Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or Dave Kessler from American Werewolf in London...
A/N: An eternally grateful thank-you to the wonderful fountainxxpenny for all your help on this chapter. I hope you enjoy the changes made...
Houseguests
Allison turned from the window, swiping the wetness from her eyes. Her fingers scrubbed across her forehead with short, fast strokes before falling to trace her lower lip. Twisting, she draped her arm over the back of her chair and frowned at her desk.
Her homework had been carefully piled on the left corner of her work space. Three notebooks and her math book were topped by the small, faded volume which Kate had given her for her history project. How much time had she'd spent pouring over those yellowed and water-marked pages, completely oblivious to the present day monsters infiltrating her life?
She sighed as her focus shifted to the dark computer screen. She rose, dragging her chair to it's proper place and shook the mouse to rouse the laptop. Dark eyes reflected a white sheen as her favorite search site pulled up.
"Seen the good guys," she muttered, setting her fingers to the keyboard. "What else do we know about the bad ones?"
A black line flashed at the head of the search bar, patiently beating against her eyes. Demanding a single question.
Well? Well? Well? Well? Well?
Taking her lip between her teeth, she tapped a key.
W.
The letter appeared, stark black against bland white. Stomach tightening, she blew out a breath and moved her hand again.
E.
The bar fell, eager to guess what she might be looking for. Weather? Webster? Welt? Well? Well? Well?
R.
Werewolf?
The screen filled with dozens of images. Snarling siloughettes. Wild, rolling eyes. Wicked, curling lips. Medival jaws clamped upon the middles of wailing women. Teeth ever parted in furious but silent howls. David Kessler wide-eyed and sweaty, trapped half-way between his agonizing transformation.
But behind every photo scrolling up her screen, were the vivid gold eyes that had gazed up at her through a grimy bus window. Eyes full of regret and confusion, but certainly not this depicted madness. An animal's presence might have overtaken him, but Scott had been in that crouching form too. She knew it.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
She could still see a pointed ear protruding from dark curls, each hair illuminated in the harsh headlights.
Bing-bong! Bing-bong! Bing-
Allison's head flew upward as a deafening crack shuddered the house. A muffled voice rose from downstairs only to be swallowed by the scream of shattering glass.
"Mom!" Allison bolted from her chair, wincing as her twisted ankle gave a reminding bite. She stuck her head out into the hall. "Dad?"
Something heavy struck the wall. She limped towards the stairs, her stomach sinking with each step. More thuds and splintering cracks of wood continued from the downstairs until she had angled herself into the shadows of the hall. Steeling her nerve, she peeked around the corner.
Electricity flashed across her eyes as she threw her shoulders back against the wall. Both hands clamped over her mouth to keep her shock inisde. She could still see the strain in his chest as his spine arched in pain. His deafening roars still lingered in her ears. Her heart still twisted to see him strung up as he had been, weakened and defenseless against her aunt's teasings.
Nonetheless, Derek Hale was on her staircase.
How had he gotten out?
Why would he come here?
Was he after Kate?
Where was Kate?
Where were her parents?
Why...why wasn't he coming upstairs?
Sucking a breath past her fingers, she inclined her head forward, inch by inch, until the werewolf came into sight. He remained as he had been with his shoulder facing her. His hand was curled about the railing and his eyes were locked on the living room. As she watched him, he suddenly shifted his weight and sank to his haunches, never sparing a glance towards the body between his feet.
Allison clenched her teeth as she recognized the flare of red hair against the pale carpet. Victoria was sprawled upon the lower steps, Derek's feet set on either side of her hips. Like an accident on the highway, Allison found she couldn't drag her eyes off her mother in such a state of vulnerability. Her fingers resting loosely curled where her hands had landed...Was she breathing? Allsion couldn't tell from her angle.
Her hands tightened into fists as Derek's tipped head became blurred. Nothing remained of the cool and confident boy who had introduced himself at that party two months ago. Nor did he have the wearied defiance that had struck her heart in the dungeon where he had been kept. Now he was harried and sallow-skinned with a faint sheen clinging to his hairline. It was like he had been emptied out, stripped even of his usual indifference.
