After minutes of listening to the unbearable ticking of the grandfather clock, Ingrid decided it was time to get a decent explanation about what was really troubling her step-daughter.
"So," she began, quietly placing her knife and fork at each side of the porcelain plate, "what has really happened to you to be so devastated that you decided to show up without informing us of your blessed arrival?" She asked rather sarcastically. It had been a long time that parents and daughter hadn't seen each others' faces, after all.
When Vera moved to Beacon Hills after her father's second marriage, she promised she would get the hell out of there as soon as she got the opportunity.
It wasn't the town what she disliked, it was being categorized as the weird Russian girl with rusty and unclear English what had bothered her and deprived her of having a proper social life.
The tragic death of a relative to what she believed was a presumed animal attack was the ultimate factor that pushed her away from her family and the United States of America, but first, she was forced to spend six agonizing months in a psychiatric hospital under the symptoms of delusion, anxiety and paranoia.
Eventually, Vera bolted back to Russia, a no return ticket in her pocket, got her doctoral degree on Folklore studies, and married an American physician.
Overwhelmed by her step-mother's impatience, Vera gazed at her father with her cerulean eyes looking for a moral support of some sort, and though he was not as blatant and inconsiderate as she remembered him, he appeared to be really pissed at his daughter without motive, or… perhaps he had one.
Every call the family had gotten in the last many years had made their hearts jump thinking it could be the police to inform them she had been found dead in a dumpster.
Vera balled her fists around knife and fork violently and impatiently began to cut the warm monkfish in her plate. "Logan and I got divorced," she began cautiously, "the miserly rat had access to all our savings. He took the last ruble in the bank account and fled."
Piotr, the family man, wrathfully hit the table and spitted out a horrible swear word at the bastard. "Really? This is the first time we meet in years and you're greeting me with this terrible news? How much money did you have?"
Vera pursed her lips, suddenly not hungry anymore at the offensive realization that her father, turned capitalist, didn't really care about her as much as he cared about her fortune, at least that's what it looked like. "Is that seriously the first thing you want to say to your heartbroken daughter?"
For a moment, Ingrid deeply regretted having brought up the topic, but remained silent as Piotr repeated sternly: "How much money, Vera?"
Vera glared at her father for a moment. Then, she reluctantly looked away, and muttered: "Nearly 17,000,000 rubles, and you know how precious that much money is in Russia, especially now that the monetary value has plummeted and everyone is freaking out."
Piotr's jaw dropped ajar. "17,000,000 rubles!"
"What did you need 17,000,000 rubles for? How did you even earn so much money?" Her step-mother wondered, still not used to the real value of the ruble and the difference between her currency and the other, even though she had been married to a Russian man for nearly eleven years now. That sounded like a hell of money, a great series of numbers, indeed. In fact, she calculated it was more than 300,000$.
"...I've got my ways. Plus, my last book was a remarkable success, and my latest research is to be published by Cornell University Press." She haughtily announced. "Anyway, I was recently offered a job in Moscow State University. I didn't want to live in a rented flat anymore so we decided we were moving to the capital in September and buying a property of our own... you know, getting an adequate living environment for our future family and all that. Since my wage was considerably higher, I had no difficulties whatsoever in saving most of my salary for that purpose. I daresay 80% of the money was mine."
Piotr sighed heavily, her ocean blue eyes glowing in rage. "At least you got a fine job... because you accepted it, right?"
"...not really, I had to decline it." Truth was she was bankrupt. She couldn't have afforded renting the filthiest apartment in Moscow, one of the most expensive cities in the world.
Unfortunately, there was nothing her lawyers could have done about it. She would never get her savings back despite the community property regime because both spouses had had access to that bank account. The legal measures she had taken against him had borne no fruit whatsoever, and Vera would never see that money again unless her ex-husband decided to give it back to her.
Suddenly, a dreadful silence fell among them and, once again, it was Ingrid who broke it. "What about, you know... the animal attacks? Are you still working on it?"
Vera winced.
She had been well-informed about the multiple animal attacks that had been terrifying Beacon Hills for months. Apparently, some things never changed.
As the family to one of the victims, her parents had long ago assumed that they had lost a beloved one to a wild mountain lion. When Vera heard about the horrible mishap and the ludicrous police report, a bad mental breakdown got her locked in Eichen House for quite a time. Perhaps that was the reason she got into Folklore in the first place, to explain the said animal attacks through what many people would say was a superstitious field of study.
