Scott and Allison became almost inseparable once again. Stiles tried to determine what Allison had told Scott about the Netherfield party's sudden decampment, but it appeared that Scott had been too overjoyed at Allison's return to ask any questions, and Allison hadn't volunteered any further information. She no doubt felt, as Stiles did, that any true exposure of Kate's actions would risk disclosing details that Derek would wish to stay private, and therefore it was better not to start at all.
Scott, for one, seemed to have forgotten all about Kate, and there was little mention of her in the village as well. Stiles had even hoped, perhaps, that she had moved on, and so he was disconcerted for many reasons to run into her again, coming out of the bookseller's shop in the village as he tried to enter it.
"Stiles!" she exclaimed, smiling widely. "How lovely to see you again!"
Stiles attempted to smile in return, fearful that his distaste for the woman was written all over his damnably expressive face. "You as well! I'm sorry, though, I'm in a bit of a rush —"
"Of course!"
For a moment Stiles thought he was free, but the detestable woman followed him into the store. "I have plenty of time, I'll keep you company on your errands!" she chirped.
"So kind of you," Stiles managed. "But I really just have to pick up this one book and then I'm off home again."
He waved at old Mrs. Soraya to try to speed her along. "The book I ordered has come in?" he prompted the bookseller when she simply blinked at him placidly from behind her enormous spectacles. "Stilinski?"
"Yes! Yes! Oh my, yes. I'll just…" She tottered off to the back of the shop, and Stiles shifted from foot to foot, never so impatient with the doddering old woman as he was today.
"So how was your friend's wedding? Lydia, wasn't it?"
Stiles' head snapped around, and he belatedly tried to hide his surprise. "I hadn't remembered mentioning her name, but yes, it was Lydia. And it was a beautiful ceremony. Quite scenic."
"And I understand she married Jackson Whittemore, one of the party that was so recently at Netherfield! What a small world it is indeed!" Kate's wide smile suddenly appeared sharklike, menacing.
"Village gossip appears to have been quite comprehensive on the subject," Stiles said. "Mrs. Soraya, are you having any luck?" he called out toward the back of the shop.
"In a minute dear, in a minute." The quavering voice carried through the musty shop, and Stiles resisted the urge to hit his head against the counter.
"I hope I didn't put you in an uncomfortable position," Kate continued, her brow now furrowed in apparent concern. "I would not have confided in you so fully for the world if I had known how soon you would be seeing our mutual acquaintance again. Because he was the best man at the wedding, wasn't he, and you for Lydia? How much I regret causing you the pain you must have endured to meet the man again, knowing what he really was!"
"Yes, it certainly was a revelation," Stiles said, fighting to keep his voice neutral despite his building fury at the woman's unmitigated gall. "Amazing how appearances can be so deceiving, and how quickly things can change when you understand a person's true character."
An unreadable expression crossed Kate's face, and Stiles worried that his anger might have caused him to speak unwisely. Fortunately they were both distracted by the return of Mrs. Soraya.
"Wonderful!" Stiles said, with a disproportionate amount of enthusiasm for the circumstances. "I'll just —"
But Kate was quicker, snatching the book from Mrs. Soraya's hand and scanning the title.
"Why, Mr. Stilinski! I had no idea that you were interested in lycanthropy!" she exclaimed, playfully dangling the book just out of his reach. "But then again I shouldn't be surprised. I understand your step-brother is now one of that...particular breed."
Stiles' fingers twitched to strangle the life out of the woman, but he pasted a false smile on his face, handing over the bills to Mrs. Soraya and then holding his hand out patiently for the book.
"Yes, my brother is, as your seemingly inexhaustible font of village gossip seems to have informed you, a werewolf. That understandably piqued my interest on the topic."
"Naturally." Kate finally handed the book over. "Your loyalty to your brother does you credit. And do you hold such affection for any other werewolves of your acquaintance?"
Stiles busied himself stowing the book in his knapsack, thinking furiously. There could be no other interpretation of Kate's words, she must be speaking of Derek, and yet he couldn't even begin to know how to respond to them.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said. "The werewolves of my acquaintance, just like the others of my acquaintance, please or displease me based on their actions of the day. I have a very changeable nature."
"So I see," Kate said, her voice cold, but when Stiles's eyes darted up her expression was as bright and guileless as ever. "Well, I see you're in a hurry, so…"
"Yes. Until we meet again, Miss Argent." Stiles sketched a quick bow and made his escape, cursing himself silently for being so transparent.
He hurried homewards, thoughts tumbling one after another. Kate had to have perceived the change in his manner, but what could he have done differently? He was not so talented an actor as to be able to pretend affection for the woman, knowing her to be so conniving and malicious that just looking upon her turned his stomach. Could Derek have been right in thinking that Kate might target Stiles? What could she possibly still want here in Beacon, now that Derek was gone from the place?
Around and around went his thoughts, and he was so intently focused on deciphering the interaction that he didn't hear the approaching thunder of hoofbeats until it was almost too late.
Stiles leaped aside just in time, tumbling off the path and into a small gully, the breath quite knocked out of him for a moment. He heard the horse canter to a stop and then turn. He struggled to his knees, readying to run as soon as he was able to draw breath, but it was too late.
