Author's Note:

While I am honored that anyone would subscribe to this story, and am grateful for everyone who has added this story to their favorites list, I need to be straight here. I'm feeling disheartened by the lack of reviews for the last two chapters, and just want to know if I should continue this story.

Read through this chapter please, and if at the end you find you want to read more, please let me know in a review. If I don't get much feedback at all, honestly, I think I'll drop this. Hope you guys like the chapter :)

A Couple of Days Later:

I'm taking an online test when the buzzer sounds in my apartment.

Now, the thing about online tests is that the hour I'm sitting in front of the computer screen is sacred time. Heath knows this, as do my cousins and Jessie, who are the only people who actually visit on a regular basis. Hands poised over the computer keyboard, I consider pretending to not be home when I hear Stiles on the other side of the door.

"Conner! We have an emergency!" Stiles says, sounding agitated. I lower my hands and wait for the explanation he's most likely going to yell. "It's Derek-related!"

Unable to stop myself, I let out a stream of curse words before getting up from the bar stool. Seriously? Wolf emergency, now? Great, just great: Derek had to go and drag Stiles into the whole mess, didn't he? Surely enough, Stiles stands on the other side of the door and Derek is leaning against the rail next to him. Of course I'm not wearing a shirt, but Stiles should be used to it by now.

He isn't. Despite whatever "emergency" has pushed him to start knocking at my door at this obscene hour, he takes a second to remember how to form coherent words before sputtering the words "magic bullet" and gesturing at Derek.

"A magic bullet?" I repeat, and look at the wolf. Derek looks as pale as death and he seems weak, two things that can't be good signs. He's gripping his left arm in pain, and can hardly keep his eyes open. "What happened?" I ask him, pretty much accepting that Stiles is useless at the moment. Derek bites back a groan and doubles over.

"Let us in," he orders. Though I don't like being ordered around, taking into consideration the fact that there are hunters running loose around town, I ignore his natural alpha male attitude. I drape his right arm over my shoulder and use it as leverage to hold him up, wrapping my arm around his waist to keep him steady. He leans completely onto me, which only clues me in on how weak he must be feeling. Derek doesn't seem like the type to lean on somebody he doesn't know.

Stiles holds the door open, not taking Derek's other side like I expected him to. With more effort than I like to admit that it takes, I get him inside the apartment and sit him down on my bed. His head hangs forward and I grab his shoulders.

"Look at me," I order, keeping my voice firm and clear. He blinks and raises his eyes to meet my gaze, the action clearly an effort to do. "Good. Stay with me. What happened?"

"Hunter," he forces out, voice tight.

Shit. There goes my naive theory that wolves are safe so long as they behave. "Where?" I ask. He holds out his left arm, and it's a miracle I didn't notice it before. The bullet is wedged into the inner part of his arm, clearly a place it's been for well over a day. Around it the veins are darkened and the tissue is rotting, but the bullet glows a characteristic blue that gives away the problem. The smell of dying tissue hits me, but I close my eyes for a second and compose myself, blocking out the odor.

"Do we know what kind of wolfsbane it is?" I ask, looking up at Stiles. Derek doesn't seem like he can handle much more talking. Stiles checks his phone, and shakes his head.

"Scott's trying to find out what kind of bullet they used," he explains. I raise my brows.

"Scott McCall?" I clarify. He shrugs. "Where?"

"The Argents' house."

I realize I don't really want to know all of the details right now and just want to make sure the bullet wound gets taken care of. "Okay Stiles, I need you to go over to the refrigerator. There's a cabinet over it that's locked." I pull a set of keys out of my pocket and toss it to him. "Blue key. Inside, there's a large wooden box. Bring that to me." He rushes over to the refrigerator, stumbling on his way there in his hurry. I turn back to Derek and hold his face, making sure he stays conscious.

