Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa McCall were safe, but Scott was gone. They saw him sometimes, in Deucalion's shadow. He looked far removed from the Scott they knew. He acted like he didn't know them. Maybe he was trying to protect them or maybe he was trying to forget who he was before. He was the good guy, the best friend, but he couldn't be those things anymore. All Scott could do now was minimize the damage.
"Find an anchor." Scott had told him. Allison was Scott's anchor. Scott had been his. Isaac felt himself slipping. There was a weight around his ankles pulling him underwater. He couldn't see to the bottom. He didn't know how far or how hard he had to swim against the current or if he wanted to. He held onto Allison to keep from drowning.
Isaac stroked her hair. They weren't looking at each other. How long could they pretend that these were the arms they wanted to be in? She remembered lying naked with Scott. He would rub her back as she fell asleep. This was the closest Isaac had ever been to someone.
Allison looked up at him. She kissed his mouth weakly. He knew she needed this as much as he did. Isaac wondered what her father would think of her falling for another werewolf, but she hadn't fallen for him. She was grieving in a way she imagined they would both come to regret.
His hands closed tightly around the silk-like fabric of her dress, pulling it up over her head. His fingertips touched the lace of her underwear. Allison rested her hands over his to stop them from trembling. She undid her bra. She stood before him naked. He looked at the freckles on her milky skin, the lines left by her undergarments, her small, but perfect breasts, her bony hipbones and knees. In all of her flaw he saw perfection.