TWENTY QUESTIONS

Scott wasn't used to being shaken awake. Living in the Stilinski house, he'd grown accustomed to being up just before the sheriff and long before Stiles; it was therefore a surprise when he felt a pair of soft, delicate, but strong hands shaking his shoulder the next morning. He opened his eyes to find Allison's face about eight inches from his, her big brown eyes shining, her hair askew from the pillows. He stretched and then glanced at the window. The sun hadn't risen yet. "What time is it?"

"Five thirty," Allison replied. "This is when I get up to go for my morning run. I thought maybe you'd want to come."

"I get up earlier than anyone ever should myself," Scott said, grinning in spite of himself. "You're not human."

"It's only, like, a half hour earlier than when you usually would go out," she said.

Scott's brow furrowed. "How do you know about that?"

Allison blushed. "We, uh, followed you. A few times."

Scott's eyebrows danced. "Stalker chick, huh?"

Allison faked a grimace. "Guilty," she said. "I forgot to mention last night that we'd be moving the shrine with your picture, candles, and a lock of your hair from my room today? Sorry, totally my bad."

Scott grinned. "Freaky. I could get to like that. Come on, let's get up."

The bed was pressed lengthwise against one wall of Scott's room, and Scott was against the wall. Allison darted a quick kiss onto the tip of his nose and rolled out of bed. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, which traveled halfway down her thighs; the rest of her legs were bare. "If this is going to be long-term, we need to think about getting a bigger bed."

Scott pushed off the wall and sat up on the side of the bed. "I don't know," he said, savoring the feeling of her body pressed against his as they slept the night before; truth be told, it'd felt so good to have her nestled against him without having to worry about a curfew or people walking in on them or anything else that he'd barely slept. "This arrangement has its advantages."

Allison was rummaging through the bag she'd hastily packed the night before after they'd finished making love on her bed at the Argent house. "I know I threw a track suit in here somewhere," she muttered. "Aha! Here it is." She pulled a pair of track pants and a sports bra out of the bag, laid them down on Scott's desk, then took hold of the tips of the t-shirt and peeled it off over her head.

She wasn't wearing anything beneath it. Scott's pace immediately quickened. He stood and walked slowly over to her, his muscles rippling in anticipation. "Allison?" he asked. "You run in the morning for exercise, right?" She nodded, unfolding the track pants. "What if I had a better idea for morning exercise?"

She turned slowly on her heel and swept her eyes up and down him. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else, and, he knew, there must have been a noticeable bulge in the front. She gave him a coy look. "I doubt you're having any ideas at all right now," she said. She stood up on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear. "It doesn't look like the blood's flowing to your brain right now."

Scott shuddered. He felt his hands, almost involuntarily, snake their way onto Allison's skin, starting at her hips and wrapping around her back, pulling her in and pressing her body against his. She gasped slightly. He inclined his head forward, breathing heavily on her neck, inhaling the smell of her lingering perfume and sweat. When he moved his head back to look at her, his claws had sprouted and his teeth had elongated and, he knew, his eyes must be glowing red.

Instead of pulling back or even looking worried, Allison reached forward, and he felt her tongue, first on his lips, and then inside his mouth and – his breathing instantly quickened – then running over the sharp teeth that had sprouted in his mouth. He could only endure a second of that tease before he'd grabbed Allison roughly up, dropped her on the bed on her back, and climbed on top of her, slipping out of his own shorts as he went. The look on her face was pure flame, but still, Scott hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, conscious of how his speech was distorted, ever so slightly, by the change in his teeth.

"You haven't," Allison replied. "You won't. Not any more than I want you to."

Scott shuddered again. "I'm serious, Allison," he said, feeling every ounce of restraint in him tearing at every inch of his skin as he forced himself not to just keep going. "I love you. I'm – this frightens me."

"And it doesn't frighten me," Allison said. "Or at least, again, not any more than I want to be frightened. I love you and right now I want you."

To emphasize her point, Scott felt her left hand between their legs, taking sudden hold of him and squeezing gently, and his will to resist crumbled and was swallowed by the look in her eyes and then he was inside her, and again to emphasize her point Scott felt her other hand reach up to grab his hair and pull his face down directly to her neck, where Scott obligingly opened his mouth and ran his tongue and the very tips of his sharpened teeth over her skin, and when those teeth made contact with her skin he felt the shudder, the beautiful end-of-all-other-things shudder, start to form deep inside her, and though he didn't bite down – which, surprisingly, took little restraint, compared with the restraint he'd exerted a moment before – he continued his pattern of running teeth and tongue over skin as he thrust inside her and felt her first climax of the morning continue to build.

***[]***

When, quite some time later, Allison and Scott emerged, dressed in shorts and t-shirts and flushed and trying as hard as possible not to glow, they found one of Gunther's sons and one of the girls – Lavinia, I think, Allison thought – sitting at the kitchen table. Both had cups of coffee in front of them. The son looked up at them, a pensive look on his face. "There was coffee in the cupboard," he said to Scott. "I hope you don't mind."

Scott shook his head. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "If you made enough for me to have a cup too, you're fine." The son nodded to the counter, where the pot was still half full. As Scott headed over to the counter, Allison took a seat next to the son and across from Lavinia at the table.

Allison faced the son. "I'm sorry, I know Gunther introduced all of you last night, but, you know, other events kind of took prominence," she said. "I'm Allison. What's your name?"

"Declan," the young man replied, inclining his mug of coffee by way of greeting.

"And you're Lavinia, right?" Allison asked, looking kindly at the young woman with long, jet-black hair. As she looked Allison reflected that it seemed to all hang in gently curving lines straight down her head, some of it covering her face. Kind of scene, she thought.

"Nia," she responded, her voice low and smoky. "Do you always have that much sex in the morning?"

Scott, who'd just poured himself a cup of coffee, choked on it. "I'd tell you that you'll get used to that," Declan said, sounding unfazed by Nia's odd question. "But truth is, if you're like me at all, you won't."

Nia turned to look at Declan. "When we met I asked you about your masturbatory habits, not about copulation," she said, her words all measured and precise. "They are two very separate things, Declan."

Declan just sighed and shook his head. Scott managed to recover enough to speak. "I'm sorry, were we that loud? I didn't mean – I mean, if it made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

Nia's face clouded. "Why do people always assume I'm uncomfortable when I ask questions?" she asked. "All physical indications right now are that you are uncomfortable, not me."

Declan turned to face Allison and Scott. "Don't let Nia get to you," he said. "She likes to pretend sometimes that she wasn't raised around people, but she was. According to Sophie and Bridget she's always been like this."

Scott, still a little wide eyed, carried his cup of coffee over to the table and swung a chair around to sit on it backward. "So you all didn't grow up together?" he asked.

