Part 1: Taste

Lydia Martin had decided that enough was enough. In a town where werewolves were popping up out of every nook and cranny, where her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend really) could turn into a deranged and bloodthirsty lizard-thing-whatever and where the dead came back to life, no one would have blamed her for holing up in bed, terrified to leave the supposed safety of her home until kingdom come. But that sort of cowardice was beneath Lydia. Oh, hell no was she going to let a little thing like suddenly becoming Beacon Hills' danger zone get in the way of finishing out Junior year with the type of grace and perfection that were the very hallmarks of her being. No. Nothing short of the apocalypse was going to ruin her high school experience. And while being psychically linked to a mass murdering former Alpha was certainly unpleasant, it wasn't anything that she couldn't handle with some good old fashioned therapy – of the retail kind.

Lydia Martin was going shopping.

There wasn't anyone to go with her. Allison had disappeared (gone off with pouty faced Scott McCall to do the dirty, no doubt). And there wasn't anyone else amongst the female population of Beacon Hills High who she could bother to speak with at the moment so…it was just Lydia and daddy's credit card at the mall for the present sojourn. Not that she really needed anyone else. Her ability to shop was unparalleled. It was only a shame that no one else was there to witness it.

The fitting rooms of the shop that she favored were lavishly decorated and large enough to fit several people per room. The girls at the shop knew her by sight so when she breezed by them and headed into the last open stall with an armful of items, they merely smiled at her, knowing that she never needed any assistance. Lydia smiled back with lips pressed into a carefully practiced bow.

Closing the door of the dressing room behind her, she crossed the room and hung up four dresses on four pegs on the opposite wall. Fingering the hem of a particularly pretty pink dress, she pursed her lips. Was pink too passé at this point? No. No, of course not. It was one of her best colors even if the last time she'd worn pink had been during…

The door quietly opened behind her.

"I don't need any help," she huffed, eyes flicking between garments. Really, how many times did she have to tell them not to bother her while she was on the cusp of a sartorial revelation? One hand reached out to straighten a delicate rose (not pink – there was a difference) dress on its hanger.

"I'm glad to hear it," a mockingly sincere voice murmurs from right next to the delicate shell of her ear. Lydia's eyes widen and a bolt of adrenaline races straight through her, electrifying every nerve ending. "Rumor has it that you've gone all Beautiful Mind on me."

She whirls around at the same time that two hands clamp down on her waist, spinning her until she and Peter Hale are chest to chest and she is pressed up against the wall, tulle and lace dresses bunched up behind her. His figure looms over her, tall and lean with muscles that are deceptively relaxed. His blue eyes gaze down at her with amusement and the edges of his lips are curled into a lazy smirk. There's something about that smirk that sparks something deep within her and in the blink of an eye, Lydia's terror turns into rage. A crack sounds in the room as her hand connects with Peter's cheek, swiftly turning his head to the side with the force of her slap (because, or course, Lydia is the type of girl who knows how to deliver a slap). Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's wondering why he let her hit him. The thought is mostly overshadowed by horrible images of what he is going to do to her in return.

Slowly, he turns back to face her with half lidded eyes and inhales with deceptive calm. He tilts his head and leans in close and the fingers around her waist tighten almost painfully. There is nowhere for her to go. Her eyes are wide in her face as she presses into the wall. It's on the tip of her tongue to apologize, to say something – anything – to save herself. But Lydia is nothing if not proud. "You deserved that," she rasps instead, the words sticking to the back of her throat with fear. His eyes flick open and she sees that the amusement in his eyes has flared into…

…delight.

"Mmm," he moans low in his throat. "Oh, Lydia. I've missed you, too." A languid grin creeps across his face.

Crack!

His head turns to the other side and he has the audacity to chuckle, low in his throat. When she slaps him for the third time, his eyes flash electric blue and a fang catches her ring finger, slicing it open and smearing the edge of his mouth with her blood. His hand flashes out to catch hers and she gasps.

