By the time March rolled around, Lydia Martin was in hell. Peter's soft whispers had turned to menacing growls and his light touches into violent claws. His mask had vanished. He was no longer playing the sweet boy next door. His appearance now more reminiscent of his former self; an older man with sharp eyes and white fangs that put the girl on edge.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying helplessly to convince herself that he wasn't real. That he was just a figment of her imagination brought on by too much anxiety and not enough sleep. A symptom of post-traumatic stress and nothing more. That didn't make it any easier to deal with him, especially when he tilted his head and watched her, like a starving predator waiting to pounce.

"It's almost time," The ghost purred in her ear. "There's just one more little step to take care of before the main event."

Lydia repressed a whimper and sucked in a breath. "And then it will be over? You'll go away?"

"Of course," He promised, all dead eyed smiles and soothing tones as he smoothed a strand of her red hair back from her eyes. "You'll have to find a woman for me. A woman named Marcella…"

"How? How do I find her?"

A wicked smile crossed Peter's lips and he leaned forward, "I'll tell you."

Marcy was sick of the partying and the men and constantly being on the road. As much as she loved her father and his hedonistic way of life, it got boring. Every night with a new man to take to bed every night and all of her worries taken care of with a simple pout, the werewolf was growing listless. She liked to think that she was over Peter. There were days when she didn't even think of him. Others when she was able to without crying. It pleased her, but Marcy still felt a catch in her stomach when she realized he wasn't coming back.

So, needless to say, she was thrilled to be back in her lab with Noel. He looked a little rough around the edges, brown eyes heavy and tired, and his scent…off in a way that the woman couldn't quite determine. Marcy wasn't about to question it. What went on in Noel's body was no one but Noel's business- and frankly she really didn't care that much. As long as he was up and about, he was probably fine.

"I took care of your freaky, murderous plants," The man in question told her with a grin.

The smile that came to her lips was considerably more natural than it would've been two months before as she placed a hand on her chest, "Aw, you do care."

"I certainly do," Noel grinned, tossing her a pair of gloves. "Some pretty little redhead wanted a bouquet and I fought her for 'em."

"Really?" Marcy arched a brow as she pulled the latex gloves on, "Who?"

"Said her name was Martin. She left her phone number…" He dug into his pocket and pulled out a duct tape wallet. Not noticing the amused smirk he received for it, Noel began to rifle through it. Plucking it out, he carried on absently, "She was pretty insistent you call her back."

"Hm. Weird." The woman shrugged and took the scrap of paper from him.

The blond man arched a brow and turned back to his catnip plant, "You gonna call her?"

"May as well. I mean, it couldn't hurt, right?"

"Good." He smirked at her, "I'm just about done here, but the idea of leaving you alone with my precious babies puts me on edge."

Marcy arched a brow, looked up from her cell phone and with a hint of condescension in her voice asked, "Precious babies?"

"Precious." Noel pulled the potted plant closer as he glared at her, "Babies."

Lydia Martin was an intelligent high school student, but truth be told Marcy was a touch unsettled by her. Her gaze followed the woman around the lab, completely silent and completely still despite the botanist's attempts at conversation. Perhaps if she had been aware of the stress the girl was under, she would've been more understanding.

Lydia tensed as the man hovered around the brunette. Peter smiled at the woman, all fond warmth as he watched her carefully. Despite where his gaze lingered, he spoke to the teenager in a docile tone. "My, my…she is beautiful, isn't she?"

He ran a clawed finger down the woman's arm, her lab coat shifting and falling away, transforming into a pink blouse. Marcy didn't seem to notice as she clipped away at the plant with careful precision.

"My first." He told Lydia proudly, ignoring the way she jerked as the woman in front of her was suddenly drenched in blood. Her dark hair was matted to her tear stained face and her silk shirt torn open, flashing deep scratches on her back. Peter's grin widened at the sight. Brushing his fingers along the deepest of them, he cooed, "My best."

Marcy glanced over at Lydia. The redhead's eyes were wide and her breathing uneven, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared back at her. The woman blinked, arched a brow and went back to trying to start a conversation, "What did you say you need this for again, sweetheart?"

Just like that, reality snapped back into place for the Martin girl. She let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Marcy's pristine white lab coat, at her clear skin and pulled back hair, and answered breathlessly, "School project."

"You're teachers are okay with you using aconitum for a science project?" The woman asked with a hint of doubt.

"As long as it gets them state wide recognition, they don't care what I use."

"Or how," Peter added helpfully, although he could only be heard by the redhead. "Such a sad state of affairs when a pretty girl only need bat her eyelashes at a sex starved chemistry teacher to get her way…not that Harris has ever been on the highest level of morality as it were."

Marcy zipped up a plastic baggie filled with purple flowers up as she spoke, "Well, just remember us little people who helped you along the way when you're making your Nobel acceptance speech, alright?" When Lydia reached for it, the woman held it tight, "Are you okay? I don't want to pry, but you seem a little spacey."

"Fine," Lydia replied curtly, watching Peter twist the ponytail of Marcy's dark hair around his finger. It was a disturbingly tender gesture. Incredibly intimate judging by the way he brushed his nose against her cheek. The woman didn't notice, her eyes still focused on the redhead's features. Swallowing, Lydia forced, "I should really get going…my mom's in the car."

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, I just assumed you had taken a bus." Marcy chuckled and let go of the baggie. "Probably shouldn't have with the purse. Prada, right?"

"Mhm."