"Nope," Declan replied. "We actually only met about a month ago. Dad never mentioned his, uh, other family to Curtis and me."

"He told us about you," Nia said, every word measured again, almost dripping off her tongue.

Declan sighed again. "I know, Nia," he said, shaking his head slowly. His honey-colored hair was very close-cropped, but it still wavered slightly as he shook his head. "You've mentioned that."

An awkward silence followed. Scott shot a helpless look at Allison. Oh, you baby, she thought. She turned again to Nia. "So, what is it that you can do, exactly?" she asked. "Anything beyond the whole pheromone thing?"

"She can get you drunker than a skunk," a voice from behind them said. Gunther, fully dressed, was standing in the doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"Anyone with a keg can do that," Scott replied.

"Not just by touching you, they can't," Gunther replied.

"Oh," Scott said.

Gunther crossed over. "Nia, honey, you're wearing your gloves, right?"

Nia inclined her head up to meet Gunther's gaze. Allison's eyes traveled over her person; come to think of it, her dress from the night before and the nightgown she now wore both covered almost all of her skin. She now took her hands out of her lap and laid them on the table and Allison saw that Nia was wearing evening gloves. "Yes, father," she said.

Gunther laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "Good girl," he said. "You only have to wear them here while we get acclimated."

"I know, father."

Scott's brow had furrowed. "So it's involuntary?" he asked. "Like, if I touch her skin, I get drunk, even if she doesn't want me to?"

Gunther frowned, looked down at Declan and Nia. "Would you kids excuse us for a second?" he asked. "I think Scott and I have some talking to do."

Declan nodded and rose wordlessly, Nia trailing behind him. Gunther looked pointedly at Allison, but Scott shook his head. "I'd prefer she stayed."

Gunther shrugged, settling gently into the chair Declan had occupied. "Have it your way," he said. "I'm sure you've got questions. Now's as good a time as any."

Scott nodded, picked up his coffee. He's trying to look casual, Allison thought. I bet Gunther is armed. And I'm not. Do I have to be armed in this house at all times? Is that the life I've chosen here? As though he could read her thoughts, Scott's free hand found hers and squeezed. "Last night you made it seem like they have themselves completely under control," he said. "That's not what that sounded like."

"You're a werewolf, right?" Gunther asked. Scott nodded. "And on the full moon, you transform against your will and are overcome by blood lust?" Scott nodded again. "But I bet you lock yourself up, for everyone else's protection, and you call that under control. Nia wears clothing that covers the majority of her body, as well as those damn gloves, whenever she's around people don't know not to touch her. I'd say that conforms to the same kind of definition of 'under control' that you're using, wouldn't you?"

"Fair enough," Scott replied. "Any other surprises?"

Gunther leaned back in his chair. "Well, frankly, kid, I don't know what's gonna be a surprise and what isn't," he said. "Sounded last night like you don't know fuck all about nymphs. How about you, dear?"

The last question was directed at Allison, and despite his gruff-but-friendly tone, she could recognize the way her father would occasionally quiz her. Guess training isn't going to let up, either. "Nymphs are ancient creatures," Allison said. "First documented in ancient Greece. They're notorious for luring people with pheromone-driven sexual desire and then killing them. They're kill-on-sight because it typically takes their pheromones only a minute to begin effecting the mind of someone in their vicinity, and there aren't any recorded encounters between hunters and nymphs that didn't end in one or the other being dead." Gunther nodded, looking impressed. Scott was more than impressed; he was gaping. "What? I told you I've been studying."

Slowly, Scott closed his mouth, but then he spoke. "So what was all that stuff about 'they can't control it' last night?" he asked.

Ugh, now he's going to think I'm Encyclopedia Allison. "I'm kind of not sure about that," she said. "I haven't read everything. Yet."

Gunther jumped in. "The old line on nymphs is that they don't consciously control their actions," he said. "The idea is that whenever they're in sight of prey, they go into a kind of trance and don't have the ability to resist luring them and killing them."

Scott snorted. "That does sound familiar," he said.

Gunther shook his head. "They do feel, er, compulsions," he admitted. "Sophie and Bridget more than Nia, but not one of them has ever hurt anyone. The compulsions only started a few years ago; probably a puberty thing, not that I'd say that in front of them. Embarrass the the hell out of the poor girls to have their dad talking about puberty, especially with a boy present."

Allison quirked an eyebrow. "Their dad?" she asked.

Gunther waved her off. "Not the nitty-gritty kind," he said. "Like I said last night, I found them when they were babies. Sophie and Bridget were sisters and their mother was definitely dead. Nia, I couldn't really tell about, but there wasn't much left alive in that town aside from maggots and mice."

"What was this massacre all about?" Scott asked.

"The usual," Gunther replied, staring at him with a hard expression. "Bunch of hunters found a bunch of nymphs living just outside a small town called Petersburg in Oregon. Busted 'em up and left. I was passing through, and – it's kind of embarrassing to admit this, but I'm kind of a perfectionist, and sometimes I check other peoples' work, make sure they got the job done right. And that's how I found those three. I knew what the risks were, but I couldn't leave 'em, and anyway, nymphs compel you sexually and the three of them were just babies. I'll admit, I was worried about whether they had powers they couldn't control even at that age, because boy would that have been creepy beyond belief, but it turned out there wasn't much different about them then. Except the wings."

What? "Pardon?" Scott asked, echoing Allison's silent surprise.

Gunther grinned. "Lots of people don't know about nymphs, on account of no one bothers to stop and talk and look before shooting 'em and burning the bodies." He raised his voice slightly. "Sophie, I know you're listening in on us anyway, so why don't you come in here, hon?"

A second later, one of the other girls from the previous night stepped around the corner and into the kitchen. She had a mousy look about her, short and skinny and light-brown hair that was full enough despite the early hour that Allison was a little jealous. "Sorry," Sophie muttered, avoiding their gazes.

Gunther's smile was all-knowing and amused. "'Sokay, hon," he said. "You wearin' a shirt that you can show these folks your wings in?"

Sopie nodded. Allison spared a quick glance at her attire – she wore a simple, gray, slightly loose t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. Before she could think any further, something black and deep purple began to emerge from behind Sophie, whose eyes had slid shut. After an initial slow start, Sophie's mostly-purple wings spread quickly out. Each wing was in two sections, outlined in black, purple on the interior, shot with small swirls of navy blue. They kept expanding outward, past where Allison initially thought they'd stop, until they were big enough to wrap around Sophie and another person easily. They finally stopped expanding and Sophie opened her eyes, looking shy and fluttering them slightly.