"I think that's enough, don't you?" he says with that same amusement that makes her blood boil. The tip of his tongue laps up her blood from the edge of his mouth and his eyelashes flutter just the tiniest bit in pleasure before he swoops down and cleans off the blood from her finger with warm lips. When his tongue swipes around the sensitive tip of her finger, she feels the pleasure/pain of it all the way down to her toes. They stare at each other, Lydia's heart in her throat, until his eyes drop down to the gap in her shirt, where just the tiniest bit of (tasteful) cleavage is peaking out of her button up. There is a drop of blood just there, sliding down between the valley of her breasts. His eyes flick back up to hers.

"Don't you dare," she whispers.

"Or what?" he whispers back, all sparkling eyes and hard hands. He moves just the tiniest fraction closer to her, his thigh sliding in-between her legs, hitching up the edge of her skirt. She knows he can hear the thunderous beat of her heart. He can probably even see it with the way his eyes are glued to her chest.

"I'll scream," she says as firmly as she can. He hears the waver in her voice.

"Sweetheart, if you were going to scream, you would have done it ages ago." He swoops in just as she opens her mouth and swallows her cry with his kiss. One hand locks behind her head as the other pulls her flush against him and she can feel every hard line of his body – can feel just how much he is enjoying their kiss by the alarming size of the appendage pressed against her hip. She stiffens in shock but it's over quickly, leaving Lydia hot and dizzy with a rush of strange feelings she can't quite (won't) place. His forehead presses against hers. "You taste..." His lips part and she can see the tip of his pink tongue dart along the edges of his teeth. "...sweet." Something hot flashes inside of her and she doesn't know whether to be disturbed or outraged or, god help her, aroused. "You're such a lovely distraction," he continues. The scale tips towards outrage.

"Get off of me!"

The heat and weight of him is gone immediately. A knock sounds at the door and one of the sales girls – Brittany – cautiously leans her head in.

"Lydia, is everything alright?"

Taking a half hysterical look around the room, Lydia sees that she is alone. For a frightening moment, she wonders if she imagined him. The pain in her throbbing finger as it slowly oozes blood says otherwise though and the relief that sweeps through her makes her knees shake as she realizes that her mind is not playing tricks on her. Peter was here. He was real.

"Lydia?" Brittany is looking at her now with a hint of worry mixed with unease. Lydia knows what she's thinking of course. Straightening herself, she gives Brittany a withering look.

"Of course, Jessica. How many times do I have to ask you not to bother me in here?"

"Actually, it's um, Bri-"

"It's what?" Lydia says with biting disdain – the kind that has caused not a few girls to cry – and Brittany falters and visibly shrinks.

"Um, nothing." She meekly closes the door. As soon as she does, Lydia slumps to the floor, heart racing. It had been cruel, breaking Brittany down like that but it was the quickest way to get her to leave so that Lydia could have her own little private meltdown. She gives herself exactly ninety seconds before firmly pulling herself back together and walking out of the changing room, leaving the dresses behind her untouched. She has bigger things to worry about than deciding what to wear to junior prom.

As she is about to leave, Brittany comes up to her and guilt creeps up Lydia's spine. "Brittany, thanks but I'm not getting anything today."

Brittany blinks in surprise and smiles in pleasure. Lydia Martin had remembered her name. "Um, actually, your boyfriend already paid for you." There's a paper bag already in her hand and she hands it to Lydia, who takes it numbly.

"Thank you," Lydia says automatically, not bothering to correct the girl. Besides – is there really a difference between boyfriend and tormentor these days? She swallows and turns abruptly on her heel, hurrying to her car and locking herself in. She eyes the bag that has been tossed on the passenger seat like it's a poisonous snake, ready to strike, and contemplates throwing it out of the car but really, curiosity has always been one of her weaknesses and before she can stop herself she's opening the bag and pulling out what's inside.

It's a dress of course, long and silky and sleek with a sweetheart neckline to give it just a hint of the daintiness that she prefers. She knows that it will hug every inch of her body in just the right ways before flaring out just above her knees into a bell. It's gorgeous and her fingers tremble slightly as she caresses the electric blue fabric that is the exact shade of Peter's eyes.

The murderous bastard really did have the most impeccable taste.