She knew it was somewhat ridiculous, but Vera was a magnificent scholar. It was inconceivable after all that there were so many deaths registered in such implausible scenarios here and there – not to mention the excessive amount of cases that had been emerging lately within the same geographical area.
It was thanks to her skills that she had gotten a few theories to the accidents. Sadly, she could hardly prove them real. She could hardly prove these murders, these sacrifices and werewolves real. Everyday she would drive from Irkutsk to a neighbouring town that, similarly to Beacon Hills, had become extremely unpopular due to its animal attacks.
These unfortunate confrontation between wolves and humans had turned the Siberian community into an interesting spot for freaks like her. For three long years, Vera read different research files and wrote both fiction and further studies on the matter. Needless to say, she also improved her English and her accent was not as crappy anymore.
Vera knew her father did not approve such involvement; he believed that her engagement in the issue would only give him unnecessary pain. "No, not anymore," she lied quite convincingly though in reality she was genuinely considering signing up in the police station as a translator, and asking the sheriff a few questions about the cases. She remembered Sheriff Stilinski as a very decent and good man. It was partly thanks to him that Vera was capable of speaking Polish...
She suddenly felt so uncomfortable that she excused herself and opened the door to her former bedroom. Everything had remained untouched since she got economically independent and moved out, except for the wardrobe that her step-mother had occupied with unnecessary winter clothes and sheets and blankets.
There was a huge map and a cork board beside her queen size bed: the former was marked with different pins that indicated the places she had visited in the US, and the latter was filled with Polaroid photographs. The walls were painted in a light grey and the duvet was black and dark red. Every other piece of furniture was perfectly preserved and replete of different books and tapes and discs.
Vera decided that she needed a drink, and even though she hadn't been to Beacon Hills sufficiently enough to know about its bars, she knew that her friend Elena now owned the old –and only– Irish pub downtown. In fact, she made sure to visit it the infrequent times she was in town.
She unplugged her phone, left the battery still functioning in the wall, and made a promise: she would only come back home drunk.
The full moon was coming and his emotions were once again at their peak. Ever since Derek had acquired his full wolf form he felt renewed, redeemed after years of self-hatred and constant disgrace.
Along with Braeden, Derek had gone find his sister to put an end to her everlasting absence. They went south, and while he was relieved and overjoyed that he had his sibling back, he was also highly disappointed that Braeden had been hired in Argentina for a last-minute and utterly unsafe job.
Though Derek and Braeden had never been romantically involved, they were emotionally –and physically– united. They shared the same philosophy and secrets, a deep sense of complicity and companionship, and complemented one another. That's why there was a brief moment as she walked off into the sunset, that Derek seriously considered starting over with her and Cora in South America.
Yet there he was, drowning his regret in a glass of scotch in a pub full of joyous people in their happy twenties. He just hadn't been able to give up on the Beacon Hills gang so easily... they were all part of this enormous, intimate and faithful pack. Jeez, even the idiot of Stiles was part of it!
Derek took the glass to his lips and hid a smirk behind his thumb, then, he gulped the remaining alcoholic liquid.
He looked around and called the bartender, a dark-haired woman that had already served him five rounds, and asked for a refill. She looked at him fixedly, as though she was trying to find any sign of drunkenness in his sober self. Seeing that he looked just fine, she bit her nails hesitantly and poured more whisky into his glass. One of the perks and drawback to being a werewolf was their inability to get intoxicated. He usually didn't drink much and often... doing so in vain was very boring indeed.
He mouthed a 'thank you' before tasting the liquor once again.
For some reason, the hurried tapping heels of a woman distracted him almost immediately. A lady in her late twenties with a blinding beauty and sandy hair had just entered the pub with a shady but attractive look nonetheless in her face. She was fair and ivory pale, and had the most electric blue eyes he'd ever seen in a human.
When their gazes met, Derek noticed her heart rate had increased considerably. Surprisingly, so did his. He immediately stiffened, hypnotized by her cat-like eyes and her somehow suggestive eye bags. If Derek was used to, sometimes even annoyed by the effect his physical appearance had on women, he was this time flattered by the non-verbal adulation and equally overwhelmed by her gorgeousness.
