Each Vibrant Memory

It wasn't until much later that night that Warren took me home. We had already talked away the daylight, but neither of us was prepared to separate just yet. I sat by the waves for a very long time, watching them and remembering another coast similar to this one, where Antoine and Genevieve were married.

Was that what he expected of me? Was that where this was headed? It was too soon for me to be able to handle thinking like that. I was losing my grip on reality, and fast.

But Warren… I knew him. I knew everything about him, from all of his lifetimes. I knew him as Genevieve knew Antoine, as Milly knew Gareth, and as Lizzie knew Clark. Always, after we recognized each other, things simply made sense. I looked back to Warren and saw that he was watching me, which sparked firecrackers in my chest.

I had known, hadn't I, that there was something between us? Knowing that we had this shared history shouldn't have been so shocking to me. I tried to remember how I had handled the surprise in other lifetimes, but it was still hard to imagine those girls as myself. To reassign their stories as my own memories.

"Lydia?" Warren asked hesitantly. When I didn't respond, he slowly walked over to me. I looked up at him, studying his every feature. He always looked different, except for those eyes of his. Was that how it was supposed to work? I thought about my own eyes, an intense light green that had always stood out, considering my Indian heritage. Now that I thought about it, really thought about it, my eyes, too, had followed me through the centuries.

This small piece of undeniable evidence went a long way toward settling my stomach.

I reached up blindly and grabbed Warren's hand, tugging on it so that he would sit next to me. He obeyed, and I scooted closer, so that we were connected from leg to shoulder. I realized with surprise that his touch was all I needed. I could cope with tonight's stunning revelations, if he was there to help me through them.

Warren wrapped both arms around me and we sat there for a while, not talking about anything important, simply enjoying each other's company.

I got home just before midnight, which was my school-night curfew. When I walked into the living room, Chris jumped up and examined me. "What happened? What did he do to you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled as I walked toward the stairs. The intense comfort that simply being near Warren was wearing off, and now I just felt exhausted. This was a night I would remember forever.

I laughed at myself and added that I would literally remember it forever. That was still weird to think about.

"When I get my hands on him, I'll-"

"Oh, no you won't!" I said, turning and glaring at him.

"But Lydia, if he hurt you-"

"He didn't. He was a perfect gentleman." I walked away, guilty that I was leaving Chris like this, but not guilty enough to turn around and face his questions. This was the first thing that I had ever kept from him, and I felt terrible about it. But he wouldn't have understood. If nothing else, I knew that for certain.

I holed up in my bedroom for the rest of the weekend. I didn't eat unless Chris put food outside my door, and I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't read and I didn't watch TV. I thought and I wrote. I didn't write anything at all related to Warren or werewolves or my past lives. Instead, I wrote out a frivolous fluff story. It was comforting, to immerse myself in the simpler things in life. Once that was finished, I simply wrote sarcastic comments about how blue the sky was and how pathetic of a coping method I had and whatever else came to mind.

When I woke up on Monday morning, I felt better. Refreshed. I felt like I could function again.

"You're alive!" Chris said when I reached the kitchen, tackling me and squeezing me in a tight hug.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't be so dramatic. It's not becoming," I said in my best fake-annoyed voice.

"Glad you're back."

"I didn't go anywhere," I pointed out, doing my best to hide my amusement because I knew he must have been worried about me. It wasn't like me, holing up for an entire weekend like that. Sure, I wasn't the most social girl ever, but that didn't mean I normally spent so long in my bedroom.

We walked hand-in-hand to school, and when I saw Warren standing outside, waiting for me, I gave him a wave and a small smile. I felt at ease for what I realized was the first time since I'd last seen Warren. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Moreover, would I mind it if that was the case?

"Do you want me to stay?" Chris whispered in my ear, shooting Warren a brotherly glare for good measure. I shook my head. I knew I needed to talk to Warren, and no way would we be able to discuss anything important if there was any chance of anyone, Chris included, overhearing. Reluctantly, Chris walked away from me and Warren approached.

