Chapter Two: Not My Lover
Malia and Theo thrash against the bed as the head board squeaks underneath their bodies colliding together in a heated exchange. Her canines feel silky to the touch as they slide up his throat and glide up to his jawline where she leaves hot, wet kisses. Theo can't contain the growl that fights its way through his throat, loving the deep lacerations that she leaves on his pale back with her nails. It paints a pretty picture, red against white. The blood stains him, much like the way her hands leave imprints in his skin. They continue their asynchronous rhythm of writhing bodies, the smell of sex and sweat filling the muggy room. Malia can feel the pent up tension building through her body, ready to pummel over the edge and explode in an orbit of stars circling her head.
"That's it, Theo, right there." She groans, throwing her head back in ecstasy with her wild curls billowing around her like a crown fit for a queen. She was always on top no matter how much Theo whined about it and how it hurt his delicate masculine ego. She really didn't care for his complaints. This was a means to an end. She had needs and so did he, the problem was that he let his emotions get in the way.
He interlocks their fingers from beneath her."M-malia, babyy... I love you..." He murmurs, lost in the sensation of her naked chest pressed against him. It's a pathetic love that he holds for her in his trembling black heart. He feels bound to her in a way he'd never felt before. Throughout his life, he'd never been able to make an honest connection to anyone or anything. Not his family or any companions, because in the end he killed them. But then she came along, tearing through the seams of his life. He heard this buzzing in his ear when she came to him in a dream. Her eyes downcast until she looked up and met his gaze. She had the mind of a killer and the temptation of the devil, and for some reason he craved to count every strand of her hair and to feel her heart beating against his palm. In the thralls of passion he wishes so dearly that he could cut out his soul and give it to his lover. He doesn't shy away from damnation if it's she who gives the order.
Malia halts her movements and looks down at him with a darkening shift of her eyes. She immediately rolls off of him and creates an exaggerated gap between them. "Well there goes my orgasm, way to kill the mood, Theo." She says bitterly, getting up to search for her clothes in the dark while being pissed that she didn't get to finish. She stumbles around wishing she could wash the taste of him off her mouth, grimacing at the lackluster words of love he's sure to recite. Just the thought of it makes her eyes roll.
He rushes to stop her. "Malia, come on, don't leave. I don't get it, I would do anything for you, kill anyone for you... Be anyone for you. Why isn't that enough? You can pretend that you don't feel the same, but I know you do." He grabs her face between his hands, holding onto her so hard that it will probably leave bruises. He's so afraid that she'll disappear and then he'll be left with nothing. "I know you do. I know you and I love you. And you love me, too. Deep down." He grits out, latching on to her wrist when she turns to leave.
Malia grinds her teeth and pushes him hard away from her. "I don't feel anything for you, don't you get that?" She says emotionlessly. "You're nothing to me but a pup that I chose to protect. I don't owe you anything. Just because I choose to fuck you because you make me feel good doesn't mean anything. Don't read too far into these exchanges Theo, or I'll have to find another pretty face to get me off." She replies ruthlessly with an unwavering gaze. She's cold and distant and she likes it that way. What's sad is that her eyes say it all, she means every word.
"Don't make me regret saving you. And please don't insult me again by suggesting that I would ever have feelings for you." She threatens, forgetting her clothes and walking out the room naked. She ignores him calling her name and slams the door behind her.
She knows that was a little harsh, but it is necessary. Emotions are a weakness and Malia does not entertain the weak. She loves her pack and she'd die for any one of them, but they can't mistake her loyalty for anything other than what it is. Theo will get over her rejection, he always does. And eventually he'll try again, and she'll have to remind him again about what his place is in this pack. She'd never been worried about him leaving. She barely batted an eyelash at his empty threats in the past. Malia knows that he needs her and that he believes that one day she will love him back. Hope can be good when it's contained. But the harsh reality is that having hope is a surly bitch that reaps disappointment.
She struts purposefully down the hall, her steps echoing with each step she takes. She enters her chambers feeling free in her nudity and saunters to her porcelain, claw tub that filled to the brim with fresh blood.
Good, Hayden had her drawn her a bath. At least someone listens these days.
The metallic aroma is bittersweet, a euphoric thrill shooting up her spine and causes her body to shudder in anticipation. Her eyes bleed from black to red as she slips a toe in, then her whole thigh, and then the other. She slides further down until she's immersed in red. Her body is a temple and the blood flows through her like a conduit. She's reeling, lost in the thrum of power that shakes her deep within her bones. The rumors were true, she bathes in red.
"I've never felt more alive." She whispers to herself in a raspy lilt before she begins to sing. The haunting tune dwindles and weeps, carrying throughout the hallway so that everyone can hear.
She fingers around for the remote until it's between her grasp. She clicks on the flat screen tv that hangs against the wall. Game of Thrones appears on the screen about 30 minutes in and Malia sighs, leaning back against the plush pillow attached to the tub that cradles her neck. Melissandre shows her face, so luminous with her long maroon hair and wicked, red lips. She grins at the screen, mouthing the words as the red priest recites them.
She grins. "The night is dark and full of terrors." The chant seems fitting.
She stares at the flickering flames of the fire, watching the wood blacken and burn before her eyes. They way the flame licks a path up the log fascinates her, it destroys anything in it's path. Her eyes never leave the furnace as she drifts into a state of lull. Eventually she cleans herself off and slips into her robe before moving to her bed.
She falls asleep to the sound of Beacon Hills winding down. And she wonders if all the people in this wretched , little town feel safe wrapped up in their blankets with the doors locked to their homes. She hopes that they feel peace and stability. Because it will only feel that much sweeter when she paints this town in blood. And she'll start with the Stilinski pack.