"Don't worry, I've treated wounds like this before," I say, loud enough for him to hear me. "If I have the right wolfsbane here, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Why...?" Derek asks breathily. I know his question without asking, but I don't answer.

Stiles returns with the box, and I wave him away. "Go to the counter, you'll kill him if you bring all of that over here," I warn. He follows my orders and puts the box on the counter. His cellphone beeps, and he slides it open to read the text.

"Nordic Blue Monkshood," he reads aloud. Derek groans, but I hurry over to the counter and open the wooden box. Inside are many bundles of various plants, all dried out so that their violet or blue blossoms are shriveled up. I start to pull them out and read the different labels until I find the one that I need, before throwing all of the plants back in and shutting the box.

"Stiles, get a pair of gloves from the drawer." As he's doing that, I grab my gun off the counter and release one of the bullets. He's at my side a second later, gloves in hand. "Good. Tear that plant up, and be careful not to get any on your skin. It's poisonous."

"Poisonous?" he exclaims. I give him a look, and he starts to tear the plant. Convinced he isn't going to wimp out on me, I twist the cap off of the bullet and knock it lightly on the counter so that the gun powder falls out. I do the same thing to a second bullet, just to be safe, and take the pieces of the flower from Stiles. I slide them across the counter with the gun powder and mix them together quickly.

"Hey, where are your gloves?" he demands, pointing at my bare hands. I pull my lighter out of my pocket and set fire to the small pile, just as Derek lets out a loud groan. When I look back, he's vomiting black liquid onto the floor. Not wasting any more time, I slide the powder into my hand and run over to him. He looks up and I nod, at which point he closes his eyes to brace himself. Not waiting for the powder to cool off, I turn my hand over and press it into the wound.

He roars in pain, his canines coming out halfway as his back arches and he falls back on the bed. I follow him, holding the wolfsbane to his wound and sitting on his stomach to keep him from writhing around. He digs his claws into the mattress and I know it's to keep from taking a swipe at me, but I don't move away. The dark veins that were running up his arm are slowly receding, and I need to make sure the wolfsbane stays in contact with the wound.

Two strong hands grab my upper arms and pull me off of him in one fluid motion. I'm caught by surprise and let Stiles drag me away, watching with wide eyes as Derek continues to scream. Stiles wraps his arms tightly around my waist to keep me from going to Derek, but I'm not fighting him: the wound is healing over, blue smoke rising from the bullet wound after the powder has already fallen away. His yells start to die down until he collapses on the bed, panting heavily and staring up at the ceiling.

Stiles and I are both frozen, until Stiles squeezes me tightly. "That was frickin' awesome!" he exclaims, lifting me up and spinning me around. I grip him tightly and laugh, the relief that's washing through me making me smile like a drug. For a moment there I'd thought it wouldn't work, but it had!

"It worked. Wow, I can't believe it worked!" I squeal. He puts me down and I jump on him, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. "It worked!" He stumbles backwards, but I don't care and hold on to him tightly. "We did it, Stiles!"

"No, you did it!" he corrects, holding me up. I let go of him and jump back down to the ground, grinning from ear to ear like an idiot.

Which Derek doesn't hesitate to point out with an exasperated look from the bed. He's sitting up now, watching Stiles and me celebrate like mental patients. "So, you had no idea that it would work," he says, expecting me to clarify. I shrug.

"What, did you think I actually had Nordic Blue Monkshood?" I ask with a scoff. "That stuff is expensive. Nah, I used a similar plant from the same family. And it worked!"

"Thanks for using my life to test that theory."

"What, you would have preferred I chop your arm off? Please, if it hadn't worked, of course I would have cut it off myself to make sure you didn't die."

The whole atmosphere is starting to change, and Stiles makes a quick exit, saying that he's going to call Scott or something. I cross my arms and glare challengingly at Derek, daring him to say something else. When he doesn't, I do.

"I saved your life," I inform him. He nods.

"That you did."

"Normally that merits a thank you."