She raised her chin and forced a civil smile for a second, but she obviously didn't greet him, a complete stranger. Derek stared at her openly, and he couldn't help feeling disappointed as he caught a glimpse of her wedding ring. Then, ignoring her frenetic heartbeat, the blonde went past him and to the other side of the counter.
Judging by the bartender's reaction, both women were very dear to each other. The bartender let out a piercing, high-pitched scream and hugged her to suffocation.
"Oh, my God! Vera! I didn't expect you here until tomorrow!" She said excitingly as she poured two glasses of red wine, one for a costumer, another one for the newcomer.
The blonde gladly accepted the glass and took a long gulp before unconsciously putting her hair up into a bun, ready to help. But first, she approached the computer and played as loudly as it was permitted a variety of Limp Bizkit, Papa Roach, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Seether and other bands he didn't recognise.
The crowd was gradually getting bigger now that the old Irish pub had been redecorated. In addition, the new owner offered a bigger variety of spirits, quality beers, everyday concerts and extraordinary rock and folk music sessions.
The boring walls were now covered in photos, stickers and posters. It was then that Derek noticed the teen version of the mysterious blonde in some of the pictures. The former pub had been the ultimate meeting spot for the previous generations of Beacon Hills High, including his, and still remained the same. In fact, Derek realized he knew many of the people that gathered together in the counter, in the pool, or smoked a cigarette outside.
"I couldn't deal with that bullshit anymore," the so-called Vera replied in a distinctive foreign accent.
If it wasn't for his supersensitive werewolf ear, he would have never been able to intrude in their conversation.
Immediately, the bartender seemed to remember a very important detail that concerned her friend and her face contorted in a pitiful grimace. "Shit, I forgot that actually happened. Are you alright?"
Vera closed her eyes strongly for a split second and her lips lifted in a sarcastic smile. "I had to give up my dream job for a dickhead. My life was ruined and now I'm living with my parents. Does sound to you I'm alright? I'm 27 years old, for fuck's sake. I worked really hard. This shouldn't be happening to me." The blonde hissed and Derek's eyebrows rose at her bitterness.
The dark-haired woman looked at Vera with her big black eyes and gave her an encouraging smile of lip-gloss. "What you need is to get laid urgently, my friend. How long has it been?"
"I'm not telling you that," Vera scoffed... as if!
"Okay, I can only assume it's been a while." Elena drawled, making her friend turn on her feet to study critically the possible victims like an actual predator. "Look around, nearly everyone in this room is looking at you. You are the exotic outlander every man would love to bang."
It didn't go unnoticed to Derek all the mixed feelings that her appearance had triggered. He could feel all kind of emotions: surprise, shyness, envy, lust... arousal. Slightly embarrassed, Derek looked down to his glass of scotch and the blonde huffed grumpily.
"Come on, I'm serious!" Elena whined. "Choose one. Choose one man, do your magic and get the hell out of my sight. You need this."
"I'd rather not to. Not today." She insisted, but unconsciously, her eyes looked for Derek's.
"What about him?" Elena asked coquettishly, and immediately Derek could feel Elena's stare on him and Vera's excited heartbeat in his head.
"...no." She said, and, to his surprise, she wasn't lying. She genuinely didn't want to sleep with him, as much as her body desired him...
Not like he would have accepted. She was wearing a wedding ring, for God's sake. He would never get involved in an extramarital affair.
"Why not?! He's super hot!"
After a few seconds of deliberation, Vera shook her head. "He looks like a good man."
Unconsciously, Derek looked up at her in bemusement and, for a moment, he could swear he saw her blush much to her dismay.
"So? That's what every woman is looking for! That's what you deserve!"
"I don't want to get involved with good men. I'm a broken toy. They deserve better. Plus, I need to focus on my work." Vera responded, pouring black beer into a jar and handing it over to a random jock in the bar. Then, she took a sip of her red wine, and their chatter became too intense and too quick for his taste.
"What work? I thought you said you didn't accept your dream job."
"I'm not talking about that job. I'm talking about my usual job."
"...Vera, I thought we were over that." Suddenly, the atmosphere between them turned very serious, especially as the blonde stated:
"I will never be over that. These animal attacks..." Derek frowned curiously at the keyword. He hated that everyone in Beacon Hills was somehow related to the infamous animal attacks he had partly been responsible for. "There are much more than that. A mountain lion didn't just kill her, Elena. I've got proof: old documents, bestiaries, diaries, testimonies."
