Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I intend to own the source of Twilight.

Author's Note: I apologize for the long gap into this chapter. I consider myself very much like Emmett, and it's difficult to write romance. Oh well, hopefully I've overcome my writer's block and have finally settled on a way to finish this story in future submissions. There will be 1-2 more chapters for this posting, depending on several varying factors. I also want to thank all of you who have reviewed my work; it is easier to get these things done with that support.

Also, I have not edited this chapter, so I realize that it will have errors. In the great effort to get this post to you as soon as possible, I have bypassed the preliminary review and edit stage. However, I will accept Beta requests, and make any changes as needed as they arise.

I expected to be the court jester when I reached the house, but there was no stage. I entered the living room to find Bella alone on the couch reading a book. Odd. Where was Edward's leash? She startled when she noticed I was there. I don't think she could ever get used to that human deafness with us around.

"Hi, Emmett," she spoke. "The others are all out for the moment, if you're wondering."

I nodded, and moved to walk past her to the collection of chess boards along the back wall.

"I'm still talking to you, Emmett. And contrary to what Edward would like to see, I'm here to give you some advice."

She got up as clumsily as possible, intercepting me at the kitchen doorway. She glared into my eyes for a moment, her warm scent drifting up to my nose. She was intoxicating, but I only had to think of my Rose, and the temptation was very easy to ignore.

I didn't really expect it coming. I saw it, yes, but for odd reasons, I did nothing about it. Maybe I knew it wouldn't hurt me, and couldn't care less. For whatever reason, Bella's book slammed against the side of my face with a hard thump. I raised my hand to my face out of human habit, and picked the book off the ground.

"Are you all right, Bella?" She was shaking her hand from the recoil.

"It was worth it. I did that to get a point across."

I don't think I'll ever know what that point was, but I still smiled back at her. I held out the book to give it back to her, but she shook it away.

"That is for you Emmett. I want you to read it, and learn something from the characters. It may help you with Rosalie."

She smiled, still holding her injured hand in the other, and quickly headed upstairs. I looked down at the book, which seemed to be unharmed from the incident. It was a decent hardcover novel with some thickness to it. I had heard of this book recently, and threw it aside as a useless romance novel. The author had an obsessive fan base that drove women mad; and men mad, but for other reasons. Did she actually expect me to read this? Stephenie Meyer was a good writer, but romance was not my style.

So call me a hypocrite, because as soon as I reached the river head some miles away, I started reading it. I wanted badly to fix things with Rose, and this was the only lead I had. I was almost in desperation. Almost.

The book, Twilight, wasn't entirely unbearable. I had a rough time getting past the very lovey-dovey romance scenes, which was most of the book, but I got through it by sometime the following morning. When I finished the final page, I dropped the book on the rock and took a long exacerbated breath from being so still for so long. That was almost a completely useless length of time. Almost.

I had some ideas, and thought to take advantage of them as a strand of thought until something better came along. I slowly started my way back to the house when an enticing smell drifted past me. I hadn't hunted in a while, and a grizzly bear was the perfect meal right now. It was time to let out some of this pent-up frustration.

I found the big guy some half-mile north, wandering along the meadow's edge. He noticed me when I entered on the opposite side, and began snarling and whatnot as I steadily approached. He was a very big boy, but something was different about his appearance. Mixed in with the dark brown fur were long stripes of white. They emanated from the base of his neck, stretching down his back and along the lines to his big paws. In all the years I've hunted, I have never seen anything like this. It was stunning if nothing else. He paced the tree line, and his taunts were amusing as he raised himself to full height. I kept sight with him, and continued to slowly advance. At about 20 feet away, he charged at me in rage. He would make an excellent meal; all full of energy and blood.

For the sake of masochism, I let him attempt a few feeble attacks before I gripped his paw with one hand. He snarled louder, saliva flying all directions from his mouth as he fought my grip. I took my other hand and gripped him around the neck as best as I could, he was so bulky there wasn't much ring to hook into without breaking his hide. He took his free paw and slammed it against my torso, ripping my shirt to ribbons. The blow was so strong; I lost balance and dragged both of us to the ground. This was new.

The thrill of the fight grew more intense, with this bear being strong enough to cause me to stumble on more than one occasion. It would almost be a shame to kill the beast. Almost. After a few minutes of intense wrestling, I decided I'd had my fill of joy for the day. I punched the bear hard in the chest where the lungs were, breaking a few bones and halting the growls for a moment. I dug into the hide with my teeth, holding him down against the rock with my claws. There was little noise or restraint after I began tasting the sweet, warm blood. He was too far gone to fight back anymore.

The corpse was drained in less than a minute. I pulled myself upright, and thanked the beast for the challenge, and the meal. Blood stains mixed with his duotone fur, creating an ominous blend of colors. Something in the back of my mind couldn't just leave the animal here to rot. I tried to figure out why, but in the end decided that he was unique enough to bring back home as a trophy. I bent down to throw him over my shoulder, when a small rip tore through the air. I looked down to see that the several good marks the bear got in, had taken all of my clothes with them. I was standing naked with nothing but a few frayed ribbons left intact. Tarzan had more clothing than I did, then.

There was little fighting with that now, so I draped the beast over my shoulder, and began a mild run back home.

Whether it was the new clarity of thought after the kill, or the stupid book, I thought of my Rose, and how much I truly loved that bitch. Her ferocity was, now, only closely matched with my newfound kill and trophy. She is a strong woman, and that's what I love about her. I would show her how much she means to me. Maybe then, she would skip the cabinet door, and move on to more loving matters.

I picked up my pace, wanting to get home just a little bit sooner.