"You called Lydia?" Part of Jordan is glad, the rest just. . .is, caught in that strange stillness that is Winter.

Stilinski looks nervous, like he's the one breaking the law, then again Jordan's pretty sure this isn't proper procedure. "Yeah."

"Because Meredith asked for her, or because of the other thing?" It's as good a time as any to try and suss out what the sheriff knows already.

The other man's expression turns a little. . .annoyed. "What other thing?"

Well maybe he didn't know as much as Jordan hoped. "The psychic thing?" Which isn't what she is at all, but wording it as a question means he can still get it out.

"You think Lydia's psychic?" Stilinski looks like he's reached the end of his credulity rope.

Since Jordan-Erwann can't say 'yes' and saying 'no' might give too much away, he redirects. "Do you?"

Stilinski sighs. "No. I just think Lydia's just. . .more. . .spiritually aware." He feels bad for the mortal, clearly toeing the line of normalcy and supernatural.

Erwann-Jordan's pretty sure he's dating himself, and in a not good way. "That's what a lot of psychics claimed to be able to do when Spiritualism started."

"And I used to claim I was a rational human being." The sheriff gestures at him. "Get your ass in here and shut the door."

Jordan does, being the close to Lydia again is a good-strange. The familiar pull of her bloodline is back, and he finds he's been missing it since their last encounter just last week. Without thinking he finds himself moving closer to her.

Lydia holds out her phone and he watches as Meredith takes it. "Meredith aren't you going to answer it?"

Meredith shifts closer to the edge of the couch and Jordan finds himself tensing in case of attack. He can't lose Lydia, not when he's just found here. "It's not ringing."

Lydia squats down and Jordan-Erwann has to hold his surprise back when a tendril of glamour leaks from her, does she even know what she's doing? "Meredith. You came to help me, remember?"

Meredith gives a tiny nod and a barely there smile. "You called me. I had to come."

The thread of glamour flickers away. "I called you?" It hurts him that Lydia doesn't know what she's doing and he wishes he could steal her away right then and there. Take her to her own people.

"You called, and I heard you."

He's not sure where this is going to go, but he should probably step in now. "Meredith, can I ask you a question?" It never hurts to to be polite. He kneels down so he and Lydia are level. Almost instantly Meredith straightens, putting herself 'above' them, and nods.

His glamour might be less. . .forceful than Lydia's, but it'll do; he only looses a bare filament of it though, he doesn't want to override the poor girl only make her more receptive to answering truthfully. "When you need help is there anyone you reach out to?" He hopes Lydia's paying attention to what he's doing and understanding, she needs to learn control. "Maybe someone you call?" He'll admit that none of the other banshee's he's ever met, not that there've been many of them, have latched onto phones.

"It depends. Different people for different things."

Good. "Then maybe one of them can help us? Is there a number we can call?" Gentle, gentle, entrance her too much and things could go horribly wrong horribly fast.

"Yes."

"Can you tell us?"

Meredith's practically glowing. "Yes."

Gently Lydia tugs her phone back.

"It's 2. 4. 3. 3. 6." Meredith beams.

A heartbeat of silence then: "Mer. We need a few more numbers." It's almost a shock to remember there are others here besides him, Lydia, and Meredith.

"No. That's the number." Meredith sounds sure enough that Jordan isn't going to doubt her.

"Phone numbers have ten digits." He almost wants to turn and tell the shifter, shifters always move differently from other mortals, to be quiet.

"That's the number."

"Meredith." Lydia's voice cuts through everything, especially when backed by more glamour than is really necessary. "Phone numbers always have ten digits."

Part of him wants to stop Lydia, it's not Meredith's fault she doesn't understand what she's doing. But then again, Lydia doesn't know what she's doing either, why didn't I find you sooner? What would she be like if she hadn't been kidnapped, or if he had found her sooner? Would this all still be happening?

Meredith shakes her head. "That's the number."

Which is when Stilinski steps in. "I think we're done here."

Lydia stands, her glamour filling the room and making it heavy. "No. There has to be more." She whirls back around to Meredith. "What's the rest of it Meredith? Concentrate!"

Now Erwann-Jordan has to act. Without thinking he throws out some of his own glamour to try and shatter her influence and doing more harm to Meredith. But it's too little, too late.