"How was your weekend?" I asked lightly. I didn't want to talk about anything heavy right now. I'd missed him, somehow, and was genuinely curious. Had he missed me, too? What had he done? Was he worried about how I was taking everything?

"Long," he said, looking sideways at me.

"I'm sorry. I just needed to think."

"And did you?" We reached my locker and I spun the combination, then switched my books out for the ones I'd need for my first two classes.

"Of course."

"You don't want to talk about this now, do you?"

"Am I so easy to read?"

"I like to think that I just know you," he whispered in my ear. I shivered. "Lydia, you don't know how hard this is for me. Take all the time you need, to absorb and think, but… well, I'm just hoping you won't need much more." He shot me a pained expression.

"I think I'm alright. I think I can accept that you're a…" I trailed off, not wanting to say the word in such a public place. Warren's grin lit up his whole face. "The rest, though? It's a lot to take in." I didn't bother adding that some part of me, the same part that remembered all of our history, was swelled up with joy at having found him again. I was doing my best to ignore the rest, the part of me that said that this was ridiculous and impossible. I was doing a pretty good job so far, I thought. Already, it seemed totally natural to be with Warren. I noticed him scratching at his wrist and grinned. Always, in every lifetime, that had been one of the few outward signs that he was nervous.

"Why?" We started walking down the hallway, and I took my time about answering. Warren led me off to a deserted dead-end where it was nearly guaranteed that we wouldn't be overheard. The bell rang, signaling that we had five minutes to get to class, but neither of us moved.

This seemed a little bit more important than missing a little class time. Especially considering my next class, which was French. With Genevieve's help, I was delightfully fluent. That had always secretly scared me a little, and it was a relief to finally understand it. Sure, the language I knew was a little archaic. Better than starting from scratch.

Finally, I spoke. "Because it sounds pretty serious. I don't know if I can handle a relationship like that . I don't think I'm ready to," I answered as honestly as I could.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you?" Warren asked quietly. "As soon as I had a grasp on my memories and had come to terms with it all, I started looking. It's harder than you'd think. Take all the time you need, just please don't push me away."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I leaned against a wall and slid down, sitting on the filthy ground. He sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder. It was a natural fit.

"Sorry for what?" he sounded genuinely confused. I laughed, but not because it was funny.

"I guess for not moving here sooner. And for how difficult I was being the other night." Now that I said it aloud, it sounded stupid. But Warren simply pulled me closer against him and kissed my hair, wordlessly telling me that he understood.

We skipped the entire first period, instead sitting there in that stairwell. Sometimes we talked, and sometimes we didn't. It was wonderful.

And I was starting to feel something around him that I'd thought was lost forever. Stability. Belonging.

Since Mom died, my life had been severely lacking both.

Later that day while Warren walked me home (Chris, thankfully, had basketball practice), he held my hand. It felt nice, so I let him. "Why don't you come with me to Nate's place? I was out on a… mission for the past month, and I've been busy since with some… ah, housekeeping, if you will. Tonight is kind of a homecoming for me. We're having a big dinner to celebrate. I want you to be there. You can meet Lissa, Penelope and the rest of the pack."

"Will they mind?" I asked nervously. I didn't want to intrude. Besides, if he had been away for so long, wouldn't they want him to themselves? They must have been missing him terribly, if they were as close as he implied.

Warren actually laughed. "Of course not. You're one of us. You always have been." I glowed a little. I'd never had a big group of people to rely on before. Or, not in this lifetime, I hadn't. The very idea of possibly having one was great.

"So you'll come?" Warren asked, watching my expression hopefully. How could I refuse that face?

I couldn't. "Fine. Alright. I'll go." Warren whooped and removed his hand from mine, instead wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

I wanted to object, because I didn't want to act this way, like we were a couple. But he was so comfortable and even the thought of his moving away hurt. The arm stayed.

Warren left me at my doorstep, saying he was going to run and get his car, and that he'd be back soon. I rushed upstairs. I'd long since realized that when Warren said 'soon', it meant something completely different than my 'soon' did. He was insanely fast.

