"Can I remind you again this is probably illegal?"
"Right Stiles, because you've never done anything even remotely illegal," Bonnie rolled her eyes.
"That's different," Stiles hissed, struggling to keep up. The forest swallowed the crescent moon's light, and his sneakers kept slipping on the damp earth.
It really was different. Tracking a text or hacking into his Dad's radio didn't frighten him nearly as much as the mission Bonnie had convinced - no coerced - him to join.
Bonnie lowered the flashlight, "Is this it?"
"The place where the scariest guy in Beacon Hills who isn't behind bars lives? Yes, Bonnie, I believe so."
Ignoring his comment, she crouched low to the ground, scanning the periphery.
The remains of the Hale house brooded in the shadows, all bone-white walls and eyeless windows. Despite Stiles' abnormal fascination with morbidity, the place never failed to unnerve him. Cemeteries and dead bodies were objects for analysis; you could slot them neatly into the filing cabinet of life and death. But this place? Like a skull's grin, or a headless body twitching: something that lingered against all laws of nature, maimed but unfinished.
"Doesn't look like anyone's home." Bonnie was saying, "No lights in the windows."
Yea that doesn't mean shit. This is Derek Hale. He's probably lurking in the woods ready to maul trespassers.
"Umm the scary black car of Death is here," he pointed out.
Derek's Camaro was indeed parked by some trees close to the house.
"Good. It's what we came for. Ready?"
"No, I'm the unreadiest in the history of unready people."
"Hey, you owe me remember?," her voice took on that soft, implacable quality that made him forget she was small and pretty with a penchant for flowery shirts.
"Look, I said I was sorry for locking you guys in the school, and I'll never ever do it again, now can we please go?"
Bonnie squared her shoulders, "Stiles, this is my dead grandmother's necklace."
"And this is Derek Hale's car you're breaking into."
"He doesn't scare me."
"Well he scares me. Do you know how many times he's threatened to rip my throat out?"
She was already creeping along the trees, "Just stand guard like I asked you to."
He took the flashlight from her while Bonnie whispered some Latin at the car-door.
A blue light flickered and then she was sliding into the car.
Stiles liked Bonnie, he did. Living in a town of werewolves it was refreshing to meet a supernatural creature whose powers didn't involve fur, fangs and raging bloodlust. Plus she was pretty bad-ass when necessary. Aside from Scott she was the only person who'd stood up to the Sourwolf and lived to tell the tale.
"Hurry up-."
She was on all fours across the front seat, searching between the armrest, ass in the air and tight jeans leaving little to his imagination, even in the faint moonlight. He angled his head for a better view. Actually, just take your time. Yea, definitely an improvement on werewolves.
"Take a picture Stiles, it'll last longer."
Shit.
Derek Hale loomed over them, arms crossed and thumbs pointing up. Out of the corner of his eye Stiles saw Bonnie scramble out of the car.
"I know what this looks like -" she held out her palms.
"Hmm, let's see," Derek shrugged. "I look out my window and see two people walk up to my house but instead of ringing the doorbell, they magically pop the locks on my car. I'd say it looks like breaking and entering."
You don't have a doorbell, Stiles almost added but decided against it. Derek seemed to be enjoying Bonnie's mortification, so he took his chance to clear his name, "Can we let the record state state that this was NOT my idea, that I'm here under duress, and that it was NOT my idea. Right Bonnie?"
Derek rolled his eyes, "Yea Stiles I'm sure she threatened to beat you up and made you come all the way to the woods. Why are the two of you breaking into my car?"
Maybe it was his heightened instincts of self-preservation after months of werewolf company, but he could swear a slight growl was creeping into Derek's voice.
"I thought I lost something in here," Bonnie interjected, drawing Derek's attention, "I convinced Stiles to come with me. But it's not here so, we're gonna leave you to...whatever it is you do in a dark house by yourself. Come on Stiles, let's go."
He didn't need to be told twice.
"Hey Bonnie, just a sec," Derek called after them, "What did you lose?"
As far as Stiles was concerned they should just keep high-tailing it while they could. Bonnie paused and after a moment's hesitation faced Derek, "My necklace."
"Well I had the car in the shop yesterday," he shrugged again, "Nothing turned up."
Stiles watched Bonnie's composure slip. Her brow furrowed, mouth opening into a soft "Oh no." He knew how important the necklace was to her, despite the nonchalance she'd been affording Derek.