"That's the number. That's the number."

Stilinski, bless his soul, reaches out to try and comfort Meredith. "Alright sweetheart we–"

"That's the number!"

Everyone recoils a little at that, and before Erwann-Jordan finds himself grabbing Lydia before she can do anything worse. Lydia freezes and Jordan releases her, going over to Meredith. "Come on Meredith, lets get you back to Eichen."

Stilinski gives a deft nod and the three of them leave Lydia and the shifter girl alone. Please don't do anything foolish Lydia.

000

She almost falls out of her seat when Er-Parrish opens the door and sticks his head in. Instinct has her yanking the computer screen down so he can't see it. "I. . .I wanted to see if you're both alright? And to ask if you wanted a ride home."

"I'm fine, we're fine. And we can make our own ways home." It comes out a little more snapishly than she'd intended, but she feels right now she can be a little snapish. Before now she's only half-thought, and mostly jokingly, about him apparently being a faerie, but now, somehow seeing his name on the deadpool makes it real.

It doesn't seem to bother him much thought and a faint smile twitches at his lips. "Alright, but let me know if you change your mind."

She gives a tiny nod as he leaves. Once she's sure he's gone she lifts her screen back up, Jordan Parrish sitting there almost like it's laughing at her. But not his true name, whoever the Benefactor is they know Parrish isn't human, but somehow she knows, like someone whispered it to her, that they don't know what he is. Otherwise she thinks his price would be higher, and she pities whichever assassin decides to take him.

It hadn't hurt as much to see Aiden's name staring back at her like it had with Allison. Despite their relationship he didn't mean much to her; and she wonders what she's doing wrong to never have experienced a relationship like Allison had explained to her almost a year ago now. That is what makes her ache, Allison I wish you were here.

"You okay?" Malia's voice behind her makes her jump. "You smell off."

"Sweetheart don't do that." At least Malia looks contrite when Lydia turns around.

"Sorry."

Feeling a little bad for her Lydia sighs. "And I'm just. . .stressed out." Which is about as close to a lie as she can get. She rubs the bridge of her nose, after the day she's had she deserves a deep tissue massage, and a nice long bubble bath; maybe some tea and chocolate as well.

Closing her laptop completely she stands. "But thanks for asking." Part of her winces as a 'thank you' escapes her, for people it might mean nothing, but for fae it's a lot. "Now let's go, I don't think there's anything more we can do." Not until she figures out the next cypher key anyways.

Dropping Malia off at home, which always feels a little strange because Lydia finds herself somehow always expecting her home to be the loft, Lydia takes a deep breath and heads home herself. First things first, a wonderful smelling bath. And hope that nothing else comes up tonight, otherwise she's liable to do something horrible.

She'd half expected Peter to be waiting for her at her house, but he still manages to surprise her by actually doing it. A sigh leaves her as she walks past him to her front door and unlocks it. "You and Malia still aren't on the list, if that's what you're about to ask."

Almost unnoticeably, but she notices because his soul has been inside her head, he relaxes.

Lydia doesn't say anything when she realizes he's following her in; they've come to a truce –though cease-fire might be a more accurate term– of sorts since she went in Stiles' mind to free him. They still snapped and sassed each other, but it doesn't feel as. . .deadly as before. In fact she likes how he keeps her on her toes better than almost everything else at the moment, him and Parrish.

"You seem tense Lydia."

She arches an eyebrow as they head into the kitchen; absently she's glad her mom's away for the night. "Really Peter? I hadn't noticed." At least not being able to lie didn't cover sarcasm, hurrah.

A chuckle escapes him. "I could help you out if you'd like."

Part of her stutters and stops at that. Because of course he offers. She doesn't answer right away, instead focusing on making tea. At least Peter doesn't press her for an answer, just lets her think.

Their teas, she hadn't even thought before making him a cup, Assam, habit and manners taking the reins in her distracted state, had finished steeping by the time she answers. "Alright." She knows the rest of the pack would call her crazy for trusting him like this, but she does. Like she knows he won't do anything she doesn't explicitly ask for.

He smiles as she sets his mug in front of him. "Well, take a seat then."

Despite knowing he wouldn't hurt her, she still feels a little trepidation as she sits; even though it's far too warm she keeps her mug in her hands so she can hold onto something.