Allison looked to her side. Scott was clearly a little awed too. "No kidding," he managed to say.

"A little surprising the first time you see them, I know," Gunther said. "You can imagine what I thought the first time one of 'em hauled the wings out. 'Course, that was Bridget, and she was three, and hers are red, not purple, but, you know, same difference."

"And does Nia have...?" Allison asked. Sophie inclined her head once and glanced directly at her, then blushed and looked away. What's that about?

"No," Gunther replied. "No, Nia doesn't have wings. Nia's not the same kind of nymph as Sophie and Bridget. The two o' them are psychai nymphs."

Scott looked at Allison, who shrugged. "Don't look at me," she said.

"Don't sweat it, it's not like this stuff is written in the usual hunter reads," Gunther said. "Took me forever to track down the information to put a name to the whole thing. Psychai, according to legend, are the descendents of Iphigenia, the daughter that Agamemnon sacrificed so he and his buddies could go start the Trojan War. Apparently, Iphigenia – through her mom's side – was related to Cupid and Psyche. I don't suppose I have to tell you who they were. Anyway, Iphigenia was sacrificed to Artemis, and her daughters wound up thereafter being handmaidens of Artemis, which is kinda ironic since Artemis was a virgin. Between having Cupid as their great-great-great times infinite grandfather and the whole 'favored by Artemis' thing the psychai wound up with a whole boatload of weird abilities, including the butterfly wings and the pheromones."

"That's – wow, that's quite a story," Scott said.

"Yeah, and it's probably mostly bunk," Gunther replied. "Still, the legends and stuff are important to them, and it's not like I've got a better explanation." He looked over at Sophie. "You can put your wings away now, honey."

With a slight woosh, Sophie's wings disappeared. "Incredible," Allison said, trying hard not to stare. "And – uh, where do they go?"

"For a while I figured they were like werewolves," Gunther said. "You know, with the extra things like claws and teeth and hair just popping up out of nowhere, but then Sophie here cut up her back pretty bad playing in a rose bush and we found out that their wings are always there. That membrane their wings are made of is real thin – it compresses and sits beneath the skin of their backs. You'd never be able to tell to look at them."

"Fascinating," Allison said. After a second, she realized that despite her previous attempt not to stare, she was, and Sophie was staring back at her. "Sorry, I don't mean to stare," Allison said to her. "It's just, this is all a little incredible."

Sophie looked meekly up at Allison, blushed again, and then looked over at her father. "Sorry for listening in," she said. "Can I go now?"

"Sure thing, hon," he replied, giving her a smile. Once she'd exited the kitchen he faced Allison and Scott again. "Sophie and Bridget are a little skittish around new people. Never had that problem with Nia, but God knows what's going on in her head half the time. They'll warm up to you eventually and then you won't be able to shut them up."

Scott exhaled slowly. "Okay," he said. "Wings. Pheromones. Sounds good. Anything else?"

Gunther scratched at the table. "Just one," he said. "Something you should probably know, about them losing control. It's – uh, predictable, sometimes."

"Predictable?" Scott asked.

"Yeah," Gunther said. "Not always. Sometimes it happens totally random, no reason. But there's one time you can always count on them to go off."

"When's that?" Scott asked.

"Can't you guess?" he asked. "Full moon."

Scott sighed. "Of course," he said. "As if that night wasn't already complicated enough."

"We always keep the three of them away from boys on full moons," Gunther said. "Thank God none of 'em are lesbians 'cause who knows how that'd have gone, locking them up together the one night they have no control."

"Sounds like the plot of a bad porno flick," Scott observed.

Gunther frowned at him. "Those are my daughters you're talking about," he said.

Scott shrugged. "Didn't mean to offend," he said. "If it's any consolation, my life pretty much is the plot of a bad horror novel. I'd trade that for bad porno flick any day of the week."

Gunther looked between the two of them and Allison suddenly felt uncomfortable. Yeah, we were definitely too loud. "You know, I bet you would take the plot of a bad porno flick," he said. He leaned forward. "Uh, listen – does Chris know that you two are – well, together?"

Scott looked at Allison, who shrugged. "No," Scott said. "At least, he didn't. We don't think. Anyway, it's not like we can stop him from finding out now. And we're stick of hiding it, so I figure, whatever."

"Not 'whatever,'" Gunther said. "I hate this obsession your generation has with 'whatever.' It's a bitter enough pill to swallow when you find out your daughter's a young lady and she's falling in love or not a virgin anymore – or both – but throw in the, 'Daddy, my boyfriend turns into a psycho killer sometimes, but it's not his fault,' and you've got a recipe for one pissed off hunter daddy."

Scott leaned forward. "Whatever," he said, very deliberately. "Chris is going to have to learn to deal with some things. That's what compromise is about. Lydia and I were willing to work with them and submit to their supervision, to make them more comfortable, and in return they would start thinking of us as humans with a werewolf problem and not as killer werewolves who might have consciences sometimes. That hasn't changed."

"After last night?" Gunther asked.

Scott sat back in his chair, trying to maintain his casual air. "I don't know," he admitted. "I hope so."

Gunther shook his head. "If you really want him to come around, you might not want him to find out you're nailing his daughter so loud it wakes the whole house," Gunther said, and both Allison and Scott instantly turned red. "I'm not judgin' you myself – whole new world of possibilities in this crazy town I'm gonna have to get used to, and the hunter's daughter who sleeps with the Alpha werewolf's just one of the more poetically twisted ones."

"I'm a hunter, too," Allison said. Well, that didn't sound too pathetic. "I'm not just a hunter's daughter."

Gunther gave her a sideways look. "And how many things have you killed?" Allison hung her head. "Ah, don't get your head down. It's not a competition, and it sure as hell ain't a race. Still, you want respect when you're running with other hunters, you'll want to put a few notches in that bow of yours first."

Scott's eyes were narrowing during this whole speech. Uh oh, Allison thought. Not good. "And how many notches do you have in your shotgun?" he asked, the forced casual tone in his voice taking on a sickly sweet edge.

The edge in Scott's voice wasn't lost on Gunther. "It's a figure of speech," he replied. "I don't actually keep count. Like I said, it's not a competition. It's about killing evil things before they can hurt innocent people."

"Yeah? And how many of those 'evil things' do you suppose were really innocent people themselves?"

"Okay, timeout," Allison said. Gunther and Scott looked around at her. "We're on the same side here," she said. "We may have some, er, differences, but if we start shooting at each other while we're not sure my Dad's one hundred percent on board, we'll just weaken ourselves. If this thing that's coming is really so bad we need to be as strong as possible to fight it, and that means working together."