"These are no consistent proofs, Vera. In fact, there's nothing to proof! There are animal attacks. You're being paranoid. Please, stop!"
"..." Suddenly, the fine glass in Vera's hand broke into hundreds of pieces, staining her light blue blouse in red. The sudden smell of blood gave him goose bumps. No matter how many times he had severely harmed and gotten hurt, he would never get used to such odour. "I'm being paranoid, you say." She cautiously repeated, not affected in the slightest by the thumping pain in her palm, though the glass breaking had startled her.
At the realization of her harsh words, Elena stopped midway the sink and turned in shock to her friend. That was an unfortunate choice of words for a former Eichen House patient. Thankfully, all the costumers were too absorbed in their corresponding conversation to react to such scene. "Sorry, I didn't mean to call you that."
Flashbacks of her time in Eichen House crossed her mind in fast-forward. "I'm being insane, you say." She whispered, crushed and indignant with such choice of words.
"I never said that. Here, let me help you with that." Elena pleaded, attempting to check the fresh wound with motherly care.
But Vera stepped back. Her hand was tense, unmoving, and her face was now expressionless. "I'm jet-lagged," She said. "I should probably leave now."
Derek remained in his place for a few more minutes, battling the strange, unexpected need of rushing behind the blonde woman and asking her if she was really alright. But that wasn't him.
Sure, Derek cared about his family. Derek cared about his friends. He cared about innocent people to some degree, too, because he despised injustices and he also had a sense of empathy everyone believed to be inert.
But that didn't mean he was caring. He wasn't caring at all, not even with his nearest and dearest, unless the situation required it, of course. It was therefore a rarity in him to follow her.
So he didn't. He was sure the woman could take care of her bleeding palm just fine, he was sure her heart would soon be mended, and he was damn sure she wasn't a threat, despite everything she had said about the unfortunate 'animal attacks'. The best thing to do was let her be.
Derek hastily grabbed a few pennies and dollars from his pocket, he placed them all uninterestedly in the counter and abandoned the pub with the whisky warming up his throat and belly.
The keys to his Camaro danced in his fingers, and just when he was about to start his car, he saw the mysterious woman curse and groan loudly in a random alley things like "Shit! That hurts! FUCK!" and other words in a language he didn't understand.
Derek refused to help her and stubbornly grabbed the steering wheel, but the Camaro didn't move. Finally, he let out a small growl and rolled down the window in the passenger's seat.
"Do you need a ride?" He asked, and the woman fell in complete silence as soon as she saw him.
Her hair was unruly, her eyes were glassy and her blouse was soaked in red wine – probably blood, too. She was a complete mess, and still, there was something in her, Derek thought, something fascinating and equally disturbing that captured his attention.
"No, thank you." She politely replied and Derek rolled his eyes dramatically. Of course, no one in his or her right mind would accept such offer from a stranger. Little did she know, Derek was a stranger that could be trusted.
"Are you sure? I can drop you off anywhere you want." Derek persisted, his green eyes glowing in the faint moonlight.
"...no. I'll walk." Vera headed down the road, holding up the tears in her eyes.
Derek smirked briefly at her obstinacy and started the car. He drove by her side very slowly, and pulled over when she stopped. "At least let me see that. You'll probably need a stitch or two."
Vera narrowed her eyes. Finally, reluctantly and very gently, she opened the door to climb up into the passenger's seat.
Her legs were the first thing Derek admired from a short distance. The foreigner was as tall as he was, making her legs one of her best attributes. He couldn't appreciate them in their entirety because she was wearing pleated grey wool trousers, but they were long and they were probably appealing, too. She was wearing black and golden d'Orsay pumps, and the only exposed skin waist down were her ankles and feet.
Vera shut the door in a soft click. Her heart rate was going crazy at this point and Derek knew she was anxious, scared even.
But Derek meant no harm to her. Instead, he delicately grabbed her hand and placed it under the faint light of the car. Her skin was cold and smooth. Her almond-shape nails were dirty in blood and there were different cuts in her fingers and a deep one in her palm. She had some crystal pieces attached to her skin, small and big glasses she didn't dare to remove on her own.
Eventually, Derek tilted his head and stared at her intensely. "I should probably take you to the hospital." Derek told her.
"No." Her hand was nearly shaking and the woman was having a hard time breathing regularly. After her hard refusal, Vera looked at him apologetically, and explained: "I don't have health insurance at the moment and I refuse to pay for such a basic need."