Faintly she hears him walk up behind her. His warm, almost too hot, hands set themselves on her shoulders, then his thumbs begin to rub the base of her neck and. . .oh. Her head lolls as a happy quiet moan comes out of her mouth.

She can feel smugness radiate from him at the sound, but at least he doesn't let up on the neck rub. Eventually he moves from her neck to her shoulders; she doesn't even bother to hold back her sounds of pleasure as he leeches out more of the tension that's been dragging on her than she thought he could.

The end comes sooner than she would have liked. "I really needed that." It's easier to not say 'thank you' to Peter than anyone else, their relationship just doesn't work like that.

Now, though, he chuckles. "Anytime you'd like Lydia, it's my pleasure."

Feeling a little boneless she sips her tea and just lets herself be.

He takes the seat next to hers, thoughtfully turning her seat so she faced him. "Hello."

A huff of laughter erupts from her, making ripples in her tea. "Hi." Despite everything that's happened between them, this strange peace she feels whenever he's around is just too nice to pass up.

"And how was your day?" She totally needs mindnumbingly mundane at the moment.

"Same old, same old. Got angry at a fellow banshee, translated another third of the deadpool, had your daughter hang over me like an overeager puppy. You?"

Peter smirks. "The usual. Stopped a strange wolf from dying a horrible wolfsbane induced death. Wondered again where Derek thought we'd be getting the money to pay Braeden. Thinking up new ways to permanently kill Kate."

She almost snorts out her tea at that. Silence falls between them as they both drink. If she could have more evenings like this she might actually get a good nights sleep in.

Like that she feels tired. With a sleepy sigh she sets her mug down, blinking when Peter picks it up and sets hers and his in the sink. Returning to her he scoops her up, eliciting a squawk of surprise, before carrying her up to her room.

Setting her down he starts to try and 'help' her undress, he gets as far as removing her cardigan when, with a roll of her eyes that feels disturbingly fond, she bats his hands away. "Really Peter?"

He grins. "Just being as helpful and soliciting as I can Lydia." His grin turns leery. "Anyways, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

A flush creeps across her at that. "Thank you for that reminder Peter." She gestures for him to turn around, but he doesn't; instead his hands rise up again to play with the hem of her shirt.

"You know what I want Lydia, and what I think of you. Is either really so bad?"

Her flush remains, but for an altogether different reason. She's known he wanted her since that stupid spark-fire comment and knew that for her he would be more than willing to be unselfish; though she doubts he'll ever admit it verbally. And it's something she knows would astound everyone else. Looking at him now something in her gives up the ghost; she damn well deserves something for herself, something unrelated to the pack, and Parrish and his talk of fae. Hers.

"Take off your shirts, shoes, socks, and belt."

The gleam in Peter's eyes as he does so somehow calms and reassures her, he'll let her have all the control she needs, as many times as she needs.

Reaching out she placed her hand on the part of his chest that was faintly discolored. Murmur-faint she catches echoes of pain and heat.

"It's where Derek had to burn the wolfsbane out of me."

She doesn't glance up at his face, instead stepping closer and, sliding her hand to his hip to support herself, leans in, gently laying a kiss there. Soon she steps away and gives him a light push. "Lie down on the bed."

He does, smugness returning to his face as he props himself up on his elbows. Deciding it isn't worth chastising him over she reaches down and slowly begins pulling up the hem of her shirt, giving him a little tease before removing it completely and tossing it aside, revealing her lacy sea-foam green bra.

Peters eyes darken noticeably. "Pretty."

Her earlier flush returns as she steps out of her shoes, propping one leg against Peter's knees as she beings sliding down a stocking; knowingly giving him a peepshow of her matching underwear. She divests herself of her second stocking faster than the first, and she unzips her skirt even faster.

Uncaring of her almost-nudity she saunters over to Peter and crawls over him on the bed, before settling down on the noticeable bulge of his pants. "My, what a big cock you have." She knows it's something out a laughably bad porno, but she couldn't help herself.

Peter throws his head back and laughs. Almost unwillingly she finds herself rooted to the spot at the sound; and she catches herself wondering when the last time he laughed like that was.

