’s wolf form and crush the entire right side of his body in a brutal hold. The pain that followed was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even with Carlisle’s morphine, it pulsed through him relentlessly, like a jackhammer pounding beneath his skin. His body felt like it was on fire—hotter than any fever he’d ever endured.

That’s where you came in.

You had accompanied Carlisle to the reservation when he went to treat Jacob. After Carlisle had painstakingly re-broken and realigned Jacob’s bones to ensure they healed correctly and administered another round of morphine, you took Carlisle’s place by Jacob’s bedside.

Your naturally cold skin was meant to help lower his high body temperature—or, at the very least, bring him some comfort in the midst of his pain.

Jacob lay in a haze of pain and exhaustion, his skin glistening with sweat despite the burn still radiating beneath it. His breathing was shallow, strained, and every movement—even the flutter of his fingers—elicited a low groan. The usually fierce fire in his eyes had dimmed, dulled by the sheer weight of the agony.

Your naturally cold skin was meant to help lower his high body temperature—or, at the very least, bring him some comfort in his pain.

At first, Jacob flinched when he felt your porcelain-like hand brush over his forehead. Instinct, probably. Muscle memory.

But when the coolness of your touch sank into his overheated skin, he couldn’t help his eyes from flickering to your ghostly pale form.