Derek frowned, considering an alternative option. "I've got a first-aid kit in the boot." He announced, and came back with the said medical equipment. He then grabbed a bandage, surgical tape and pliers, and a bottle of iodine.
"Have you got any experience with this?"
Had he? Well, not really. As a werewolf, Derek could heal miraculously fast and naturally. Fortunately, the following procedure was not too difficult. The only complication would be sewing the wound... he was not squeamish and hoped she wasn't, too.
"...sort of." He responded after a moment of hesitation. Before giving her a chance to complain, Derek grabbed her hand, this time more firmly, and after removing all the crystal pieces, he warned her: "This will hurt."
Vera suppressed a cry at the stinging pain of the iodine bubbling in her flesh. Surprisingly, she endured the sewing process quite good, once the chemical liquid had stop burning her skin. When Derek proceeded to bandage her hand, he paused at the sight of her wedding ring. "You should probably take it off and wash it."
Vera made a funny face. "Actually, I should probably take it off and throw it away."
She removed the ring from her finger. The gold was stained in blood, a sign that perhaps her marriage was never meant to succeed. She then realized she wasn't married anymore, her eyes fixed in the circular metal at the realization.
Derek cleared her throat awkwardly and the blonde left the wedding ring on the control panel.
"Sorry." She apologized. When Derek finished bandaging her delicate hand, she enclosed his and stared at the werewolf in gratitude. "What's your name?"
"Derek Hale." He responded, completely subjugated to her touch.
"My name is Vera."
"So I heard."
Derek's body temperature was overwhelmingly higher than her rickety and freezing fingers, and yet she found great comfort in his warmness. If it wasn't for her wounded hand, she would have held his even tighter.
Vera and Derek turned their gazes from their interlaced hands to each other's eyes, and found themselves wrapped up in a mixed feeling of desire, wonder and curiosity. They were unconsciously drawing themselves closer as their minds begged for common sense and implored self-control. Simultaneously, they both moved away and sat stiffly in their corresponding seats.
"I'm declining your offer of dropping me off, if you don't mind." Vera said, to which Derek replied immediately with a sequence of nods. "Good." She smiled awkwardly, grabbed her things, and left.
Derek couldn't believe just how hypnotizing Vera was. He was usually silent, but was rarely left speechless.
Freshly shifted from his full wolf form to his own, Derek ran upstairs to get dressed for Cora's big return to society. His sister was currently asleep in the darkness of the expiring night, but Derek was more than bright to get ready and drop her off at high school where she was expected to graduate.
According to his watch, it was eight o'clock when she got out of the shower and covered her body with a towel... that meant she still had half an hour to go.
Cora was usually fast and swift; that time, however, she made an incredible amount of effort smartening up for her first day as a junior at Beacon Hills High School. The mere thought made Derek grin discretely, his hands dancing effortless all around the steering wheel of his dashing car. Once enrolled in the institution, the headmaster shook Cora's hand welcomingly and suggested she'd attend her first class.
Derek escorted her down the corridors and towards the assigned classroom. Overwhelmed by his excitement, Cora couldn't help sighing dramatically and confronting her brother before entering the already occupied classroom. "I'll take it from here, Derek. You can leave now."
Derek nodded but stayed outside a little bit longer, simply observing his sister take a seat from the oval window of the door.
In that moment, the familiar sound of heels interrupted him. Just beside him there was Vera, the blonde woman he had aided the previous night in the Irish pub. Her hand was bandaged perfectly, even more perfectly than yesterday, and Derek was glad the smell of blood was now gone.
He noticed just how classily and conservatively she dressed. She was firmly holding a folder; her arms were open at the coincidence of meeting him again. Coach Finstock greeted him uninterestedly with a nod before entering the classroom, then Vera approached playfully.
There was a name badge nicely placed over her breast that said Vera Holland, and her wedding ring was missing... she had probably forgotten it in his car. If she did, she didn't seem to care the least. In fact, Vera loathed reading her ex-husband's last name on her badge and was looking forward to change back to her maiden name now that she had recently divorced.
"Well, well... I'm surprised to find a young adult like you in high school. Usually, we all want to skip this horrible phase and go on our merry way... What are you exactly doing here, Derek Hale?" She pronounced his name very slowly and for the first time. It was a weird but pleasant thing to hear. Derek smirked and he crossed his brawny over his chest. Vera shrugged awkwardly. She had to admit meeting Derek in this circumstance inspired her much more confidence than the previous night. "Please tell me you're the new math teacher. Men with brains are the new sexy."