"Why did you do it?"

And then there's that question. I shrug. "Why not? Did you expect me to just leave you out on my porch for dead?" I pause, and run a hand though my hair. "Plus, you went and got Stiles involved. I couldn't just leave him to deal with you alone."

"You're lying."

"Why? Did my heart rate pick up?" I ask with mock surprise. We both know that it didn't, and he's getting more and more agitated with my calm attitude. I go over to the counter and pick up my box of wolfsbane plants, only to drop it a second later with a cry of pain. He's standing next to me in a second, his hand wrapped tightly around my wrist and holding it up so that he can see.

The palm of my hand is completely burned, bleeding in some places while the whole expanse is a searing red. Before I can object, he's dragging me to the sink and has stuck my hand under running water, holding it there when I try to pull it out.

"Why would you do that?" he demands again. I'm wincing as the cold water washes over my skin, and all I can do is shrug.

"I didn't think, I reacted."

"WHY?"

"Because my family, that I'm sure you've heard left a year ago?" I snap, yelling the words in his face. "They were werewolves. I'm human, but I've been raised to think just like a wolf. And the fact of the matter is that they may have made me an omega, but I can't get rid of my pack instinct. And this?" I hold my hand up, burned from grabbing the burning gun powder off of the counter and then pressing it into his wounds. "This is a necessary evil when you're part of a pack."

"So we're a pack."

"No! I mean, not really," I relent, dropping my forehead into my other hand. "Dammit, I don't know!"

"What's so damn confusing for you?" he exclaims in frustration. "Do you want to be an omega or not?" I jerk my hand out of his grip, realizing he's still holding it.

"I've gotten used to being alone!" I yell. "You're raised in a pack to live like a unit, and then that pack leaves overnight. So, instead of thinking about working for protection and power as a family, you focus only on one thing: survival. That's the life of an Omega." I look at him and shake my head. "So, yeah, it's a bit confusing for me when some beta comes offering help without an apparent price tag other than to kill a psychotic alpha that I'm no match for. It's suicide."

"So you would rather live like a coward."

"I refuse to have you stand here and judge me. I'm human, not a natural-born werewolf like you." I nod at the door. "Leave."

He stands there for a second before nodding and walking away. "Regardless, he's still coming for you. And he's going to keep killing people." Stiles starts to walk in but Derek drags him away, and I'm left alone. I look down at my hand and watch as the skin starts to blister, the burn throbbing unlike anything I've felt before. Who would have known gunpowder could cause that much damage?

Anyone with common sense, most likely.

And of course, I would burn myself for someone I hardly even know. Am I that damn desperate for a pack? I close my eyes and listen to the silence of the apartment. I'm used to yells, squeals of excitement from the girls, orders barked from my father, my mother or Susan calling for us from wherever they were. The television was hardly ever on before eight o'clock at night, but during the day my mother used to make sure music always filled the house, be it classical music or the soul music she was raised with. When Susan found out I liked soul, I remember she played Whitney Houston non-stop for a week, until we were all begging for mercy.

I hate the silence, and I hate the lie I tell myself every day: that I find it gratifying. That I can enjoy the silence.

I hate it. I hate the silence with passion.

Cans: the ideal target for target practice when Alphas aren't in high demand.

And shooting things: the workout of choice when insomnia is your psychosis of choice.

Heath and Jessie were able to fix my car up the other day- turns out a cable was pulled out or something stupid like that- so it's parked off to the side with the headlights illuminating from behind me as I aim at the beer cans I have set up on a beam. Yes, I actually have a beam set up in the forest: I come here often. I have the silencer twisted onto the barrel of the gun so that, when I shoot, nobody driving by is alerted of my soothing activity. Then again, not many people are going to be passing by. It's four o'clock in the morning, and this isn't exactly the most common of sports.