The morning shines through the windows and Stiles squints at the light. He yawns, stretching out his muscles and running his long fingers through his tousled brown hair. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he stands and takes a piss before getting dressed for the day. He throws on a dark grey long-sleeved shirt with a pair of dark jeans and boots. He stands in front of the full-length mirror, analyzing the bruise-like shadows that peek from underneath his eyes. He hadn't gotten much sleep, still stuck on the confrontation the other night.
Malia Tate and her pack had come guns blazing into Beacon Hills, offering a wary semblance of peace so long as he and his friends don't get in their way. Allison had been rattled and Scott had let her lean into him while he made sure she got home safe. Kira and Isaac walked with each other, deciding it was best to stay in pairs. And Stiles escorted Lydia back to her lake house. She'd been shaking the whole way back and her glassy eyes held fear. He had offered her a place to sleep back at his apartment but she refused, saying how she had to learn to deal with her nightmares on her own. He understood that, but he was still disappointed.
He shrugs on his cracked leather jacket, thoughts reminiscing back to Malia. Her red lips and dark eyes haunted his dreams, causing him to shoot out of bed in a cold sweat multiple times throughout the night. He could feel her breath on his neck and her tongue on the shell of his ear. He woke with a raging hard on to say the least.
He drives his beat up, old jeep to school. Scott pulls in on his motorcycle at the same time and parks next to him. They grin at each other when Stiles rolls down the window.
"You been following me, Scotty? If that's the case, you might as well of just stayed at my place last night instead of Allison's." He jokes, catching Scott's eye roll.
"Sure, man. It took me a few minutes to get here. That rust bucket of yours probably took you close to fifteen. I could practically hear it wheezing out its dying breathes when I passed you. Not my fault your whip is slow." He jabs back, laughing at the insulted face that Stiles gives him.
"Rust bucket? You just don't appreciate antique beauty."
"Well that thing sure is ancient." Scott smirks, clapping Stiles on the back as they make their way into the school together.
They meet up with Allison and Lydia at their lockers and Scott greets the brunette by pulling her into his side and kissing the side of her head. She smiles in return, leaning into him further. Stiles love seeing his two closest friends happy, but it also reminds him how fucked up his own love life is. Lydia and him stare at the couple before turning to each other and looking around awkwardly for an escape.
Suddenly a figure rounds the corner and Stiles' mouth goes dry.
Malia Tate moves in slow motion. Her black shredded jeans accentuate her long lean legs and the faded teeshirt hugs her curves in all the right places, leaving a sliver of skin exposed. Her tiny, pink tongue slips between her signature red lips and runs across the bottom one before she bites down on it.
Stiles can feel a tightening in his jeans and saliva building his mouth.
She moves artlessly down the hallway, her hair decorated in a messy bun with wavy tendrils falling around her heart shaped face. She's a wolf in sheep's clothing and every nameless face in the crowd has her attention. Theo follows a few paces behind her dressed in all black and a scowl marring his handsome face. His brows furrow in annoyance, probably sensing the lusty, male hormones that perforate the hall due to the walking goddess that's making a statement just by being there. She catches his eyes and a devilish grin forms on her face. She's changes direction, and makes her way towards Stiles. She stops in front of the group but makes a show of directing her body towards Stiles so that her sole focus is towards him. He has a feeling that it's a power thing. She's attracted to the ones of higher ranking, which happens to be himself. It was normal among most werewolves, but Stiles doesn't make it a thing within the pack. To him, they are all equals, he just shoulders the responsibility and guilt more than the others.
"Malia, what are you doing here?" He whispers heatedly in an effort to keep a low profile.
"Well we are going to be in town for a while so I thought it would best if we try to blend in. Plus, how else am I going to keep an eye on you and your pack just in case any of you are stupid enough to make a move against me?" She asks rhetorically as if it should be obvious, her gaze shifting to a fuming Allison which causes her smirk to widen.
"You can't be here, this is our territory. Either you leave, or..." He starts to make a threat.
"Or what?" She challenges, stepping dangerously into his space. She's only an inch or so shorter than him, but with the power and authority that radiates off of her, you'd think she is ten feet tall.
He moves in an inch closer until their nose to nose. "Then I will forcibly remove you." He sneers, caught into between keeping his focus on her eyes and letting them fall shamefully to her full, red lips.
"Baby, I could rip your eyes out of their sockets and do my nails at the same time. But I'd really hate to do that to such a handsome face." She breathes, running her thumb dauntlessly over his bottom lip. "This is my game and it isn't over until I say it is. I suggest you stand down before I decide to kill every last one of your pathetic little friends. You know I can do it and I promise you that I will. Don't test me, Stiles, before this gets ugly." She bites out, her eyes flashing scarlet red before returning to their dark color.
The other students had already dispersed and the hallway was empty besides Theo who loomed in the corner looking on with waning interest. Allison makes a move to defend Stiles but before she even takes a step Malia has her pinned against the wall by her throat, cutting off her air supply.
"My little Ally Cat, I thought I had taught you a lesson last time." She taunts, raises her a few inches off the ground where her feet dangle below her. Lydia lets out a scream and Malia silences her with a look. "Stiles, control your pack before I have to do it for you. And my methods aren't exactly preferable." She lets Allison go with a huff and the hunter falls to the ground. The group rushes over to help her up and make sure she's okay. Stiles turns to take on the girl who dared to harm his pack, but she's already gone.
He can feel his blood boil and the veins in his neck throbbing hotly against his skin. It pisses him off how he's threatened by her, of her power, and how he may not be strong enough to protect his friends. Scott decides to take Allison home and Lydia scurries off to class. However, Stiles catches the tail end of Malia's scent and follows it to wherever it leads.
It's time he showed her who the real alpha is.