Gunther smiled, sardonically. "Little lady's got some spunk, I'll give her that," he said. He looked back at Scott. "I don't know you from shit, Alpha, but I'm willing to try trusting you. Sound okay?"

Scott nodded. "Sounds fine," he replied. "I'm nothing but a big bundle of trust."

Gunther pushed back from the table and stood. "Good," he replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some errands to attend to. You and the Argents aren't the only people in this town I know, and I have an old friend I need to drop in on."

He nodded briskly and exited the room.

***[]***

Scott glanced at the clock. "I should get going too, actually," he said, standing too. "I'm heading over to Dr. Deaton's to beg for my job back. Part of the whole emancipation thing. I'm going to go throw on some actual clothes."

"I think I'll make some breakfast. Want anything?"

"Nah. I'm good."

Scott bounded up the stairs and back into his room. His thoughts were on Gunther and the argument until his eyes wandered over his bed, the sheets torn in several places, and he smiled. He kicked off the shorts and t-shirt he'd applied to wear around and started rummaging through his closet for something half respectable. Or at least clean.

He heard a couple of car doors slam outside and initially didn't think anything of it. After a second, though, he heard footsteps on the walk out front, and then the doorbell. His eyes widened. Still holding a polo shirt instead of wearing it, he jumped all the way down the stairs and rounded the corner into the living room, saying "Allison! Don't!" just as she reached forward and pulled the door open.

Sheriff Stilinski, flanked by Stiles, stood in the doorway. Allison was clearly surprised, but said quickly, "Hello, Sheriff."

The sheriff's eyes traveled quickly up and down Allison, taking in the ratty clothes she was wearing (which clearly were Scott's and not hers), and he raised an eyebrow. "Good morning, Allison," he said, adding extra emphasis to the word 'morning.' "You're here really early."

Allison looked lost for words as she realized all he'd figured out just from getting a look at her. Scott jumped in to rescue her. "Hello, Sheriff," he said. "Is there a problem?"

The sheriff's eyes changed course from Allison to Scott. His eyebrow raised further and Scott realized he was still shirtless, holding the polo clutched in his hand. Oh, great. "I'm honestly not sure," he replied. "Do you have anything you need to explain?"

Allison blushed, but Scott managed to keep hold of himself. "We went for a walk after dinner last night and it was easier and safer to crash here."

Slowly, the sheriff nodded. "Stiles heard a similar story from Lydia," he said. "Although she didn't mention that Allison had tagged along."

"I couldn't let her sleep outside."

Again, it took the sheriff a moment of contemplation to reply. "I suppose not," he said. "Listen, I was supposed to bring you over to the clinic to ask for your job back. Remember?"

"I remember," Scott said, pulling the polo shirt hastily over his head. "Hence the neat clothes."

Now the sheriff looked him up and down, taking in Scott's slightly wrinkled khaki pants and the red-and-green striped polo shirt. "Right," he said.

"What?"

The sheriff shook his head, a bemused expression on his face. "I'm sure Dr. Deaton is a laid back guy," he said. "Or else you'd never have landed that job with him in the first place. Just make sure to let someone else pick out your clothes for prom, okay?"

Scott smiled. "I'm pretty sure Lydia's already got all our wardrobes picked out for prom."

The sheriff inclined his head to peer into the house. "I noticed a car out front I didn't recognize," he said. "Do you have other company?"

Why does he have to be so observant? "Kind of," Scott said. "They're, uh, like family. But not. Family friends. Really torn up about Mom. Wanted to come visit."

The sheriff looked at him, disbelief in his eyes again. After a moment of silent thought, he looked at Allison. "We should probably get going," he said. "It was good to see you, Allison."

She smiled, clearly still awkward. "Good to see you too, sheriff."

Scott tugged the shirt on over his head as the sheriff and Stiles stepped back from the doorway. Allison was beginning to turn away when he grabbed her hand and pulled her over for a quick kiss, which she returned, although not without a sardonic glance. Okay, so we're really going to have work on this living together thing, Scott thought. I wonder if there are self-help books for emancipated werewolf minors moving in with their outcast, supernatural-creature-killing, teenage girlfriends. As Scott shut the front door behind them, he shot a significant look at Stiles, who just shrugged, as if to say, "what did you expect me to do about it?"

When the three of them reached the sheriff's SUV, Stiles reached for the front passenger door, but the sheriff waved him off. "Why don't you let Scott ride shotgun? We should talk about some things on the way there."

Stiles retracted his hand wordlessly and pulled open one of the back doors instead, climbing inside. Now worried, Scott pulled open the door Stiles had just reached for and climbed inside, too. The sheriff was the last in, and he started the car and pulled away from the McCall house quickly. Despite what he'd said, he didn't bring anything up on the way to the clinic.

When they arrived, the sheriff killed the engine and then sat without moving behind the wheel. Scott and Stiles both moved to get out, but the sheriff caught Scott's arm. "Stiles, could you give us a minute?" the sheriff asked. Stiles nodded, wordless again, and climbed out of the truck, moving to stand against the side of the building. Scott looked around at the sheriff to see a worried look on his face. This can't be good. "Scott, I meant every word when I said I trust you to handle being emancipated," he started. This really can't be good. The biggest 'but' in the world is about to rear its ugly head. "But you have to understand that all that back there has me worried."

Scott nodded, slowly, trying to pretend like he fully understood. "Don't worry, Sheriff," he said. "I can handle it."

The sheriff grimaced. "It's not a matter of you 'handling it,' Scott, it's a matter of you getting into trouble because you were doing things you weren't prepared for. Okay, look," the sheriff said, looking away, "are you and Allison at least using protection?"

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. "Yes," Scott stuttered out, after a second. "Yeah, of course we're – you know."

The sheriff shook his head, still looking away. "I know that teenagers are going to get up to these kinds of things these days," he said. "Even Stiles, probably, and up until this past year I really didn't think that'd be a concern with him, you know what I mean? But it's not like you and Allison are doing this because you're, uh, troubled. You're doing it because it's natural for kids who are in love to, um, experiment. But still, I worry about you, Scott. I know that asking you if you and Allison are okay isn't really a fair question, but – well, are you and Allison okay?"

Scott's eyebrows were in danger of creeping off the top of his head. "Yeah, Sheriff," he said. "Yeah, we're fine. Totally safe."

The Sheriff nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'm going to trust you, Scott." He reached for the door and stepped out.

Scott took a second to reach for his own door, his brow furrowed. I seem to be hearing that more and more, he thought. He took a deep breath and opened the door, pushing out of the car.

Stiles shot him a questioning look but Scott shook his head, hoping that Stiles realized he meant that it was nothing bad. The three of them entered the animal clinic. As per usual, no one was out front in the waiting room, but Scott could instantly hear voices in the back. One was Dr. Deaton's familiar, reassuringly measured tone. The other was Gunther's.