But seeing him standing over the threshold of her ruined front door and hovering over the limp form of her mother, Allison Argent found she had no sympthay to muster towards him.
A calm, patient voice slowly crept into her consciousness. She couldn't make out the words, but her shoulders tightened when they ushered in a deeper response.
Dad...
Instantly, her eyes darkened towards the beta and her brow furrowed with determination. Drawing back, she turned and tip-toed back down the hall, carefully treading on the rugs to ensure the floor would not squeak beneath her.
She slipped, silently, out of sight just as the door to the master bedroom creaked open. A slice of moonlight widened over the floorboards.
It was a horror he had never allowed himself to entertain. Made completely illogical by the generations of experience which proved that no alpha had ever been crazy enough to invade a hunter's territory.
The reprocusions of such idiocy...The measures that have been taken in securing the chose locations...After all, who were the hunters in the war and who were the hunted? He had used all these arguments to stifle the concerns of his new recruits. Every speech was memorized to placating perfection. A dozen or so reasons why their fears were nonsense or unfounded.
But with two of the devils standing standing inside his own walls, Chris thought all of that seemed a bit too much like bull -
"I'm Peter," the creature said above him, never losing that cordial smile. Chris' teeth flashed, the heels of his hands braced against the polished shoe bearing down on his chest. Peter tipped his head to the right. "And I believe you're familiar with my nephew?"
Chris scowled at him, cursing the increasing throb building in his shoulder and the infuriating inability to throw the beast off.
"I understand you've been looking for me. I thought I'd save you the trouble and pay you a visit, Argent. Hopefully, we'll be able to sort a few things out without all those pesky..." He extended his thumb and index finger, curling the other three under as he aimed an invisible pistol at the hunter's forehead. He flicked his wrist up and lifted a brow. "Complications."
Two wolves inside his house while he had an entire army waiting for him on the other side of a phone call. His cell was lost somewhere in the shambles of the room, hiding out with his gun. Allison upstairs. He could only hope she had the sense to keep herself out of sight. Victoria...
His eyes widened and he twisted, violently, craning his neck for some glimpse of the foyer. The overturned furniture, however, blocked any view he might have had of the silent staircase. He returned to his shoulders with a frustrated grunt.
"Don't worry, Argent." A low chuckle slithered between them. "Derek will keep a close eye on the misses while you're indisposed."
"That's...a comfort," Chris muttered as the heel jabbing into the soft flesh beneath his sternum dug just a little deeper.
C'mon! he thought, Get yourself out! Do it!
Peter tipped his head and rolled his attention to their surroundings. Chris turned to follow the path of those icy eyes, his frustration only festering at the vile and patient scrutiny his home received. They took in the shattered window, which was a nagging factor Chris just couldn't shake. He didn't need concerned neighbors "popping by" to see what all the commotion was about and handing the alpha any more leverage than he already had.
The demolished love seats and coffee table were scattered everywhere. The hunter could feel them along the length of his spine, prodding him with sharp bites whenever he shifted his position. Peter smiled at the two lonely photos that had managed to cling to the wall even after Chris' weight had collided with them.
The survey ended in the fireplace, when the alpha suddenly stilled. His serenity slipped a little as he stared into the blacked interior, causing his brow to pucker ever so slightly. Chris' own eyes narrowed as the distant look crossed over the alpha's face.
He lessened his grip on the shoe, easing his left hand down to the floor. The alpha blinked and seemed to rouse himself out of the short torpor, turning his gaze to the hunter.
His smile returned as brittle as frozen glass. "You have a lovely home. Truly," his finger circled about the room, "it's a nice floor plan."
Chris' palm ghosted along his side, skimming fragments of the coffee table.
"A man's home says a lot about him, you know. It's his sanctuary, his refuge, his final stronghold against the evils of this world. Then again, since you're married..." He rolled his eyes, considering, "Would it transfer over to the garage?"
Chris glared at him, his hand still in search of something, anything, that could be considered a weapon. Each breath was steadied through his nose, exhaled between his teeth, zeroing his thoughts on keeping his heart rate steady. Keeping his intention out of his eyes.