"Oh, I do have brains," Derek raised his eyebrows at the odd compliment, "but I'm not a teacher, I'm Cora's brother and legal guardian. Are you?" Pause. "A teacher, I mean?" He reluctantly asked, recalling the time he first met Jennifer and how he no longer trusted any other professors.
"No," she dismissively waved her hand, and proudly said: "I'm a writer and researcher. I'm also a professional ice-skater but that's not the point." She grinned, not arrogantly but rather humbly, and then grabbed the doorknob. "It was nice seeing you again."
Almost immediately, Derek heard Cora's voice greeting at unison at the fashionable woman, who appeared to be an honoured guest in Beacon Hills High. Then, he heard her sister hiss warningly at him: "I swear, big brother, if you don't stop staring, I'll skin your face with my claws as soon as I get home."
"Lovely," Stiles said, having overheard Cora's threat, and decided to stare at her shamelessly. "For a moment there, I had completely forgotten you were a Hale."
Derek smirked at Cora's brutality and heard her growl at Stiles, whose agitation vanished as soon as he saw Dr. Holland. That's when he decided he should probably take his leave.
"Believe it or not," Vera said as she wrote her full name and e-mail in the blackboard with a ridiculously elegant handwriting. "I was once a student in Beacon Hills High, too. My father married an American woman and I was practically compelled to leave Russia and move to California. I hold no good memories of my high school years, but I've been asked to introduce you to my field of study and I couldn't find a way to decline the offer. No offense."
"None taken," Stiles responded comically and Lydia Martin rolled her eyes.
The teenager was literally drooling over Vera, and the banshee couldn't help but groan at the predictability. Sometimes, Stiles' simplicity was by all means irritating, too. Surprisingly, instead of ignoring him like all the teachers did, Dr. Holland arched an eyebrow and scoffed slightly at him, as though his interruption was completely unnecessary but funny at the same time, which it was.
"And who might you be?" she inquired.
"Stilinski." When Stiles said his name, Cora and Scott sensed a peak on the woman's heart rate and watched as Vera formed a rictus in her lips. It was probably nothing... and yet, they both shared a look of cautiousness at the oddity, and proceeded heeding her speech.
In the meantime, Vera read the names of the students that had to sign the assistance list. When he found Stiles' her smile grew wider; this time all Cora could sense was excitement.
* "A! Zawsze miło jest poznać kolegę słowiańskiego pochodzenia. Wybacz, mój polski jest słaby, urodziłam się w Rosji."
"Eerm, yeah... my Polish is kind of rusty, too." Stiles replied awkwardly.
Content with that response, Dr. Holland clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace around the classroom with a frigid look in her eyes.
There was something in that woman, Cora thought, something that drawned her attention. Not in the bad way... it wasn't like she already mistrusted her, in fact, she had really enjoyed her small conference and she had even grown fond of her. Sure, she was overconfident and slithgly sinister but she reminded her of Derek, so weary and grouchy on the outside.
"I don't trust her." Stiles announced so stubbornly he even ignored Malia's flirty eyes.
The entire gang was now gathered out in the school grounds, a piece of fruit or a can of soda in their hands. Cora was trying to keep herself distracted at the sickly-sweet view and nosing around Lydia's fashion magazine. She had just met Kira and Malia, and while she was fond of Scott's new girlfriend, she ardently disapproved Stiles' new partner.
Last time Cora was in Beacon Hills, nothing had really happened between Stiles and her, but she was deep down hoping it someday would. She was now too late to make any move, true, but that wouldn't stop her from secretly judging the freshly formed couple.
It didn't go unnoticed to Cora that Malia looked at her cautiously, too. Malia wasn't sure she wanted to be around the Hales for extended periods of time, not after finding out who her real father was, but Cora was unaware about Malia's worries, and she immediately assumed they would just never get along.
"You don't trust, who?" Cora asked quite harshly, her eyes back to the colourful pages of the magazine.
"The Russian writer, I don't trust her." He confessed, looking at his accomplice in mischief and best friend Scott McCall.
The true alpha held Kira's waist tightly. "You looked like you wanted to jump her bones, dude. Why don't you trust her, again?" Scott asked. He was carrying his helmet now that last period had ended. He was hoping to go home early and help his mother with some housework when Lydia assembled them all to have a relaxed friend-time for old times' sake.
