Here is a sneak peek at my new Stydia fic, Immunity. I got several positive reviews, so by popular demand, I'm writing more Stydia! I published the story for about five minutes before realizing I don't have much to go on right now, so you guys are going to be privy to a never-before-seen fic in a few seconds or so. Enjoy, lovelies, and please, please, please review so I know whether to continue or not. I will update with news on progress, so make sure to follow or favorite my account so you'll know what's up. I really appreciate the love. I hope you like it!
Lydia's immune, but not in the way one might think. She's simply immune to the normalcy of turned werewolves. Now, the pack must race the clock to keep Lydia and the rest of Beacon Hills safe from the feral she-wolf she's become before the Alpha pack pays them a visit. The fate of the entire town is resting on the shoulders of an awkward teenage boy. What could go wrong?
Lydia wakes with a dull ache in her side and a stiff neck. She stretches her legs under crisp sheets and cranes her neck to the left. A plain black digital clock, reading 11:23 in startlingly blue numbers, sits next to a glass of water, perilously close to the edge. The table looks like faux wood, Lydia notes, and the sides are peeling slightly. Lydia twists her neck to the right and is met with an IV drip. She follows the liquid in the baggie to a clear tube, twining down the metal stand, up the plastic side of the bed, across the stiff white sheets and into her wrists. Lydia looks away; she feels incredibly fragile with needles stuck past her translucent skin, into her veins. Hidden behind the IV rack is a figure slumped across the wooden arms of two chairs. Not her mom – this is a man, for sure – but the bottoms of the Adidas sneakers aren't ones she's seen lying around her house, so it's not her dad, either. Lydia feels her stomach drop with disappointment at this realization. The figure stirs and arches off the chair arms, releasing a swarm of balloons to the ceiling.
Stiles?
The guy mumbles something about the safety of his Jeep.
Stiles.
Lydia sits up in her hospital bed, pushing herself up with her left arm and cradling her IV'd wrist to her chest. The rough sheets rumple under her in a dissatisfying manner. Lydia glances around the room. Stiles' balloons have skittered across the ceiling and the string on a bright blue one hovers over her feet. She kicks the stifling blankets off her legs and examines them. No obvious problem, except for the stubble dotting her calves. Lydia lifts her flowered hospital gown at the neck and checks over her torso. Nothing but that ache at her side. Upon further inspection, the left side of her torso is circled by two rows of silvery scars, which appear to fade by the second. She narrows her eyes. Something about that ring of scars…
Pain. Pain shooting through her side. Her dress is torn at her side, ripped by the same teeth that tore this wound in her side. Teeth that sliced through her skin. She's bleeding, bleeding and it won't stop and she can't move because it hurts, oh god it hurts. She's dizzy, dizzy, dizzy, sky is spinning around her and the trees reach out to space, away from her. She's crying for them and they won't help and someone screeches her name and she feels the footsteps pounding to her through the ground but they sound farther and farther away. The sky is spinning, spinning and blending with the trees, and they bleed together. It's getting darker and darker but somehow the shadows are getting brighter and brighter. Her eyelids are falling, taking her away from these bright shadows and before they flutter shut, his face is over hers, illuminated by those bright lights, shining down on her. She's dying. This is an angel, an angel crying beautiful glass tears for her. She wants to tell the angel it's okay, but he's fading, too. His glass tears are falling, falling on her face and they burn, and god, just let her die…
Lydia's eyes are glowing with an inhuman rage. She has left her bed and is standing over him, her angel. As if her eyes burn through him, he stirs from his sleep. He blinks blearily up at her, sleep in his hazel eyes. He stretches lazily before startling as his brain wakes up.
"Lydia?"
Lydia stares at him unfalteringly. Stiles looks rather unnerved.
"Lyd, what are you doing?" Stiles whispers.
Lydia doesn't answer, but rather pulls him off the chair arms, and up to his full height. He's almost a foot taller than her, so she stands on her toes to kiss him. It's a fierce kiss; Lydia tangles her arms around him and presses herself into him. Stiles is frozen with shock but slowly breaks free and clutches her to him.
"What was that," Stiles breathes onto her lips. Lydia shivers.
Something is different. Lydia doesn't just feel his heartbeat thud, but hears it pound, louder than her own. She fixates on his heart beating, but she hears more; the squeak of a nurse's sneakers in the corridor below, the call of cicadas from the pond a mile and a half away. Her heart thuds to the beat of Stiles'. Lydia looks up at him with a feral ferocity in her green eyes.
Her glowing green eyes.
Ooh more author's notes! I wanted the top to be very quick, but I'm going to elaborate more down here. Summer starts for me on Tuesday (6/25) so Monday is my last day. I haven't signed up for any camps so far so my summer should be relatively clear. However, on Tuesday I'm going to an amusement park all day so there will be no updates or writing done. I may be doing a music camp, but it is only a few hours about twice a week. Basketball is over for now so unless I'm doing a camp I'll be available. However, Immunity will only be going up with at least 15 positive reviews and/or favorites (so I won't be wasting my time on a fic nobody will read). If you want more Immunity, spread the word! You can also reach out to me by tumblr instead of PM - because I check my inbox more frequently on tumblr - if you have fic requests for Stydia (or other pairings).
Review, review, review! Hugs and kisses :)