That's right, he encouraged the other in silence. Keep talking. It's your big moment. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Peter shrugged, dismissing his own question. "No matter. I suppose it all becomes one and the same after that safety net has been yanked from beneath us. Once that most fortified outpot has been beseiged, invaded." He reached above the mantle to stroke a finger along Victoria's favorite vase. "And desecrated."
He tipped it over the edge.
Chris flinched as it smashed into the stone hearth, pelting his neck and cheek with bits of ceramic. His fingers brushed over a large hunk of wood, jagged on the side that had broken from the whole. Only the severity of his position kept the triumph out of his face as he imaged plunging the stake into the werewolf's calf.
If only to wipe that smile clean off his face.
Wait for the moment, Argent. Wait.
Using his nails, he began to hike the piece higher towards his palm.
Peter loomed above him, studying the stoic lack of response. He cocked his head. "We have that in common now, don't we?"
Chris stilled his progress. Misdirect the conversation, keep the wolf focused on anything but carrying out his intent. He snorted with as much disdain as his compressed chest would allow.
"Lost a house..." he grunted. "S-s-so you'll t-trash mine?"
Peter's gaze flickered and Chris scoured that face to see if it was suspicion which narrowed those terrible eyes. He normally discouraged any banter with the enemy, so he had to admit he was a little rusty on the spur-of-the-moment anecdotes. Then again, he normally wasn't facing down an alpha while flat on his back either.
Roll with the punches, right?
"Hardly," Peter growled at last, his lip curling. "Houses can be fixed, Argent. Replaced." The bridge of his nose crinkled with a bitter smirk. "The intent of any crime is never against the property, now is it?"
His fingernails skid over the wood's polished finish. But the werewolf's gave no indication that he heard it. His lip was trembling as he struggled to keep his next words level.
"No. The true cruelty of any break-in, or vandalism, or even of a fire," a rumble shivered through the word, "is what it does to the man left behind. Stripping him of his security. Stealing his authority over his own domain. He is robbed of any confidence that he is capable of defending his own!"
His teeth elongated as he shifted his weight over the man. Chris' neck arched as the pressure doubled upon his lungs.
"Helplessness," a much darker voice mused, "is an ugly thing, isn't it?"
From his position on the staircase, Derek watched the men's silent duel. One seeking out the fear and pitiful wails he had drug from his other victims. The other battling with everything a lifetime of war had integrated into him: silence and indifference in the face of adversity.
But the emotions roiling from the living room betrayed everything their faces would not reveal. They were thick and potent as they glided over the beta's tongue, slowing his already muddled thoughts as he tried to sort through each one. The triumph that tingled through his skin. The apprehension of the situation that left his stomach heavy laden. Which sense of injustice outweighed the other? Whose determination blazed hotter? And just who was floundering beneath the intensity of it all?
He shook his head, taking each breath through his nose and letting it go between his teeth. His knuckles whitened upon the banister as he tried to focus on the words exchanged between them. He could hear each one plainly but could not reign in his comprehension long enough to decipher any of it. Frustration coiled up his spine as a caged fury built and built and built within him.
Peter! a distant voice bellowed somewhere behind him. You can't do this! You have to let me go!
His lips remained closed, empty eyes filled with nothing but obedience.
Closer at hand, he felt smug amusement stir through the dominent presence crushing his will. Complete confidence radiating that the beta would not twitch a finger without its consent.
It was infuriating.
His nostrils flared, suddenly.
A new scent. One he recognized.
Floral by her choice of shampoo and deodorant, intermixed with a spritz of apple body spray. The girl.
Derek glanced upward even as her shadow flitted from the top step. His muscles reacted, instinctively, at the threat she posed to the alpha's plan. Red leaked into his irises as he made to follow her. Then, he hesitated.
Don't. The far off voice pressed. She's no concern. Let her be...
His hand trembled, wood creaking as his fingernails swept into claws. He could feel the alpha-logic considering the other's point and then finally conceding to it. Only then could he let his foot fall to a lower step.
It was true, after all. He returned normal, if not slightly glazed, hazel eyes to the living room. For good or ill, the girl would ever be Scott's problem. Not his.