"Very nice." Marcy smiled at her and placed a hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the door. "Alright then. Be careful with that stuff. If I hadn't got such glowing letters of recommendation from your teachers, I wouldn't be giving it to you." Her expression hardened momentarily, "don't try to smoke it. It's not one of those plants."

A touch indignant, Lydia frowned at her, "I won't."

"I mean it, Lydia, it will only end badly for you if you try to smoke it," Marcy warned, speaking from experience, "Promise me you'll use it wisely."

"I will."

"And I," Peter smiled, trailing his fingers down her arm and once again reducing her to a bloodied mess, "will be seeing you soon, Marcella."

The woman continued to eye the teen skeptically, but nodded regardless. "Good. I'll walk you out."

"I think I can find my way, thanks."

Marcy watched her go with a frown. Clearly, that girl had some problems. The brunette shook her head and stripped out of her latex gloves. Not thinking of the implications of giving a mentally unstable teenage girl a deadly plant, or more realistically, not really caring, Marcy stripped out of her lab coat.

Her phone beeped. An alarm reading WBD flashed back at her. With a grimace, she snatched her mini backpack purse off the hook beside her jacket and slipped into the hall. The campus was hardly bustling, with only a few lone students straggling around after classes. She shot a group of them a forced smile before she slipped into the bathroom. After making a quick check to make sure that it was empty, Marcy locked the door.

With a sigh, she set her purse on the counter. Plucking out a tiny eye drop bottle, she quickly flicked the water on. As it began to run, she set the bottle down next to the sink. The woman took out her dissection kit and a small packet of powdered Wolfsbane. As she measured out a low amount of the powder (barely enough to cover the tip of her scalpel, but still more than she had the week before), she bit her lip. Potentially, this could be a terrible idea or it could save her life one day. Marcy's hand that held the scalpel shook slightly as she added it to the empty dropper. She then filled it with water, shook it until the powder dissolved and sucked up a drop.

Squaring her shoulders, the werewolf swallowed and tilted her head back. With unsteady finger, she raised the diluted Wolfsbane to her eye. It stung- a flash of heat that led into a steady burn. Marcy squeezed her eyes shut and sucked a deep breathe through her teeth as she added another drop to her opposite eye.

It was a familiar, intense itch that she had grown accustom to over the past month. The feeling of the Wolfsbane seeping into her bloodstream wasn't a pleasant one, but it was hardly unbearable. With tightly pursed lips, she continued the action, one drop to each eye, ten times. When she stopped, tears were leaking from her aching eyes. With a heavy sigh, she stood there, the light bright behind her closed lids irritating but only for a few minutes. Slowly but surely, the flare died out and Marcy opened her blue eyes. Her vision was slightly fuzzy, but by the time the tears had stopped, it was perfectly clear once more.

Her gaze was met in the mirror, her expression painfully blank and the woman was unsettlingly numb as she leaned forward. Her eyes were puffy with dark bags hanging below them. Faint black veins showed through her pale skin and along the whites of her eyes, but there was little to be done about those. Marcy sighed and tucked the packet of purple powder away and pulling out a small bottle of concealer. With quick, well-practiced fingers, she smoothed the cream over the bags under her eyes, hiding the thin lines from view.

A headache ate away at the back of her mind, but she ignored it. Marcy gathered her things and slipped out of the bathroom. The halls were deserted now, without a soul to be seen. In fact, just about the entire campus was quiet with most students back at their dorms or studying for upcoming exams. It unsettled the werewolf, but at least she didn't have to deal with any drunken frat boys as she trekked through the courtyard. She inhaled deeply, the crisp air pleasant to her frayed nerves. Upping her dosage always left Marcy a bit on edge, but given the fact that it hadn't sent her into cardiac arrest or shock, the woman assumed her body had accepted the new dosage with minor difficulty. She hopped up her stoop with strong, graceful legs. She kept a rigid fitness routine; too much pent up energy typically made the full moons harder on her, so most nights she found herself running a few miles in an attempt to calm down after a day of dealing with college kids instead of ripping their throats out.

Marcy pulled out her ponytail and made her way up the stairs. She slipped into her apartment, locking the door and latching the mountain ash bar shut to form a barrier. Kicking off her shoes, the woman rolled her neck on her shoulders. Thanks to lycanthropy, there were no kinks or stiffness in them. One night of murderous rage a month was a small price to pay for the ability to lean over a microscope for twelve hours without so much as a twinge.

After a hot shower and a bowl of instant noodles, Marcy fell asleep on the couch. Had a knock not come to her door, she probably would've stayed there all night. She peeked an eye open and reached for her cell on the coffee table. Flipping it open, she scowled. The knocking continued and the Omega's eyes flashed.

"Whoever it is, fuck off!" She called, dropping her head onto the arm rest.

When it became more consistent, Marcy rolled off the couch.

"It is one in the fucking morning…" She growled, stomping over to the door and bending to undo the latch. A familiar scent made her pause. Her heart skipped a beat as she slowly undid the mountain ash latch and unlocked her door. With the chain still in place, she pulled it open.

There Peter Hale stood, caked in dirt and grime, a smug smirk on his lips as he asked, "Miss me?"

A/N: It's not a real sequel until there's some eye gore. The title has been changed to 'Habits'. Also, if you read it, my other Peter Hale fic will be updated as soon as it gets back from the Beta's. ^.^ Hope you liked the chapter. I was a bit worried about having them reunite too soon, but I missed writing them.