It's been a week since my last encounter with the Alpha and three days since I helped Derek out, and my medication has stopped helping me stay asleep. Nightmares of a devastating house fire have me waking up in a cold sweat, ironic because I can't seem to get the sensation of being burned out of my head, and ridiculous considering my burn isn't healing over too well. So, I've gotten back into the habit of either working out or shooting things to clear my head. Today, I'm in more of a sharpshooter kind of mood.

Although my hand is bandaged, I bite through the pain and shoot down the four cans in seconds, lowering the gun and breathing in the satisfying smell of gunpowder mixed with beer. Heath left two six packs in my refrigerator, so I figured I'd accept the gift and put the drinks to good use.

It's a bad sign when your boyfriend continuously forgets that you can't have any stimulants such as alcohol or coffee because it affects the medication you've been on since you've met. Not to mention it's illegal. But, I don't fight, and simply take the good with the bad. Beer is bad, but target practice is good, even if you can hardly curl your fingers because of the burns.

My cell phone rings, and putting the safety on the gun, I answer. "Yeah."

"Conner?" It's Heath, and he sounds like he's freaking out. "Conner, are you awake?"

"I couldn't sleep, what's going on?" I ask urgently. He lets out a shaky breath and I swear I hear him on the verge of tears.

"It's my dad," he says, taking a deep breath. "He's been attacked."

It's as if time stops. My whole body freezes and I can't stop a gasp from escaping me. The Alpha attacked Heath's father. Why the hell would he attack Heath's father? The man is a terrible gossip, but he'd never hurt a fly! I cover my mouth and stare off into the dark forest, listening. All I hear is my heart beating loudly and Heath's voice finally cracking on the other line.

"Babe, can you-?"

"I'll be there soon."

"Kate, we need to stop and think about this."

Kate Argent barked a laugh and loaded a clip of wolfsbane bullets into her gun. "Chris, what is there to talk about?" she asked her brother, turning to him with an exasperated look on her face. "It's simple. Alpha scratches girl, girl's suddenly hanging out with Derek Hale, and days later, her father-in-law shows up mauled in the parking lot of the hospital where they both work." She shrugged. "She needs to go."

"We don't have enough proof," Chris Argent insisted, but the fact of the matter was that he was also dressed to go out hunting. His men had confirmed that Conner Fitz had left her apartment an hour before the attack, and hadn't returned home yet. She was as much a suspect as the Alpha was at that point: new betas were always so volatile.

"Proof? Are you kidding me?" she exclaimed. Before Chris could argue, someone knocked on the garage door. Chris frowned; who the hell would knock on the garage door at four o'clock in the morning? Kate pulled the safety off her gun and pointed at the door while Chris checked the security camera.

A man in a brown leather jacket stood with his hands in his pockets, looking straight into the camera. With a cool confidence he waved, with the air of someone who knew the door would never be closed to him. And he was right. With a frown, Chris opened the garage door, letting the man in. Kate lowered her gun when she saw who it was, and smiled seductively at the man as he walked in.

He stood at almost six feet and had a strong build with wide shoulders. His skin was tanned from the outdoors, but what caught the most attention were his honey-colored eyes and burgundy-colored hair. His gun holster hung loosely at his waist, and Chris and Kate knew he had to have at least two other weapons hidden on his person. Hell, if they'd killed as many wolves as he had, they'd walk around loaded, too.

"Well well, if it isn't Roy Blackbird," Chris greeted. Roy smirked at Chris and shook his hand, slapping his shoulder fondly.

"Chris. Kate," he said, lowering his voice slightly when he addressed the latter. Kate smiled and, without warning, grabbed him by the back of his neck and locked lips with him. Chris diverted his gaze uncomfortably as Roy held her by the waist, kissing her back fiercely as if they were completely alone/ Roy was the one to pull back after a minute, giving Chris an apologetic look.

"It's been forever," he said, as if it was an excuse. With a wide grin, he nodded at the guns Kate had laid out on the table. "Hey, are we going hunting for that Alpha or what?"

