Sunday, October 2nd, 2011 [age 15]

"You're a special case," said Araya. "You're different from the other hunters. So we'll start the initiation process different for you as well." Gabriella held a look of confusion on her face.

"You won't be making a silver bullet," said Araya. "Though, you will be using silver."

"What am I making then?" Gabriella asked.

"You won't be making anything. Bullets are a weapon that you use, but they are not your real weapon. Your claws are." Before she knew it, Gabriella felt chains being thrown on her. They restricted her movement. She began to panic.

"Calm down, mi hija. This won't hurt that much," said Araya. Gabriella felt the chains pulling her down. She felt cold metal on her back. She tried to tilt her head upward but there was a chain running across her neck as well. She couldn't move any part of her body. She thought that if she shifted she could escape. But she knew that if she did, there would be severe consequences.

"What are you doing?" asked Gabriella.

"Your claws are your weapon so we will make them silver. Did you know that silver boils at 961 degrees Celsius?" This only made Gabriella panic more.

"How do you expect to make my claws silver? That makes no sense. It's impossible."

"Si, es imposible. But we are not going to make them silver; we just want to coat them in it." Gabriella tried to move as much as she could in her chains. She heard them rattle but they didn't budge very much. [Yes, it's impossible]

"This is a very delicate process," said Araya. "So I suggest you remain still unless you want a liquid that hot on your skin." Gabriella immediately obeyed in terror. She hoped that maybe, because it was her claws and not her skin, that the process would be painless. But, boy, was she wrong. She felt every single drop that was poured onto her claws. It burned as it hit her claws, and throbbed as it dried. But all she could do was scream so she did. She screamed as loud as she could. She screamed until her throat grew raw and she lost her voice.


Monday, January 24th, 2012

Stiles woke up groggily. Both being woken up so abruptly and being pulled out of his dream had irritated him. His irritation subsided when the first thing he saw was the curly-haired beauty that he had fallen asleep next to. Their hands were still entwined and he didn't want to move, but he knew that he should probably not ignore his phone. With friends like his, a single missed phone call could mean someone's death. As soon as Gabriella's eyes open, Stiles noticed a hint of green in them, but after a few seconds it subsided into the brown that they normally were. She pulled her hand out of his, sitting herself up on the bed. Her eyes were, for Stiles, an unspoken command to pick up the phone. He groaned as he moved to grab his phone from the small table stand next to his bed. He grabs it as it rings for the last time. Stiles sees the notification on his phone telling him that he has three missed calls from Lydia and two texts from her, letting him know that she was on her way to his house to tell him something important. Stiles cursed under his breath as he rushed himself out of bed. In his rush, some of the bed sheets got caught on one of his feet causing him to trip and hit his head against the wall.

"Ow," he said.

"Are you okay?" asked Gabriella, crawling over to his side of the bed so that she could get a better look at the boy.

"Ah," he said as he quickly got up and sifted through his closet for clean clothing. "I'm fine." He was about to change his pants when he remembered that he wasn't alone in the room. "Uhh." He looked back at Gabriella.

"Oh, I don't mind," said Gabriella with a feigned look of innocence on her face. "As long as you don't," she finished and sent a wink his way. Stiles blushed, shoving himself into the closet as much as he could. He didn't have time to run to the bathroom. Lydia's text was sent almost half an hour ago. She would be there any minute and the last thing that he wanted her to find is him in bed with Gabriella.

"Mind telling me what's going on, Stiles?" she asked him. Stiles made his way out of the closet having changed his clothes in a little under a minute. He sat back on the bed as he started putting a fresh pair of socks onto his feet.

"Lydia's coming. She's going to be here any minute," said Stiles.

"Okay?" she asked.

"Okay?!" exclaimed Stiles putting one of his feet into a sneaker. "How do you think she's going to react when she sees us here like this?!"

"Ahh," mumbled Gabriella. "If that was the issue, why didn't you just tell me to leave?" Gabriella let her head fall back on the pillow. She was exhausted. Even if she had slept through the night, using her powers always wore her out; and she had been using them for extended periods of time. All she wanted was for Stiles to crawl back into bed with her and fall asleep—a proper sleep.

"I did not think of that," he said. Just as he finished tying his shoelace, Lydia Martin walked in, looking no less unfashionable than usual. Gabriella lifted her head to look over at Lydia when she walked in. Lydia's eyes widened significantly and her head tilted slightly to the side as she took in the sight before her. She turned her head over toward Stiles.

"This isn't what it looks like!" said Stiles, flailing his arms in the air.

"And what does it look like Stiles?" she asks. "Because to me it looks like you moved on to someone with much better taste. I approve." Gabriella sat up on the bed, surprisingly stunned at Lydia's reaction.