She jumps a little when his hands settle on her waist, their positions shifting as he sits completely upright. "Oh Lydia, you never cease to amaze."

Then he kisses her. With reckless abandon she throws her entire self into that kiss. Subtly demanding he do the same, unwilling to accept anything less. And he does, fangs gently nipping at her lips, his tongue tangling and toying with hers, and just hard enough. There's a moment of recoil when she realizes Peter's. . .purring? But she soon returns; something to wonder about later.

Finally she pulls away, Peter tries to follow her forward but she pushes him back. "Lie down." Obediently, and oh, isn't that a rush, he does. Leaning right she manages to pull open her bedside drawer and pulls out a condom.

With her free hand she starts undoing his pants while raising up to her knees so she can start tugging them down. Peter obliges her by canting his hips up, her lips twitch when she sees he's wearing boxers –she likes them because they're easier to wear when you steal them– and the fact that they're tented.

She sets the condom on his chest before raking her nails down his stomach. "That's quite the problem you have there."

Peter huffs, "I don't know if I'd call it a problem Lydia, maybe more of a miscommunication." The hands on her hips yank her back down so he can grind into her.

Granted, it's very nice, but. . . "Peter," she infuses her voice with about as much menace as she can muster. "If you're going to jump ahead then I'm going to have to do something about it." Though she has no idea what except for denial.

But apparently the warning is enough and he stops, loosening his grip but not letting go. She rises back up onto her knees and sets about divesting him of his boxers. Once they're gone she scoots back a little to admire the view as it were. He's not the biggest she's ever had, but he's definitely not lacking; a little above average.

She scoops up the condom, with a brief side trip to pinch and pluck at his nipples, and opens it. Scooting back even further, nearly falling off the bed if she's not careful, she starts putting the condom on him; leaning down so her mouth can follow the path of her hands. On the whole she's not a big fan of giving blowjobs, but she'll admit they're a fun way to put on condoms.

From the groan Peter's giving he probably agrees.

Once it's fully on she pulls away, shucks off her underwear and bra, then returns to her previous position. Leaning down again, though this time to kiss him, she positions herself and sinks down. Pulling away from his mouth to let loose a thin and reedy moan, oh she needed this.

Peter grunts, his hands once more tightening on her hips. Resting her own hands on his chest she swivels her hips and he snarls, just barely she can feel his claws prickle her skin, eliciting another quiet moan from her.

A grin appears on his face and his claws dig in a little deeper. "I hope you let me take the reins next time sweetheart, because I know exactly what I'd do to you."

She clenches around him tightly, because Jesus, fuck, she can't tell if that's a threat or not and that shouldn't be so hot. "I don't know Mr. Big Bad Wolf, I think you're all bluster."

His eyes flash, his claws pierce her skin, and his hips jerk up; a gasp escapes her. "Well why don't we find out?"

And even though she's still on top she's quickly losing control and as Peter slams up into her she finds she's fine with that.

Her orgasm comes to a surprise, ripping a whine from her throat. "Peter!"

His eyes flash again and he's sitting upright, swallowing the rest of her sounds in a kiss. His own orgasm happens soon after and they collapse back onto her bed in a tired heap. Almost lazily he begins nibbling on her neck, she giggles.

She doesn't know how long they both lay there, long past everything getting uncomfortable, before finally she rouses herself to shift, lifting herself off Peter and letting herself collapse to the side of him. Sleep starts tugging at her and she closes her eyes as Peter gets up. Just barely she can hear him in her bathroom and she wonders if he's going to leave or stay. Previous experience says leave, but something else says stay.

So when he returns to her room she finds herself somehow half-asleep and yet hyper-aware of him. Hearing the rustle of clothes something in her gives a sad but expectant sigh. Only to soon be subverted when Peter scoops her up and she finds herself being tucked into the curve of him under her covers.

Warmth seeps into her, and she finds herself relaxing into it. She hasn't felt truly warm for a while now, all her dreams have been cold, full of things she thinks she should understand, yet doesn't. "Good night Lydia." It's barely a puff against her ear, but it feels like so much more.

She barely manages to mutter something that might be 'good night' before sleep claims her.

00000

Told you Pydia was coming first. *heheh*.

Next week: Lots of things involving Jordan, Meredith, and Peter.