Kate's head appeared above the embankment. Every aspect of her demeanor had changed at once, the warmth and shyness falling away like a mask to reveal a cold, sharp smile and a maniacal glint in her eye, but Stiles had eyes for nothing except the brass-barreled pistol gripped expertly in her gloved hand.
"So clumsy," Kate scoffed. "Why don't you join me up here in the road?"
The barrel of the pistol stayed steady on him, Kate backing up slowly as he stood. He hissed in pain as he put weight on his right ankle but managed to climb up the embankment, muddy and scraped, ankle throbbing with every step. He had to admit Kate had timed it well — Stiles was still quite a bit from home, but few would pass by this path at this time of the afternoon.
"What are you hoping will happen here?" Stiles asked, fear making his heart thump loudly in his chest. "What can you gain by killing me?"
"Oh, I don't need to kill you. At least not yet."
Stiles had just a split second to consider running, injured ankle or not, and then he found himself on the ground again. He was dazed, his ears ringing, uncertain what had happened for a moment before the veil of numbness dropped and his shoulder blazed with pain.
He bit back a cry through clenched teeth, his hand coming up to press against the wound. He hadn't even realized he had closed his eyes until he opened them to find Kate looming over him, looking smug.
"It's a lovely invention, isn't it?" she crowed, turning the pistol as if admiring the design. "The French are so innovative with their weaponry. Double-barreled, which means I still have one to put in your head if you cause me any trouble."
"If you're trying not to kill me, shooting me is a bad start," Stiles gritted out.
"Oh, don't be like that. My aim is excellent. That one was just a warning."
Stiles tried to slow his panting breaths, feeling some of the dizziness fade. The pain still blazed in his shoulder, but his head was starting to clear a bit. "A verbal warning would have been sufficient," he snarled.
"Would it?" Kate leaned in, pressing the toe of her boot against the wound in Stiles' shoulder. This time he could not suppress his scream, hands scrabbling uselessly at her boot until she released the pressure, stepping back again. "But this is more fun."
"You're mad." It nothing more than realization on Stiles' part, his mouth working without permission while his head was still trying to think through the haze of pain, but Kate's face twisted in anger for a moment before she schooled her expression.
"Up!" she said sharply, punctuating the utterance with a sharp-toed kick to Stiles' ribs. "I don't plan to kill you, but I'm more than happy to improvise. Get up and walking or I'll let the horse drag you, and take my chances as to whether you're still breathing when we get there."
Stiles rolled effortfully to his good side, gulping in sharp ragged breaths, and then slowly pushed himself up on his elbow. He managed to straighten to an unsteady stand, Kate's watchful gaze on him the whole time.
Kate untied the horse. He was sweating and stamping a bit, obviously unnerved by the gunfire and the scent of blood, but he appeared to be well-trained. Kate prodded Stiles ahead, walking behind him, managing to lead the horse with the gun held steady.
"Just where are you planning to take me?" Stiles asked, thinking furiously as he limped along. Much as he wanted to keep Scott away from danger, leaving a trail for his brother to follow was probably Stiles' best chance at survival. Stiles tried to imperceptibly ease up the pressure he was holding against his bullet wound, feeling the blood start to trickle down his left arm again.
"I hate to tell you, I'm not exactly feeling up to a vigorous hike at present," Stiles babbled. Perhaps if he kept talking, his voice would cover up the sound of the droplets of blood that were slowly pattering to the forest floor every few steps.
"It's not far," Kate prodded him in the back with her pistol again. "Maybe you'll even get there before the wolfsbane in the shot kicks in," she added spitefully.
It took another sharp prod between his shoulder blades for Stiles to realize he had stopped walking, and he resumed stumbling through the forest, trying to think through the haze of pain and exhaustion. Christ, wolfsbane ammunition — that was something Stiles hadn't even known existed.
Wolfsbane was not as deadly to humans as it was to werewolves, but it was still toxic. Stiles ran through the symptoms in his mind — nausea, dizziness, uneven heart rhythm, hallucinations. He was already weak and dizzy from blood loss and pain. The pistol ball couldn't have held much wolfsbane, but if any of it had entered his bloodstream, it was a matter of time before he would no longer be able to implement any sort of rational plan.
"This way." Kate indicated a narrow path, mostly overgrown by brambles. Stiles recognized it as a path that led to Purvis Lodge, an small estate that had been long-abandoned and had fallen into disrepair. Stiles had to reluctantly admit that it was a good hiding place.
As they got closer, Kate directed Stiles down yet another path, this one even more overgrown, nigh near impassable. Stiles stumbled even more frequently, his vision starting to waver, the sounds of the forest becoming distant and muffled. He tripped over a root and crashed to his knees, his head hanging between his arms for a long moment before he managed to raise it.
He heard Kate saying something, but couldn't make out the words. He felt a sharp tug on his hair, and found himself standing again. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. There was a small stone dwelling a few hundred yards ahead, almost obscured by shrubbery — the Lodge's old gamekeeper's cottage. He focused on it, managing a slow shamble forward again. Time seemed to skip — he thought he was still a distance away, and then suddenly he was leaning against the wall, watching Kate shove at the door, rusty hinges giving way with a reluctant shriek.
Kate prodded him through the door, but he stumbled on the threshold, his foot catching on an uneven stone and his injured ankle giving way under the strain. He landed on hands and knees on the dusty floor, a shock of pain running up his arm to his injured shoulder, and then he remembered no more.