Relief flooded into his stomach though he wasn't entirely sure why.
"Isn't it?" Peter demanded when he didn't get an answer.
The hunter winced as the weight eased up. Air flooded back into his lungs with a shuddering gasp. And he used his lurching breath the shield the moment his hand closed about the wood.
Good, Argent! Good, good...
He offered a weak nod to appease the werewolf's patience, tightening his grip. He had to be fast, before anticipation could betray his plan...
"All right," Peter said, pleasantly. "Now you have some concept of that atomosphere inside my brother's home the night you took him from -"
Chris' entire frame rocked with the force of his blow. But just as fast as he initiated the strike, his arm slammed back to the floor. The pressure which was on his chest vanished and reappeared full force upon the side of his pinned wrist.
Peter clucked his tongue with disapproval.
"After all that sneakiness, too," he sneered, shaking his head. His heel went up and came hurtling back down with a sickening crunch.
Chris heard the break a split second before his mind was assaulted by his nerves being set on fire. White heat seared through his inner ears and he twisted to curl upon the injury. He never got that far.
Instead, a wide palm shoved him flat again. Spittle snuck past his clenched teeth as Peter settled over him, his right foot still pinning the shattered wrist to the floor. The werewolf lifted the makeshift stake from where it had fallen and turned it between them, thoughtfully.
He snapped it in two with his thumb. The pieces bounced off Chris' chest.
"Wrong monster," he said with a shrug. "Guilt making us desperate, is it?"
Chris puffed out a few breaths, trying to stifle the fire scorching his arm with every minute movement. He cracked his eyes at the alpha, feeling the flush of his own wrath rising up his neck. This murdering animal had to gall to accuse him of guilt? Really?
"Th-that's the real diff...difference between us. Isn't it, Hale?"
Peter cocked his head, curiously.
"Your kind, ugh...will never let the facts get in the way of a good story, huh?"
He smirked when that smile finally vanished. Peter's palm slammed into his throat and Chris sputtered as strong fingers created a vice about his windpipe.
"A good story?" the lighter voice trembled with thinly veiled rage. His eyes swirled into a smoldering red. "You don't think I know what you're people did to us?"
"D-do you?" Chris grunted, lifting his chin in challenge. "Because I've never heard...of an order t-to burn a house..."
Peter's growl subsided as he lowered his gaze to the back of his own hand. His fingers were curled over the steady beat just beneath the man's jaw. His eyes narrowed.
"Well?" Chris muttered, stiffly. "Am I lying?"
He felt the tremble in those fingers as they withdrew. Peter remained hovering above him, his irises returned to blue but darkened now as he considered the man's heartbeat. Chris' breathing stilled, his wrist still vying for his full attention despite his effort to stay focused on the beast. A shadow of doubt crossed his face, but any sense of victory was wiped from the hunter when he suddenly cracked his neck.
"Tell me, Argent, how many nights did it take you?" Chris frowned up at him as the other's face hardened. "Before you convinced yourself of your innocence? Before that lie became your truth?"
Chris flinched despite the angry jolt which shot up his arm. How depraved was this monster?
"I am not...lying," he hissed.
Peter stared at him, a slight twitch tugging at his upper lip.
Depraved enough, it seemed. He furrowed his brow. "Killing an innocent hunter...will only sign your own death sentence. You and the rest of your pack, Hale..."
Peter straightened, his wrath clearing as he did. "You?" His mouth erupted into a broad grin. "Argent, what would I possibly gain from killing you?"
The hunter stared at him in silence.
A deep rumble emanated through the alpha's chest, rising until the whole living room seemed to shiver with his laughter.
Chris was dumbfounded. "Isn't that what you've wan-"
"What I've wanted," Peter snarled. "Is understanding only." He finally released the man's wrist, only to sidle closer to his face. "I want you to...to appreciate just what your people did to me. What you took." That eerily calm smile came creeping back into place. "Besides, I have beta who needs breaking in, Argent."
Chris' heart stopped only to come roaring back to life between his ears. A chill swept down his back.
"Scott?"
Peter's smile deepened. "I'll ask you again: What would I possibly gain...from killing you?"
With that, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling.
