Good thing the man didn’t follow him. That would’ve been a little embarrassing, though Jacob likely would’ve just turned and snarled at him to get him to stay. Then changed out of sight. Thank god for the spare shorts lashed around his back leg. It sucks carrying jeans in his mouth.

Intense as the situation is, he can’t help the small ego rub when the stranger goes obviously tongue-tied. Well that answers one unrelated question. Though there’s no denying that Jacob had been doing a few once overs when he first caught sight of the man. He keeps that in the back of his mind, more concerned with dealing with this threat than checking out a handsome man in the woods with a strange scent.

Jacob ‘winces’ a little at that soft ‘crack’ from the other side. Ooo, don’t break your neck, man. Might eliminate one weird end, but not so much the other, if what the guy’s been saying is true. A dark brow arcs upward as the man closes his eyes and the Quileute wonders if he’s trying to think, cool his libido, or planning to make a move.

And back to it. “Holy weapons?” His expression shifts to a “psh, are you for real” sort of look. Talking of demons and now holy weapons reminds him of those legends about crosses and garlic affecting vampires and silver being fatal to werewolves. Neither of which were in play here in Forks. Jacob glances down at the air the man indicates, but he doesn’t start or tense, showing he’s trusting the guy not to try and snipe a fast one at him. His eyes narrow hard at the mention of “your youngest” however. Taking that as a direct threat or warning to Renesmee and to Seth, both of whom he’s protective of.

“Might have trouble eating our youngest,” he notes, but his tone’s serious. “We can’t track it.” And gestures to the air. “Its scent’s everywhere. So how do we kill it?”