I had just finished re-brushing my hair when I heard his car. I rushed to the door and threw it open, to see him beaming at me.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be."

My nerves had to have been showing on my face, because he gave me a small smile and said, "They'll love you. In fact, they already do," and kissed my forehead.

I watched him sometimes at school when he didn't know I was looking. This softness he'd always shown me, which I had always taken for granted, was never really there when he was around other people. While I couldn't imagine him any other way, I got the feeling that most people would never have believed he had it in him. It was like this caring sweetness was just for me.

I was so, so lucky.

And I knew that he wanted me to meet his pack. I didn't want to deny him that, though to tell the truth, I was terrified. What if they didn't like me? What if…? Warren pulled into the driveway of a small, neat-looking house and parked. Meanwhile, I clutched at his hand.

Dalton came out of the house and grinned at me. "It's about time," he told Warren. That made me feel a little better. At least I knew one person other than Warren wanted me here.

"Let's go," I said, releasing his hand from my death grip. If he was confused by my sudden burst of eagerness, he didn't comment.

Inside, I met Lissa- a beautiful young woman who was all smiles- and Nate. Nate radiated calm and control. Isaac and Ellie were there, too. Seeing them was a comfort. We were friends. After all, I did eat lunch with them every day. Chris did too, since Warren insisted on me eating with him and I insisted on sitting with Chris. I wasn't the type to abandon my brother just because I met some guy.

Really, I didn't know why I had been so afraid of the pack. Everyone was very nice and they all accepted me effortlessly, just as Warren had known they would. The introductions were easy, without that normal awkwardness that has to be expected. There was Nate, who was with Lissa, and Isaac and Ellie. Dalton, of course, was there, as well as a couple of other new faces. Tyler Logan was a cheerful, lanky blonde with heartbreaker eyes and flippy hair that begged to be touched. There was also Penelope, whose relation to the pack was pointedly undefined. I got the impression that only males could be wolves, and I wasn't sure whether this was sexist or just practical. They were the brawnier of the sexes, after all. Lastly, I met a young man who looked to have just stepped out of an eyeglasses magazine named Hans. He didn't talk much, instead listening intently to the conversations around him. Occasionally, I caught him glancing over at me with a frown on his brow, but to me he said not a word.

I was surprised to see how much like a family they all were. Easy, light banter was tossed between Warren and Dalton while Ellie and Lissa prepared a dinner that could feed fifty. I offered to help, and they accepted easily.

Dinner was a riotous affair. There were several small tables of varying heights shoved together to make room for everyone, and plates were crammed onto the table with barely enough space left for one lonely set of salt and pepper shakers. At least three involved conversations were going on at all times, and it was difficult to keep up with any one of them. Out of everyone, Hans and I were the only ones not participating in the lighthearted ribbing and reminiscing.

At one point, Penelope started saying something, but quickly was silenced by Nate, Lissa, Dalton, and Warren. There was an awkward pause in which everyone stared off into different places, obviously not looking at something. I had a strong, paranoid feeling that it was me. I wished fervently that I knew what she had started saying, but I could tell from the quality of the silence around me that asking would get me nowhere.

I was as glad as everyone else when Dalton broke the silence. He took a cautious bite of the potatoes I'd fried with a few select spices and said, "Damn, Warren, your girl can cook," which roused laughter and started the talking going again. Still, my mind kept wandering back to Penelope. Was there something being kept from me?

I glanced back at Warren, who gave me a reassuring smile. "How are you?" he asked quietly, gripping my hand under the table while somehow managing to shovel food in with his left hand.

"I'm fine," I muttered. He winced, probably because he knew very well about the distinction between 'fine' and 'good,' or, the distinction I made between them.

"What is it?" he asked, though I thought by the look on his face that he already knew.

"What is it that you're not telling me?"

Warren hesitated. "That's not my secret to share, Lydia. You'll know soon enough." I wrenched my hand away from his in a petty attempt to make him feel as I did in that moment.

Luckily- or maybe unluckily- I didn't have to wait very long to find out what he was talking about, because not a minute later, Chris walked in.