"No, we're going after something a little bit smaller," Kate corrected, but both men could hear the excitement in her voice at the prospect of a new hunt. "A young beta the alpha turned recently just killed her father in law. You ready to prove that you never miss a target?"

"A new beta?" Roy repeated, looking curiously at Chris as he wandered over to the table. "Are we sure she's been turned?" Chris gave Kate an admonishing look.

"Conner Fitz, emancipated teen and online college student living alone," he began, giving the target profile to the fellow hunter. "She was attacked by the alpha recently and left alive, but with claw marks torn across her back. She's already healed and has been seen associating with Derek Hale, another beta." He crossed his arms and frowned as Roy calmly inspected the guns, using far too much familiarity when handling them. "When we interviewed her boyfriend's father, he said that he'd seen Derek Hale at her apartment, and was going to tell his son she was cheating." He shrugged. "Within hours, Conner goes out for a drive, and he shows up mauled in the hospital parking lot."

Roy let out a low whistle. "That sounds awfully suspicious," he commented casually. "Did you say her name is Conner Fitz?"

"Records say she changed her name a year ago," Kate added. "We're still waiting on the background profile." Roy let out a sigh. "What? We don't need to know her real name to know that she needs to-!"

"Her real name is Conner Daniels, named Conner because ironically, one of its meanings is 'lover of hounds', and we're not going to kill her," Roy interrupted, pointing the assault rifle as a target on the wall and looking through the scope. "She has partial immunity to werewolf venom, so she can't have been turned by a scratch, and I highly doubt she killed her boyfriend's daddy."

"And how would you know that?" Kate challenged. Roy lowered the gun and grabbed Kate's chin, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Because, my dear Kate," he began, inching his face closer to hers, "that girl is my daughter, and if she turns out to be a werewolf, it won't be your business because I'll put a bullet in her head myself."

"Derek!"

When I get no answer, I push the front door open and storm inside, listening for him. Still getting no answer, I yell again. "Derek! Where are you?"

"What do you want?"

I whorl around as Derek steps up to the front porch. He looks upset about something, but I don't have time to ask about what it is and walk up to him. "I'm in."

"What?" he asks irritably.

"I'm in," I repeat, more forcefully this time. "To kill this alpha son of a bitch. I'll help you do whatever the hell you want, just as long as I get the chance to help kill him."

He doesn't seem relieved by me accepting the expired invitation and walks past, not even looking at me. "You said yourself that you're only human," he reminds me. Even if he sounds cold, I know he's just testing to make sure that I'm certain.

"Exactly." He stops and raises his eyebrow, finally meeting my gaze. "I'm human. He tried to turn me, but it didn't work, which means..."

"He's going to try again," he finishes. "With a bite." I nod. "So, you want to use yourself as bait?"

"Only if you have another werewolf to help you out," I relent, holding up my hands. "While I'm sure you're a bad-ass werewolf on your own, we need this to be fool-proof. Do you know anyone?"

He pauses and, after a moment, nods his head. "We have to convince Scott."

"Scott?" I exclaim. "Seriously? He's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box."

Derek shrugs. "Do you have any better ideas?" I sigh and shake my head. "Alright. How do you propose we proceed?"

"Tonight we'll talk about it." I pull my car keys out of my pocket and look out the door. It's five thirty, and the sky is already turning lighter. "I have someplace to be." He nods and I start to walk away, but his voice stops me for a second.

"What changed your mind?"

Loneliness.

Desperation.

Fear.

I look at him over my shoulder, seeing him differently for a second. He stands in the ruins of the house where his family burned alive, and seems to carry that unseen weight on his shoulders. I can see the same shadow in him that's slowly growing in me, and I wonder if he sees it, too. "Same reason you're here," I answer, turning away. "I'm no hero, but he just made this personal."

Post-Chapter Note:

So, let me know, guys...