"I've got this feeling about her. Last time we got a new teacher she ended up being the darach, don't you guys remember?"
"You're being unfair." Lydia replied. "Plus, she is not even our teacher."
"She showed us her research, Lydia. She wrote about werewolves!"
"Yeah... and about Slavic mythology and American tales, too. Did you know that there was a strong belief about wolves in Slavic countries?" Lydia added matter-of-factly. "Perhaps her cultural environment made her a werewolf freak."
"There was also a strong fear about vampires in Romania." Kira added.
"Don't be ridiculous, Kira. Vampires do not exist." Malia said.
"You're a werecoyote, everything's possible." Cora argued, rolling her eyes.
"She is interested in the supernatural, so what." Lydia continued. "That doesn't mean she's part of it. Come on, Le Meneur de Loups is compulsory reading, for God's sake, and we are not condemning our French teacher for that. I think she's harmless, not to mention ignorant."
"Ms. Blake seemed quite ignorant, too, turned out to be a pretty good actress." Stiles argued; shoulders shrugged at his reasonable accusation.
Cora's eyes glowed resentful at the retrospection, but softened shortly after Scott confessed he actually liked that woman, too. "Just because you went through a hell of calamities doesn't mean you can accuse carelessly." Cora said rather calmly. It was obvious her voice softened whenever she talked to Stiles directly, unless she was pulling his leg or... just being mean to see him blush.
"I was about to say that," Scott agreed, scratching a deteriorated sticker off his helmet, hoping it would be easily removed. "We can't make enemies based on nothing."
"What we need to do is to enjoy our free time now that Beacon Hills is back to normality, guys," Lydia added, raising her index finger obstinately. "That's why we're throwing a party tomorrow night and enjoying our last year as juniors."
"I don't want to be a killjoy, Lydia, but last time we threw a party someone got murdered in your lake house." Stiles said, not in the mood for parties and deep down missing the dangerous times of action.
"That's why we are not throwing a party in my property anymore." Lydia smiled bitterly, eyes back to the makeup section of the magazine.
It was sad, but they'd all forgotten how to have fun with so many disasters taking over their lives, and Cora couldn't help but feeling disappointed. After the Hale house fire, it seemed that fun time was going to be over for the rest of their lives. She could barely remember the last time she attended a proper party without any other creature spoiling it, both in Beacon Hills and South America. Damn it, she couldn't even remember the last time she saw her brother have a good time in any circumstances. "We can throw a party in my place." She suggested without really thinking about it or how Derek would react to her spontaneous decision.
Her friends stared at her quite dubious; Stiles was especially unsettled with the proposition but Cora was pretty sure he would end up considering it. "I'm not sure about that." He murmured, hands in pockets.
"We threw a blacklight party in your place once. It wasn't exactly us, but we were definitely involved." Lydia explained, turning on the bench to face Cora properly. "And it didn't turn out well. Derek got really pissed and we were pestered by the Oni."
"Oni?" Cora questioned.
"Evil spirits, demons," Kira smiled, though she didn't bother to get into detail. They had all lost so much to the Nogitsune and its warriors.
"Lovely," Cora snorted and then continued. "I can handle my brother."
"Guys, it'd be really out of place to throw a party tomorrow, there's this memorial to the 'animal attack victims' in Beacon Hills." Scott interrupted, faking inverted commas with his fingers when he mentioned the dreadful 'animal attacks.'
"Since when do they do that?" Cora wondered; lips pursed at the novelty.
"I don't know, maybe since Beacon Hills lost a quarter of its scarce population to crazy werewolf attacks?" Stiles theatrically wondered.
"We can do it tonight, then." Lydia proposed, but the idea was quickly dismissed as there would be a full moon that night.
"Well, I don't care." Cora snapped, then grabbed Lydia's magazine, ready to borrow it and take it home without even asking for permission.
"Hey! I was reading that!" The strawberry-blonde girl complained.
Cora gave her a censurable stare. "The memorial won't last all night long. We can still party tomorrow night." And with that, she flashed down the street, straight to Derek's loft.
"How was your day?" Her brother asked.
"It was good." Cora simply replied, dropping her backpack carelessly to the ground and popping some dried fruit and nuts into her mouth.
