Breaking Dawn

You would, if you weren’t just like the rest of them. If my “female stuff”—she thought the words with a hard, sarcastic tone—didn’t send you running for cover just like any stupid male, so you could actually pay attention to what it all means.

Oh.

Yeah, so none of us like to think about that stuff with her. Who would? Of course I remembered Leah’s panic that first month after she joined the pack—and I remembered cringing away from it just like everyone else. Because she couldn’t be pregnant—not unless there was some really freaky religious immaculate crap going on. She hadn’t been with anyone since Sam. And then, when the weeks dragged on and nothing turned into more nothing, she’d realized that her body wasn’t following the normal patterns anymore. The horror—what was she now? Had her body changed because she’d become a werewolf? Or had she become a werewolf because her body was wrong? The only female werewolf in the history of forever. Was that because she wasn’t as female as she should be?

None of us had wanted to deal with that breakdown. Obviously, it wasn’t like we could empathize.

You know why Sam thinks we imprint, she thought, calmer now.

Sure. To carry on the line.

Right. To make a bunch of new little werewolves. Survival of the species, genetic override. You’re drawn to the person who gives you the best chance to pass on the wolf gene.

I waited for her to tell me where she was going with this.

If I was any good for that, Sam would have been drawn to me.

Her pain was enough that I broke stride under it.

But I’m not. There’s something wrong with me. I don’t have the ability to pass on the gene, apparently, despite my stellar bloodlines. So I become a freak—the girlie-wolf—good for nothing else. I’m a genetic dead end and we both know it.

We do not, I argued with her. That’s just Sam’s theory. Imprinting happens, but we don’t know why. Billy thinks it’s something else.

I know, I know. He thinks you’re imprinting to make strongerwolves. Because you and Sam are such humongous monsters—bigger than our fathers. But either way, I’m still not a candidate. I’m… I’m menopausal. I’m twenty years old and I’m menopausal.

Ugh. I so didn’t want to have this conversation. You don’t know that, Leah. It’s probably just the whole frozen-in-time thing. When you quit your wolf and start getting older again, I’m sure things will… er… pick right back up.

I mightthink that—except that no one’s imprinting on me, notwithstanding my impressive pedigree. You know, she added thoughtfully, if you weren’t around, Seth would probably have the best claim to being Alpha—through his blood, at least. Of course, no one would ever consider me. . . .

You really wantto imprint, or be imprinted on, or whichever? I demanded.What’s wrong with going out and falling in love like a normal person, Leah? Imprinting is just another way of getting your choices taken away from you.

Sam, Jared, Paul, Quil… they don’t seem to mind.

None of them havea mind of their own.

You don’t want to imprint?

Hell, no!