Scott paled instantly. He must have parked around back, he thought. Must be a hunter thing. "Dr. Deaton always stays out back," Scott said, stepping front of the sheriff and Stiles. "I'll go find him."

Before either of them could say anything, Scott turned, hopped the counter, and proceeded into the back of the animal clinic. So, do I sneak up on them like the preternatural beast I am, or do I make tons of noise so they're not spooked? Scott thought. Well, Gunther probably has a half dozen weapons concealed on him, so let's go with option two. He made an effort to make his footfalls sound and started tapping his hands on the wall as he walked, making enough noise that the conversation petered out as he got closer.

When he rounded the corner, both Deaton and Gunther were looking at him. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't meant to interrupt, but I didn't want to sneak up on you either. Remember, I called to ask if I could come in the other day?"

Dr. Deaton didn't miss a beat at having been walked in on talking to the old hunter. "Of course I remember, Scott," he said, warmly. "And before you ask, there's no problem in giving you your old job back. I've been running myself ragged around here trying to do everything you did, and the notion of having to train a new employee was too...depressing, to pursue."

Scott's eyebrows raised again. "That's it?" he asked. "I can just have my job back?"

"Well, I imagine the sheriff has some paperwork for me to sign, about your emancipation," Dr. Deaton replied. "But yes. That's all it takes. You'll always be welcome here so long as you remain who you are, Scott."

Gunther remained silent through this exchange, watching Scott's reactions. Well, that last statement wasn't too pointed. "So, you two know each other?" he asked.

"We did some, er, work together, back in the day," Gunther replied. "The doctor here is a very knowledgeable man."

"Yes, I know," Scott said, looking back at Deaton. "Although I don't know really how knowledgeable he is."

"Please, gentlemen, you'll make me blush," Deaton said, not without sarcasm. "I just do my part. Gunther, I believe we were done here, correct?"

Gunther looked around at the examination room's pristine walls. "Yeah, suppose so," he replied. "You sure the stuff will work?"

"No, I'm not sure at all," Deaton replied, looking annoyed. "I explained that twice. We're in very new territory here, so we're going to have to be very careful and experiment a bit. Yes?"

Gunther shook his head. "Yeah, I got you," he said, glumly. "Thanks, doc." He turned and walked out the back.

Scott looked after him. "What was that about?" he asked.

Deaton smiled warmly again. "I'm sure you'll find out on your own," he said. "And it's really more for Gunther to tell you than me. Suffice to say it is nothing that will bring you harm. Anyway, I'm sure you'd rather discuss getting back to work."

Scott opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. No, I'd rather find out more about you, he thought. But I need the job, so I don't want to piss you off. "Sure," he said.

Deaton smiled a knowing smile. "There will be time for all manner of discussion over the coming months," he said. "Let's go meet the sheriff and sign that paperwork."

***[]***

Lydia arrived at the animal shelter a few minutes later, just as Stiles, Scott, and the sheriff were coming out. "Hey, everyone," she said, waving. "You guys ready?"

"Ready for what?" the sheriff asked, casting looks between his son and Scott.

"Nothing heavy," Stiles said. "We're just going to hang out."

"When will you be home?"

Stiles looked at Scott. "Uh," he said.

"You're not planning on coming back to the house, are you, Scott?" he asked. "Remember, we agreed you'd move back to your house next week."

"I know," Scott said, scratching the back of his head. Werewolf Alpha with a nervous habit, Lydia thought. Wonders never cease. "It's just, sleeping back at my house again kind of felt good. I'd like to do it again, you know?"

The sheriff seemed to fight down his initial reaction. "Okay," he said, breathing out slowly. "Okay, I'll sign off on this. Just – you know, be careful, Scott. I'll see you later, Stiles."

He got into his truck and drove away. As soon as he was in, Stiles broke out in a giant grin, while Scott looked mildly mortified. "Okay, what did I miss?" Lydia asked.

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but Stiles beat him to the punch. "My dad totally caught Allison and Scott barely dressed," he said. "You should have seen the look on her face once she realized she was wearing Scott's clothes and she still had bed-head. I'd have framed it if that were possible."

"It's not funny," Scott said. While there was a playful tone in his voice, there was an underlying note of stress that Lydia couldn't help but detect. I wonder if something's up, or if this is just the usual level of Scott-stress, Lydia wondered.

"It was really funny," Stiles said to Lydia. He turned back to Scott. "Anyway, if you're going to date Allison again after everything, you're going to have to get used to me enjoying her extreme discomfort. Making her make that face is one of two things I want for my birthday." He took on a mock secretive whisper. "I can't tell you the other thing because it involves Lydia, a step ladder, and a sex act that's banned in forty-two states." Lydia punched his arm as he started to laugh. He kept laughing, but he rubbed at the spot, muttering, "ouch."

"Enough sex talk," Scott said, and the note of stress was definitely there again.

"What's wrong, Scott?" Lydia asked.

Scott looked away. "It's nothing."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Good job, Mayor Obvious," he said. "Whenever someone asks if something's wrong, and you answer 'it's nothing,' that always means it's something. Don't you watch TV?"

"Not really."

"Really, Scott," Lydia said, allowing the sarcastic edge to drain from her voice even as she gave Stiles a reproachful look. "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"It's - " he started to say. "Okay, look, if you want me to talk about this, I just need you to understand it involves lots of, er, details. You know. Details."

Lydia nodded to her mother's car. "Come on, let's jump in and talk on the way."

The three of them climbed inside, Lydia and Stiles in front and Scott in the middle back. He leaned forward to speak to them as Lydia put the car in gear and pulled out of the animal clinic's parking lot. "So, details," she said. "I think we can handle that. Stiles has downloaded enough porn for him to write a new-millennium version of the Kama Sutra, and it's not like I haven't been around that block once or twice, so you're not in danger of shocking us. Let us have it. What's bothering you?"

"I started to shift when Allison and I had sex this morning."

Oh. Oh, dear. "Um," Lydia said, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road. Think of something to say or he's going to think you're shocked! "That's...interesting."

Scott snorted. "Not the word I'd choose," he said. "And she made a big deal about how it doesn't scare her, but – okay, something else happened after dinner failed to happen last night. We overheard Kate and Chris talking about how Allison and I are mating."
"What century are they from?" Lydia asked, glad to be able to joke about something.

"I don't know, it sounded like it meant something different to them," Scott said. "Like 'mating' is hunter code for some freakish thing that happens when werewolves have sex. Kate was making a big deal about how it's dangerous for us, especially for Allison. Chris seemed to think she was full of shit."

