Story title is from "The Sick Rose" by William Blake.

XXX

Lydia easily begins mimicking the drunken teenagers around her as she starts making her way out of the noise and bustle of the winter formal. She picks out Mr. Martin from the rest of the crowd easily and staggers over to him, intentionally running into him as she pushes open the gym doors.

"Miss are you alright?"

She pretends she doesn't hear him as she continues out into the parking lot. Come now, follow me to your fate. Biting back a smile as she hears the sounds of his footsteps, she continues on to the lacrosse field, away from everyone.

He keeps calling after her and she keeps leading him on. Finally she pretends to stumble and fall, hitting the grass and starting her shift at the same time. Mr. Martin rushes towards her, grabbing her and rolling her slight so she's face up. "Are you alright?"

She gives him a toothy smile, "I will be," and lunges. Sinking her claws into his cheek she tears down, relishing his scream. Part of her feels bad, he is after all innocent, but she's been taught to be through in her plans and this is necessary.

A shout draws her attention away from Peter's, considering what she's just done she feels she has the right to call him Peter, body. Looking up she sees Stiles, dear delicious Stiles, running towards her. "Stop!" Stiles lunges and instinct drives her to bat him away, Peter is hers and she needs to guard him.

"Please don't kill him." Stiles' apple and cinnamon scent is spiked with fear and she breathes deep. "Please."

Lydia tilts her head slightly and oh so gently caresses the cheek she mauled. "Of course I won't Stiles." She inhales deeply again, this time catching Peter's pepper and cloves scent in her lungs; an angry scent, so perfect. "I'm only killing those who deserve it."

"Then why him? He's just a history teacher."

She smiles and moves to stand, placing herself between Stiles and Peter. With ease she pets Stiles' cheek, leaving thin scratches. "Now, now, I'm not going to tell you all my secrets Stiles." She taps his temple. "Now help me find Scott."

He trembles under her touch and, oh, it's wonderful. What a perfect Omega he'll be when he takes the bite. "I. . .don't know where he is."

Her eyes flash red as she hisses. "I can smell a lie," she sing-songs and her clawed thumb digs into the underside of his jaw, forcing his head up.

"Okay, okay. I think I might know how to find him, but I need a computer."

A brilliant smile lights up her face. "See that wasn't so bad now, was it?" She hauls him up by his ill-fitting jacket and begins marching him back to the parking lot, ignoring her instinct to stay and protect her marked.

"What about Mr. Martin?"

She gives a toss of her hair to hide her glance back at his prone body. Manhandling Stiles she pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Call 911."

With her claws on his neck he does so, barely even stumbling over his words as he talks to dispatch. When he hangs up she holds out her free hand. Moments later he reluctantly hands over his phone and she crushes it.

"Hey, hey! Do you know how much cells cost these days? And I'm not exactly rolling in cash like some people I know."

Rolling her eyes she gives him a shake, "shut up or I go back and kill him."

Stiles shuts up.