"Your general eloquence surprises me every time." Derek replied sarcastically, eyes back to the local newspaper.
"What do you want to know?" Cora shrugged, jumping onto the couch and resting her feet on Derek's lap. His brother sharply swiped her feet back to the ground and stared at Cora with censurable eyes. Cora sighed dramatically, as it was so common in the Hale family, and said: "It was a normal high school day. PE's the only thing I'm genuinely good at."
"And?" Derek asked, trying to break the ice and have an actual family time that involved no werewolf chat. Derek put aside the newspaper, ready to have a serious fatherly talk. Sure, they were siblings, but he played the leading role of the family and resembled an actual dad now that he was responsible of Cora's welfare.
"Today was some sort of introductory day. We mostly had small talks about this and that speciality, and a brief orientation on university applications. I sat between Stiles and Lydia in nearly every period and she was especially amazed by a doctor that lectured us on nanotechnology."
Derek was glad he didn't need to pretend around his sister and raised his eyebrows in complete indifference. Honestly, whenever the gang was not busy getting themselves into trouble or worse, getting themselves killed, Derek didn't care much about their routines, let alone their academic preferences. "I'm not interested in Lydia, I'm interested in you."
Cora shrugged, looking at her now exposed claws and her hairy skinny fingers. It was amazing to see her turning on her own will, just because she felt like it. "I'm seriously considering getting in touch with Dr. Holland." At her name, Derek stared at his sister curiously. "Folk studies can sure be useful in our everyday life. Besides, it doesn't sound that bad. I can be a best-selling author like her. I've surely experienced enough to write a book."
Folk studies? Derek wondered. Was that her speciality? As though Cora had just read his mind, she nodded and elaborated a new explanation:
"Yes, in fact, she's devoted her life to prove the existence of werewolves."
Derek frowned. Yes, he remembered the woman mentioning the animal attacks, but he was unaware she was professionally engaged to said matter, too.
"Stiles doesn't completely trust her... but I think she's harmless." Cora continued. "There was one moment, though... it was weird. I could hear her heartbeat changing drastically when he met Stiles. It was as though she knew him, but he did not. Weird."
Both siblings remained thoughtful and silent for a few minutes. They were like two peas in a pod when it came to... well, everything: appearance, gestures and behaviour.
Immediately right after the silent break, Cora jumped in excitement when she remembered she had to have Derek informed about the party she was throwing, with or without his consent, of course.
"I have to tell you something. Tell you, not ask." She rapidly added, standing beside him now. Derek frowned, looking cautiously at his sister. "I'm throwing a party tomorrow. In here."
Derek's face darkened and he gave his sister a sharp chuckle. "No way, my answer is no."
"Well, I already told you I wasn't asking. You can do whatever you want tomorrow. You can either join us or go away."
"Do you seriously think I'd be pleased to join a bunch of teenagers in a party? Wait, let me rephrase that, do you seriously think I'll give you my consent to throw a party in my place? No, absolutely no."
"It's my place, too." Cora insisted, and for one moment, she really considered throwing a party would never be an option with Derek barking around.
"That is disputable. I'm the owner of this apartment. I make living in this place actually possible."
Cora smiled bitterly. There was no way he'd win this argument. "With the money of our family which also belongs to me."
"Not yet. Not until you're legally an adult."
"I'm sorry, Derek, but I'm doing this. I need to fit in."
"You don't need to throw a party to fit in, Cora." Derek argued, this time calmer, and he placed his hands on Cora's shoulders.
"Let me rephrase that," Cora echoed. "I need to feel normal. I want to feel normal. I want to do what normal teenagers do for once and one of those things is throwing a party for an exclusive number of friends. I'm getting tired of always being the prudent werewolf. You know them, Derek. It's not like they're going to get so crazy we'll have the cops nagging around."
Derek was about to disagree, but all of a sudden Scott burst in their property, walking heavily. Derek and Cora sensed his concern right away and stared at the defiant boy like expectant hunting dogs. "I don't mean to worry you, but there's some big news I have to tell you about, big bad news."
* Translation: It's always nice to find a Slavic partner. Please, forgive my trashy Polish, I was born in Russia.
A/N: Hello! I've been worrying about this story for months, thinking if I should post it or not. I guess I couldn't help it, and I guess I will continue provided the feedback is positive and you enjoy reading it. Please, do tell me if you want me to post another chapter, or if I should quit writing it. Thank you! Drop a review?