Derek's own deadpan expression lifted for a moment, "Well uh...we can call the auto-shop and make sure if it's important," he offered.
At this point, Stiles' startled brain got the better of him, "I have to say I'm a fan of solutions that don't threaten anyone's throat. Especially mine."
Derek cut him a mild glare, "Your throat isn't safe."
Right, then.
Bonnie looked indecisive again, clearly as confused by Derek's helpfulness as he was.
"I'm sure it'll turn up," she bit her lip, before adding, "Sorry we tried to break into your car."
Derek took a step towards her. "Okay but uh what does this necklace look like, just in case it turns up?" he asked in a low voice. His expression was as serious and attentive as if Stiles was a mere fly on the wall.
Okay? OKAY? Since when was Derek Hale okay with anything, let alone people invading his car?
"Maybe he's been sniffing some wolfsbane," Stiles muttered to himself.
"It's small, silver," Bonnie was saying, "My um...my grandmother gave it to me."
Is he... smiling?
"Well, I'll keep an eye out, princess."
PRINCESS?
"Yea...thanks. I guess."
"You're welcome," Derek turned and walked back in the house. Stiles noticed that he'd left the car door open, but Bonnie didn't seem too interested in continuing her search. They started heading back and Stiles pondered his miraculously intact jugular.
"Wait...," he grabbed Bonnie's elbow, "Derek calls you 'princess'?"
"One of the many reasons I wanna murder him," she muttered, "Why?"
"I dunno, Bonnie," they continued walking, "That's the nicest thing I've heard Derek call anyone."
"It's not nice, it's condescending."
"It sounded almost...affectionate." Now there's a word I never thought I'd use about the Sourwolf.
"If that's affectionate I can't wait to see straight up friendly."
"Bonnie, we were breaking into his car and he offered to help us find what you lost. He's threatened to kill me before because I stepped on his foot."
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "Hmph, let's just go."
He swallowed the rest of his teasing. Princess though.
Scott's gonna love this.
"What's your poison, Hale?"
"Wolfsbane. But I doubt they make a martini with that," Peter Hale gestured at the bartender.
His companion smiled, "I'm glad you're amusing. I'd hate doing business with a complete stick-in-the-mud."
"I'm flattered. But I doubt you came all the way here and brought me to this -," he gestured at the small, shadowy bar, the peeling paint, the dull, throbbing music, "- charming venue to exchange vague pleasantries."
"Quite right," the man rested his elbows on the bar, clasping his long, elegant fingers together. His hands would look equally apropos around a champagne-flute or a scalpel. "I'm here to inquire after your affairs, or rather, our affairs."
The bartender placed Peter's drink in front of him. Vodka martini on the rocks. He made a face at the dusty glass. Bastard could've at least suggested some place they have a working dishwasher.
He hazarded sip. It was like drinking buffalo piss. Granted, he'd never actually tasted buffalo piss, but he imagined it was tongue-parchingly bitter with a vague aftertaste of grime and stale olive. He coughed it down, "Next time, I choose the rendezvous place,"
"I'm rather hoping the next time will be..," there was a pause, full lips parting for a flash of teeth, "decisive."
"But I was having so much fun getting bossed around by someone my who looks half my age."
"Looks being the operative word. Are we any closer to discovering the Key's whereabouts?"
"No, but I'm working on it." He resented being questioned like a schoolboy, but desperate times and all that, plus if he prided himself on one thing it was the ability to swim with the current.
"And Bonnie Bennett?"
Now there was an interesting question. He'd been keeping tabs on the saucy little witch since she'd arrived in Beacon Hills. He'd briefly considered enlisting Derek's help, figuring someone closer to her age would have better luck gaining her trust. That idea lasted all of three seconds when he'd concluded Derek would either give something away with his signature lack of subtlety, or worse, develop some puerile attachment to the girl. He's been spending too much time with Scott McCall.
"She's a tight-knit little thing, but I have my plans."
"I do hate being a nag, Peter, but might I remind you we're on a bit of a tight schedule."
"I'm aware of that," he pushed the buffalo piss away, "And I have every intention of making this a most auspicious winter solstice."
"For both of us, I hope," the smile never reached the other man's eyes: those were calculating, sardonic, and far too impassive for Peter's liking. A poker player of extraordinary composure.
Well, he had his own cards to deal.
"My dear Klaus, I wouldn't have it any other way."
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