"What?" asked Gabriella.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed," said Lydia. "You can dress yourself better than Malia or Kira could ever dream of, combined. Shorts with leggings? Please!" Gabriella couldn't help, but let out a laugh at Lydia's reply. She wasn't sure if Lydia was always this accepting of people or if it had something to do with what had happened between them at the party, but right now Gabriella was so glad to have someone else that didn't see her as the enemy. Stiles was speechless. His mouth was slightly agape. He was unsure as to how to react to Lydia's response to the situation.

"Come on, now," began Lydia. "We don't have all day."

"What exactly don't we have all day for?" asked Stiles.

"Oh, right. I haven't told you yet. So my grandmother's ashes aren't really her ashes, and since she was a banshee I'm thinking that she may be the benefactor or at least helping him."

"You think your grandmother is still alive?"

"It's definitely a possibility. I wanted to run this by the sheriff."

"Ahh. Alright. Let's go," Stiles said as he stood up from the bed and started making his way toward the door. However, he could not leave since Lydia hadn't moved from her spot in the doorway, and, thus, was blocking him from exiting. She raised her eyebrow at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Well," began Lydia, "aren't you going to invite your new girlfriend to come along?"

"What?" Lydia sighed.

"Come on, Gabriella. You can come too if you want." Lydia looked around Stiles at the girl who was still seated on Stiles bed. She was surprised, but Lydia's smile seemed genuine. She didn't smell any sort of deceit coming from the strawberry blonde so she decided to agree to go along. She quickly put her shoes on and walked over to the pair. Lydia moved from the doorway and turned around to head down the stairs. Stiles was puzzled by how Lydia was acting; she normally did not warm up to people this quickly—there was Allison, but she was different. They exited the house, Gabriella closing the door behind her.

"Aren't you going to lock the door, Stiles?" asked Lydia.

"No," he answered.

"That's exactly how I was able to get in. What if someone more dangerous than me with different intents goes in?"

"Pssh. What are they gonna do? Steal the kitchen table? Come on, it's Beacon Hills. If you disregard all the supernatural stuff, our crime rate is ridiculously low. Trust me, I calculated it. And who would be stupid enough to try to do anything to the sheriff's house?" Stiles made his way to his jeep while Lydia made her way to her car.

"Come, Gabriella! Ride with me!" exclaimed Lydia. Gabriella did not dare oppose her. Lydia may not have had any claws or fangs the way that Gabriella did, but Gabriella could tell that Lydia was not someone who you would want to get on the bad side of. As Gabriella sat down in the passenger seat and closed the car door, Lydia spoke up.

"Can I call you Gabby?" asked Lydia, looking over at Gabriella. Gabriella looked over at her seeing the pain hidden in her eyes. There was definitely more to Lydia than she showed the rest of the world. Gabriella had learned that much on the night that they had first met.

"Sure," said Gabriella. The two spent the rest of the ride conversing about trivial things, starting to get to know each other a little better. Gabriella had never had a friend like this, and she liked it.


Sheriff Stilinski sighed as he watched his son walk into the police department. Every time he came in, he told him something else that increased his stress. His blood pressure was rising with the newfound knowledge of all the supernatural things that were going on in this town. He still hadn't fully wrapped around his whole head around it. With him were Lydia and a girl who he had yet to meet.

"Dad," said Stiles. "We have something to tell you."

"That doesn't surprise me," he said. "First, who's she? Is she, y'know, one of them?" Gabriella rolled her eyes at the sheriff's lack of discreetness.

"This is Gabriella," he said. "She is a werecat that can go into people's subconscious and dreams and stuff."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I am not a werecat!" exclaimed Gabriella. The sheriff looked around to see that the only officer currently in the station was Haigh who seemed too immersed in his work to notice what they had said.

"She's also a hunter," said Lydia. "Who may or may not end up killing Scott in the near future?"

"Uhh," said the Sheriff. "Why is she here then?"

"Oh, she's a friend!"

"I'm not even going to ask."

The sheriff ushered them into his office. Stiles and Lydia walked to stand close to the man's desk with him whereas Gabriella kept her distance from the three, walking toward the windows of the room and choosing to look into the rest of the station.

The three began to talk while Gabriella took the time to observe her surroundings; Hunter 101: always be aware of the environment that you're in; always know what you can use against someone and what can be used against you. Know where you can hide and where people can be hiding.

The other officer who was there smelled odd to Gabriella. She smelled something from him that she was used to smelling—a distinct smell that came off of someone who had killed before, but she didn't find that too unsettling. He was an officer after all; it wouldn't be surprising to know if he had killed someone before. But there was more than just that. There was anxiety, and something else that she couldn't quite place.