"Go figure," Stiles said. "Maybe that's because she's, I don't know, actually full of shit?"

"I know," Scott said. "But, you know, I worry. Kate's the only human we know who's ever had sex with a werewolf. What if she knows something Chris doesn't?"

"We could always ask her," Lydia said. The silence from Scott and Stiles was deafening. "Okay, I know, we can't just ask her. But maybe Allison could."

Scott seemed to think for a second. "You know, that's not a bad idea," he said. "It's not like Kate doesn't already know about me and Allison, and Kate's been bugging Allison for a while now to tell her about her sex life. That could definitely work."

They pulled up to a stop light. Lydia looked back around at Scott. "Just remember, it's still Kate that the information is coming from," she said. "I wouldn't trust it. Even if she's telling the truth, she'll find a way to twist it to make it sound as bad as possible."

"Yeah," Scott said. "I guess in the meantime I just need to work on self-control. You know, more. Hey, does this ever happen to you?"

Stiles and Lydia darted a quick look at each other, embarassed. "We have kissed, Scott," she said, in a clipped tone. "Only a few times. We have not progressed to the sort of thing you and Allison are up to. I've told you that, but if you're going to insist on prying into our sex life, I could always set it up to call you when we're going to have sex. Or during, if that would be more convenient."

Stiles darted another look at her. "You said 'when' we're going to have sex, not 'if,'" he said.

Lydia blushed furiously. "I regret bringing this up."

Scott grimaced. "My fault," he said. "Sorry. I don't mean to pry. Let's change the subject. Where are we going?"

"Well, I figured we could get some of our preliminary school shopping done," she said. "I already went shopping for new outfits the other day, but I still need to pick up pencils and all that stuff. You guys haven't done any of that without me, have you?"

Stiles shook his head, but Scott was gaping at her. "School shopping?" he asked, stupidly. "As in, for school?"

"Yes, Scott, for school," Lydia said, pulling into the parking lot for the local mall. "Junior year starts in a week and a half. Remember?"

Scott shook his head. "No," he said. "I didn't remember. Geez, school. As if we didn't have enough to deal with." He suddenly brightened. "Maybe now that I'm emancipated I could drop out."

"Giving you more time to run around almost getting killed?" Lydia asked. She'd put a hand on the handle to the car door, but she didn't open it.

"What's the point of school, anyway?" he asked, sounding far off. "The only thing I'm always going to be is, you know, this." He held up a hand with claws sprouting slightly. He instantly shifted his hand back.

Lydia turned around in her seat again. "Is that true of me, too, then?" she asked.

Scott waved her off. "Of course not," he said. "I mean, yeah, you'll always be a werewolf, but you can be a lot more than that, Lydia." He grinned. "You could be the first werewolf in space."

Lydia opened the car door and started to step out. "Now you're making fun of me."

Scott and Stiles followed quickly. "Not really," Scott said, as the three fell into step toward the mall entrance. "You need to be really fit, right? Who on Earth is more fit than we are? And you've definitely got the brain."

"Plus, astronauts have to be hot," Stiles threw in. "You know, for the press stuff. You've got hot covered."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "And what about the full moon?"

Scott and Stiles looked at each other. "Huh," Scott said. "I mean, there isn't exactly a 'full moon' or a waning or waxing moon in space, is there? I wonder what that'd be like for one of us."

"Could be the cure," Stiles said. "Living in space. No full moon to drive you bonkers."

"Or it could be like the full moon all the time," Lydia said. "Nothing to obstruct it. And I can only imagine what going through a full moon transformation in a tiny little tin can in the middle of space would be like."

"Suppose you're right."

The mall they'd gone to was a relatively squat structure, boasting about two dozen stores. It had only one floor, a main entrance, and an entrance through Sears. Lydia steered them over the weed-choked pavement to the main entrance. "So, Staples?"

After a few minutes of looking through bins of school supplies, Scott caught Lydia and Stiles' gazes. "I need a new backpack," he said. "Tore mine up out in the woods. I'm going to go find them at Sears. Meet you guys in a half hour?"

Lydia nodded, checking the time on her phone.

She was looking through highlighters and wondering if she should purchase more than the standard yellow for her notes when she felt Stiles take hold of her elbow. "You think Scott is out of hearing range?" he asked.

She looked around and focused her ears, straining for Scott's now-familiar heartbeat. "I can't even hear his heartbeat," she said, after a second. "Doesn't necessarily mean anything. He can still hear better than I can. What's wrong?"

Stiles shook his head, tossing a bent file folder back into the bin it came from. "I'm just worried," he said.

Lydia patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about Scott," she said. "We've got his back. Allison's even acting like a halfway decent person. I told you about her drawing on her dad last night, remember? Scott's always going to be stressed. He takes all the weight of everything on his shoulders and tries not to let the rest of us have any of it. The trick to being us is getting him to give up a little of it so we can help him through."

Stiles chuckled, without mirth, picking up the bent file folder again. It was a very deep purple. "Any idea how to get him to 'give up' a little of the Allison drama?" he asked. "Maybe get them to agree to only go to third base?"

"We do it like we did in the car," Lydia said, cutting past Stiles' sarcasm. "He's worried, Stiles, but the problem is that we don't know if, you know, shifting during sex is something that's natural for werewolves. If it is natural and it's not going to turn into anything bad, then there you go, nothing bad will happen, but he doesn't know, and that's what's bothering him so much."

Stiles smiled lightly. "I don't know what I did for insight into this kind of thing before we got to be friends," he said, with an admiring glance.

She smiled coyly back. "Friends?" she asked. "Is that what we are?"

Stiles' brow furrowed instantly and he again dropped the file folder, although this time it missed the bucket and fluttered to the dirty linoleum floor. "Yeah, about the sex thing," he said.

Oh, no. I am so not having this conversation in Staples. "Can we talk about this later?" Lydia asked.

"When Scott is around to make it super awkward?" Stiles asked.

"I can smell when he and Allison have had sex," Lydia said. "He'll definitely be able to smell when we do. You might as well get used to that level of awkward now."

"There you go with 'when' again," Stiles said, but he managed to grin bravely. "You're assuming an awful lot about me there, missy."

Lydia's face contorted, but when Stiles stood firm by the joke, she squared her shoulders towards him and then, slowly and deliberately, reached and unbuttoned her jeans and, moving so slowly the zipper clicked on each tooth, dragged the zipper to the bottom. This left her jeans hanging open enough for Stiles to get a look at her panties. "What are you thinking about right now?" she asked.

Stiles was staring. Practically drooling. "You make the best points ever," he said.