"It's not just that she could still be alive," said Stiles to his father.

"It's that she would have had to fake her own death," added Lydia.

"Your grandmother, Lorraine Martin, faked her death?" asked Sheriff Stilinski in disbelief.

"Definitely," said Stiles.

"Maybe," said Lydia.

"More than likely, yes."

"Oh," said the Sheriff. "I'm guessing you have a sorry to back this up?"

"She might be helping the benefactor," said Lydia.

"Or is the benefactor," said Stiles.

"That sounds like a story worth hearing," said the Sheriff in a much lower voice than previously. He turned back to close the door to his office. Gabriella's attention drifted away from what the three other occupants in the room were talking about. Lydia had briefed her on what her thoughts were about this so she didn't think that they would say anything else that would be new to her. She was much more interested in this office anyway. His scent was bothering her. She kept sifting through the different smells coming off from him. Sometimes it would be difficult separating different smells, but she needed to find out what was so odd—what it was that was making her uneasy. It was more difficult now, as well, that the door to the office had been closed.

She smelled some horrible cologne on him, which she quickly disregarded. She smelled fire; usually she smelled this on people who had been at barbeques, but he didn't look like someone who had just come from a barbeque. He looked like someone who had been working all day. It wasn't from smoking; that scent was distinct from the scent that he had; it was the scent that meat being cooked gave off.

The sheriff opened the door to poke his head out.

"Anybody seen Parrish?" he inquired. "Haigh?" Haigh. That was the name of the man that smelled off. Gabriella kept her eyes on him as he lifted his head from his computer.

"Haven't seen him," he said. His heart rate had slightly risen at the question. It rose further at the sheriff asked him directly. His anxiety also seemed to have risen slightly. Gabriella took a deep breath, inhaling as much of his scent as she could before the sheriff closed the door again. He was sweating, much more profusely than he should have been based on the building's temperature. That's when it hit her. It was deceit. She smelled deceit and death and anxiety as if he had just killed someone and was afraid that he would be caught. Had he? Gabriella didn't know how vital this information was. Was he maybe involved with the dead pool and had killed someone else on the list? Or had he just killed some other person—a civilian perhaps? Either way, it was definitely something that she should tell the sheriff. He would definitely want to investigate. She looked back at the trio briefly to see that they were still engrossed in the conversation. It didn't seem like it was that urgent of an issue so she decided that she would tell them later. She switched her attention back to the station, only to be met by a very peculiar sight.

There in the station was a man half-naked, covered completely in soot.

"Stiles..." said Gabriella in an urgent tone. She got no response from the boy. The man was walking further into the station. He smelled of ashes and death; the latter smelled strangely strong. She had only smelled it that strong from something that was already dead. But the most overpowering smell radiating from him was pure, unadulterated anger.

"Stiles," she says again in a slightly louder voice. Once again, she was ignored. She did not think that they were that absorbed by the conversation, but apparently they were. He stopped next to the desk where Haigh, the man who smelled of deceit, was seated. Haigh turned his head as he felt the presence of someone appear next to him. The ashen man inhaled deeply as Haigh processed the sight before him.

"Holy.." began Haigh. Gabriella had seen very few men this surprised. Haigh grabbed for his gun as the man walked toward him. Gabriella did not need to have a very high I.Q. to put together that this man had the intent of hurting Haigh; possibly of killing him.

"Stiles!" Gabriella shouted very loudly. Their attention finally turned to Gabriella.

"What?" asked Stiles. Gabriella didn't answer as she ran toward the door, opening it so quickly that she felt it scrape under her claws—claws. She hadn't even noticed that they had come out. She was completely on edge due to the sudden atmospheric shift in the station.

The man pushed Haigh against the wall before Haigh could shoot him. His hand was still on the trigger so as he struggled with the man he couldn't help but to fire a few shots into the air.

"You're dead," said Haigh. This must be the person that he had killed—or at least Haigh thought that he had killed him. She rushed toward the two wary of the fact that stray bullets could fly toward her at any moment. The man roared as he pushed Haigh onto the floor. Gabriella moved to stand behind the ashen man as he beat on Haigh; he had no intent of holding back with his punches.

"Hey! Hey!" shouted the Sheriff as he hurried out of his office, gun held out ready. Time seemed to be going by so slowly for Gabriella. So much was happening at once and so many thoughts were running through her head simultaneously. She knew that only a few seconds had passed though. She had grown accustomed to this feeling. This was how she felt during every fight, every encounter she had ever had as a hunter. Gabriella retracted her claws and pulled out her gun quickly. She didn't want to physically put herself into the fight. Not because she was afraid that she'd get hurt, but because she was afraid that she would hurt one, if not both, of them. She had learned over the years to not underestimate her abilities; especially when a human was involved. She aimed at the leg of the man covered in soot. She didn't want to kill him; but if she could shoot him in a spot that was not lethal, perhaps she could divert his anger onto her; she'd be able to handle his punches; or perhaps the pain would help to calm him down. She removed the safety and pulled the trigger, all in one second. Her training had taught her to be quick. She could reload her gun in less than five seconds. She had been taught that any second that she'd waste could be the second in which she'd be killed. She shot the man in his right leg, but not before a stray bullet shot out of Haigh's gun and grazed the sheriff's shoulder.

"But you're dead!" exclaimed Haigh. The man did not cease his attack. The shot to his leg did not seem to faze him at all. Could he be so angry that he did not feel any pain? And then it hit Gabriella. How could she be so stupid, she thought. He was supposed to be dead? This was probably related to the dead pool. He survived because he was supernatural. Gabriella had no reason to hold back anymore. She put her gun back in its holster and grabbed onto the man's shoulders. She pulled him toward her and away from Haigh; she could tell that if she had let the man continue for only a few seconds longer, he probably would have killed Haigh. Whatever it was that Haigh had done, which Gabriella assumed was set this man, or whatever he was, on fire, probably made him deserving of a death like this. But she didn't want to assume wrongly nor let this man kill Haigh when he was possessed by his anger. He might possibly regret it later if she let him kill Haigh.

The man immediately turned to Gabriella, angry that someone had interrupted what he was doing. Gabriella was relieved that she was able to divert his anger. He quickly swung at her; Gabriella hadn't expected him to be so fast so she did not brace herself for it. She was pushed back a couple of steps from the force of the punch, which pissed her off—a lot. She could tell from Haigh's breathing that he was unconscious. Now it was just Stiles, Lydia and the sheriff in the station, and then them two of course. Gabriella smirked, letting her claws and fangs emerge. Her pupils contracted, glowing a bright green. She dodged his next punch, stepping to his right. She slid behind him while he was still recuperating from his miss. Gabriella took the moment to slash her claws against his back deeply. He cried at the sudden pain shooting through his back. She crouched and swept her feet across the floor, hitting his legs and causing him to fall on his face. He groaned. Gabriela stepped on his back, increasing the pain from the wound on his back. She hissed at him, asserting her dominance over him the way that a wolf would by growling.

"That's enough, Ella!" shouted Stiles. The sound of her special nickname reminded her that she needed to calm herself. She took a deep breath allowing herself to shift back and step away from the man. She felt ashamed that Stiles had seen her this way. It's not that she didn't know to control herself. It's that she was always taught to never hold back—not in a fight; because holding back could mean losing the battle and, consequently, death. All of her lessons revolved around the same thing: learn how to not die.

The man was still conscious, but in serious pain. He didn't seem like he would be trying to get up soon; and when he did, she didn't think that he would still be as angry as before. She looked over at the three who had been spectators this entire time. Lydia appeared surprised; Gabriella expected this since she had yet to see her abilities. The sheriff looked in pain. He lay in Stiles' arms, holding onto his shoulder, and bleeding onto Stiles' clothing. Gabriella was irritated at this; she had been through so much worse so moments like these, where others could not deal with lesser wounds, bothered her. But she knew that it was not right of her to think this way, and she knew that it could easily have been Stiles. They're human after all, thought Gabriella. They're only human.

Stiles' face broke her. When he looked down at his father his face was filled with only worry and concern, but when he looked up at her his face was etched with fear. He had never seen her like this. He had seen her fight the berserkers but that was different. They were huge beasts. But this, this wasn't the same. He had never seen how violent she could be; how wild, how ferocious; how monstrous. Stiles felt guilty at his thoughts. It was only last night that she had told him about her feeling like a monster. It was only last night that he had comforted her, rejecting those words. And yet here he was thinking of her like every other person that she had met. Stiles thought that maybe they were right; maybe they had a reason to think of her that way. Would she have killed him if he hadn't snapped her out of it, he thought. He wasn't sure if she had any restraint. Stiles wondered how many people had she killed? Stiles gulped. He had to remind himself that this wasn't all of her. He had known her to be sweet and kind. She wasn't a two-dimensional person; this—how she was raised—did not solely define her. Gabriella smelled the amalgam of emotions that exuded from him: sadness and guilt and fear; her heart broke when she realized what she had done—she had just proven to Stiles that she really was a monster.

Gabriella did not go to see Stiles that night, and Stiles had no pleasant dreams.