A sales associate came into their peripheral vision lugging a box the word "Three-Ring Binders" written across it. Lydia hastily zipped and re-buttoned her pants. "The point is that, at some point in our relationship, we're going to have sex," Lydia said. "It's a natural thing. I don't see any harm in stating it plainly."

"There's no harm in it," Stiles said, quickly. "It's just – I don't know, I never pictured a girl taking it for granted that she's going to want to have sex with me."

She reached up and brushed his cheek. "The insecurity thing is kinda cute," she said.

"Really?" Stiles asked. "Because I could dredge up loads more insecurity if that turns you on. I could be the most insecure thing ever. I could be the opposite of Alcatraz."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "And I can put up with the sense of humor."

***[]***

With a few rudimentary supplies purchased, Scott, Lydia, and Stiles made their way back to the McCall house. When they arrived, Scott heard a familiar series of sounds – a snap, followed by a whistle, followed by a dull thud. Lydia clearly heard it too and so understood when Scott told them to head in and introduce themselves around to anyone they hadn't met the night before while he circled to the backyard.

He stood for a few minutes, watching Allison, now wearing her track suit, drill arrow after arrow into a target crudely hung from one of the many narrow, fuzzy-looking short trees in Scott's backyard. When she ran out of arrows, Allison looked around and saw Scott. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

"Few minutes," he said. "I'm not your only audience. Craig and Declan are on the first floor, having an argument about whether Craig should come out here and 'show you a few things,' which I'm gathering is probably a euphemism, and – I think – Sophie and Bridget are on the second floor, watching from my mom's old room."

"You think?" Allison asked.

"I haven't gotten the chance to lock down all the newbies' heartbeats, but it sounded last night like Sophie and Bridget's hearts beat a little faster than everyone else's. Anyway, they're not saying anything."

Allison glanced up at the house quickly and then looked back to Scott, leaning on her bow like a crutch. "Think they can hear?" she asked.

Scott glanced at the house too. "No one's mentioned super-hearing on them, and the window's closed," he said. "So probably not. What's up?"

Allison glanced at the house again. "Just a weird feeling," she said. "Both of them kind of stare at me."

Scott shrugged. "Well, we did wake them up this morning to the sound of our, uh, heated activities," he said. "Given what they are and how Gunther's liable to have raised them, they're probably terrified of their own sexuality, and here you are, a young woman who's completely in control of her sex life. There's a good chance they've never seen anything quite like you."

Allison smiled at these words. "Completely in control, huh?" she asked.

Scott shrugged again. "Figure of speech," he said. "You know what you like and do what you want. I doubt either of them is quite that liberated."

Allison's smile faded. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe I'll try and talk to them later. I feel like we all still have more questions than answers about each other."

"I think that's kind of what life is about."

Allison punched Scott's arm playfully. "Advice from the werewolf sage?" she asked. "You should write a book."
Scott grinned. "I could shave my head and wear robes, like a monk," he said.

Allison laughed. "No way," she said. "No head shaving. That is not girlfriend-approved."

"Fine, no head-shaving," Scott said. "I've always kind of wanted to try a mohawk, anyway."

"You are so not funny."

"Eh, I'm a little funny," Scott replied. He looked around at the house. "Stiles and Lydia are discussing dinner. Unless you feel like getting stuck with Lydia's Thai food obsession I'd suggest we get in there to talk it out with them."

Scott started walking toward the back door, behind which he could still hear Declan and Curtis arguing, when he realized Allison wasn't following him. "Stiles and Lydia are here?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said.

Allison nodded, set her features, and joined Scott. "Just, you know, hold my hand for a second, okay?" she asked, lacing her fingers around his. "I'm nervous. I've never, you know, had to win back trust before."

Scott shot her a sidelong glance. "You weren't nervous like this trying to win back my trust," he said, in a tone that was mostly mock-annoyance, but did hold some genuine curiosity.

"I knew I could win back your trust," Allison said, simply. "Them, I'm not so sure of."

Scott nodded. "Doesn't seem to be much in our lives that goes right on a consistent basis," he said. "Let's just get through the next five minutes, okay?"

Allison nodded and Scott gave her fingers an extra squeeze. The two of them entered through the back door. They were greeted there by Curtis and Declan. As soon as Curtis saw Allison, he broke out into a big, fake smile. Declan just sighed and leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Hey there, gorgeous," Curtis said, completely ignoring Scott and the fact that Scott and Allison were still holding hands. "Done already? I was thinking on coming out there to show you a couple of tricks." He winked. "Maybe a few things with the bow and arrow, too."

Allison's eyebrows were raised in incredulity. "You think you're pretty smooth, don't you?" she asked.

"He's a real lady-killer," Declan said, rolling his eyes.

Scott jumped on the words. "Murdered a lot of women, have you?" he asked Curtis.

Curtis finally acknowledged his presence with a hard look. "None that were really women," he said. He smiled, and his smile sent a small shiver up Scott's back. I've seen that look before. "A few even enjoyed having me put shit inside them, I reckon."

Scott set his face in a hard line. "You don't know everything that's been going on around here lately, so I'll give you a pass this time on that joke," he said. "But very recently a couple of assholes attempted a sexual assault on someone very close to us. So we're not at all in the mood for jokes involving anything that even sounds like sexual assault. Get the picture?"

Curtis shot that predatory smile their way again. "Got it," he said. "But she'll be knockin' on my door before too long. You wait and see." He turned and left the kitchen.

"The fucking nerve - " Allison started to say, then stopped, sputtering angrily.

"It'll pass in a couple days," Declan said, still leaning against the wall. "He gets like this over girls sometimes. He'll obsess for a few days, and then either they'll sleep with him and he'll lose interest or they'll blow him off enough times that he loses interest. Either way, it's done in a week, tops."

"He'll be done in a week, tops - "

"Allison," Scott said. "Control. Remember your speech this morning about us being on the same side."

"I'd like to see him on the side of the curb with my boot against the back of his head!"

"Allison!" Scott said, taking hold of her shoulders. His eyes flared red. "Get hold of yourself."

At the sight of Scott's eyes going red, Declan had visibly tensed, but he made no move, and when the red flowed out of Scott's eyes as Allison calmed down, he began to relax to. "You're really not like any werewolf Alpha I've ever met," he said. "Granted, I've only met two, but they were both crazy. Totally borderline, you know? One of 'em had this thing about littering. He'd gut anyone who littered. That's how we lured him out. And here you are, watching my idiot big brother hit on your girl, and you're telling her to keep it under control. I'll be damned."

Scott pulled up a chair and sat down. "I think we all will," he said. "Hunters, werewolves, nymphs. All this kind of makes you wonder why something out there would want to kill all of us; we're going to wind up doing its work for it before it can ever show up."

Declan's brow had furrowed. "I've killed women, too," he said, sounding troubled. "I never killed anything didn't come at me first, but I gotta wonder now, did some of them come at me because they were scared I'd just kill them anyway? My Dad's got kind of a rough reputation in your circles. Anyone supernatural heard he was in town probably got real jumpy, real quick."
Scott suppressed a smile. Finally, one who doesn't have to go digging to find a real conscience. "We all have things we regret," he said. "Best you can do is do the right thing going forward."

"I guess," Declan replied.

"You want to go grab you sisters?" Scott asked. "We're going to figure out dinner."

Declan shook his head. "It's still a little weird hearing you call them that," he said, pushing off from the wall.

Scott nodded. "You didn't even meet them until a month ago," he said. "I guess it stands to reason that you'd feel weird thinking of them as your sisters."

Declan laughed, the harshest motion they'd seen from the otherwise gentle, laid-back seeming young hunter. "Yeah, I suppose that's part of it," he said. "But it's not the main reason."

Scott raised an eyebrow, but Allison had already figured it out. "Which one do you have a crush on?" she asked. Declan grimaced, didn't answer. "Which ones?" Allison rephrased.

"Sophie and Bridget," Declan replied, lowly. "Don' tell them. It'd be too weird."

"Not Nia?" Scott asked.

"Nah," Declan said. "She's annoying enough to actually be my sister. No, the other two, though – well, I guess you'll get to know them as we go. It's just really weird hearing people call them my sisters."

"And it doesn't bother you that they're nymphs?" Allison asked. She set a hand on her hip. "Or maybe that's why you're attracted in the first place?"

"I'm not my shallow brother," Declan replied, to his credit without a hint of defensiveness. "And nymphs may be what they are, but it's not who they are. I think that's what counts."

Scott and Allison exchanged a look. "You're okay, Declan," Scott said.

Declan bowed, slightly. "You're the first werewolf to ever give me a compliment," he said. "I figure you're okay, too."

***[]***

Between Gunther, Sophie, Bridget, Nia, Declan, Curtis, Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Scott, it was almost impossible to decide on food, but eventually pizza won out. Stiles and Declan went to pick up the multiple pies they'd ordered, and, seeing Bridget and Sophie standing apart from the crowd in the kitchen, Allison took it as an opportunity to speak to them. "Hey," she said, wandering into the kitchen with her hands held in front of her.

Sophie and Bridget, who'd been talking in low voices, instantly stopped talking. Sophie looked down at the ground while Bridget tried to feign interest in a small crack in the ceiling. While the sisters looked a lot alike, on closer inspection there were definite differences between the two. Both were rail-thin, but while Sophie was short and seemed to hunch in on herself like a turtle, Bridget stood up straight, with excellent posture. Her hair was a slightly darker brown than Sophie's as well, and her eyes, despite the feigned indifference, had a sparkle to them that was, even to Allison, alluring.

When they realized that Allison wasn't going to just move on, Bridget deigned to respond. "Hey," she said, her voice high and sweet sounding.

Allison bit her lip. Well, this isn't awkward. "Okay, I'll cut to the chase," Allison said. "I've seen you guys watching me. Is something up? Do I make you uncomfortable or something?"

Sophie shook her head, almost violently. "No," Bridget responded. "You're just – look, it's silly, okay? I'd rather not say it out loud. We'll get over it."

"Bridget!" Sophie hissed, under her breath.

"You know it's not actually true, so stop giving me grief about it!" Bridget hissed back.

Allison felt an eyebrow raise. "Maybe it'd help me understand if you told me what 'it' is,"she said.

Bridget looked at Sophie, who'd drained of color. "It's just, with everything, you kind of bear a striking resemblance to Artemis," she said. "The goddess our ancestors were handmaidens for."

The eyebrow raised even farther. "How so?" Allison asked.

"You hunt with a bow and arrow," Sophie said, cutting her sister off. "Yesterday, you and Scott stood as partners to defend us, and today we heard first hand just how much you love each other; he, then, is your Orion. You've come to live here in this house surrounded by cypress trees, Artemis' sacred tree - "

"Come on, Soph, those things are everywhere," Bridget said. She turned to Allison. "Look, I don't want you to think we're not grateful for everything you and Scott have done for us. Sophie's imagination gets the better of her sometimes."

"It's not my imagination!" Sophie protested. "You think it's a coincidence that we're here, now, being protected by her?"

"I think you're just reading too much into it," Bridget replied.

Before Sophie could retaliate against this, Allison cut in. "I'm flattered," she said. "You know, no one's ever compared me to a goddess before."

"I'm pretty sure Scott called you one this morning," Bridget said, although she blushed as she said it.

Allison blushed too. "Notwithstanding, I'm flattered," she said. "But trust me. I'm no goddess. I've made plenty of mistakes."

Sophie shook her head. "The Greek gods all made plenty of mistakes. Gods are allowed to make mistakes."

Allison smiled, sadly. "Clearly," she said. "Or else I suppose the world wouldn't be quite like it is, would it?"

Bridget grinned. "I like your sense of humor," she said, hesitating. "Sorry if we come across as a little, uh, weird. We never had many friends, growing up."

"Neither did I, really," Allison said. "We were always moving around. I never got the chance to get close with people. We've already lived here twice as long we lived anywhere else in the past."

Bridget's face brightened. "So we have that in common!" she said. "I wonder if we'll be staying long."

"There's no guarantee that thing that's been killing supernaturals will show up any time soon," Allison said. "You could be here for a while."

"I'd like that," Bridget said. "I like you. I'd like to get know all of you better."

"I'd like that, too," Allison replied.

Just then, Gunther yelled from the next room over for Sophie and Bridget to come help set the table for dinner. Bridget, with a last grin at Allison, walked out. Sophie trailed behind her. "There's one more important thing linking you and Artemis," she said. "Probably the most important."

"What's that?" Allison asked.

"She was the Greek goddess of the moon."

***[]***

Declan and Stiles arrived back shortly after that, each carrying a bunch of pizzas, having a deep discussion about Godzilla. Discussions that would have resulted in heightened stress were mostly avoided during dinner, with everyone swapping interests – Curtis found that no one shared his love for baseball cards, whereas Sophie, Bridget, and Nia all revealed that they had gone to lacrosse games at their past school and had enjoyed them. Lydia and Stiles had stiffly acknowledged Allison, which she had returned, but they'd avoided fighting. As the night wore on, they all lapsed into almost comfortable conversation, and for a few minutes Scott found himself feeling as much at home because he was with all of them as because he was back in his own house.

None of them noticed the solid gold eyes watching from the darkness outside the window. Not even as red veins rose slowly in the gold and then burst, flooding them full of red.