Hi everyone! Endless apologies for my delayed updates! Working full time has really threw a wrench in my writing time BUT i still intend on finishing this story and CONTINUING onto 3a!
Special thanks to my amazing reviewers/PMers: cecld16, lolsmileyface6, I Am The Eleventh, M, MuXuRan, Guest, Sonny13, kinky-kitsune, I heard it in a song, Guest, Mia, xxxanniexx, and klandgraf2007
This chapter is pretty big in character AND plot development (certain relationship dynamics will change drastically)
Also, the block Italix are flashbacks
Okay, done rambling. Only own Delta lore/my OC!
xoxo marahh
TWENTY-ONE: RUNNING UP THAT HILL
"He threatened my mom!" Scott McCall's pitchy voice was barely discernable, so I loosened my grip around the fretful Beta's throat.
Half-shifted face mere inches from his, I simply slammed him against the wall for the second time, animalistic snarl bubbling up from my burning stomach.
Having snuck out of the Stilinski's home after both exhausted men fell asleep, I rushed directly to the McCall residence. Creeping into his bedroom, I concealed myself in the shadows and waited until Scott stopped pleading with his mother and Melissa cried herself to sleep.
Peering into the dimly lit hallway, I watched the Beta solemnly retreat from his mother's locked door, head hung as he entered the room and began peeling off his blood-soaked clothes.
Too preoccupied with checking the fading scar on his chiseled chest, he took no notice to my seething form lurking in the corner. Conversation with Gerard replaying in my head, I just grew angrier and angrier, and before I knew it, I had rammed the startled teenager into the wall.
"W-what should I have done?" he pleadingly asked.
Eyes narrowing, I growled: "Oh, I don't know. Tell me?"
Squirming body wreaking of both fear and anxiety, I soon caught a whiff of another, surprisingly familiar emotion: remorse; and not just the predictable 'I got caught stabbing my friends in the back' kind either. No, this was deeper, as if his very soul was weighed down with guilt, self-hatred, and hopelessness.
Knowing all too well that the kid couldn't fake feelings so raw and dark, I then gruffly released him, taking a step back as I eyed him like a hawk.
"He said he'd kill her if I said anything," he examined his bare feet rather than meet my harsh gaze.
The silence between us was thick, and after a couple of minutes the boy opened his mouth again, most likely to spit out another excuse; however, "I'm sorry" was the singular, pathetically meager sentence he strung together.
"You're sorry?" I arched my brows in disbelief, sharp laugh escaping my throat. Shaking my now human head, my tone was biting: "You sold us out. Jackson, Derek, the pack." But then my voice dropped off, ire giving way to the pain of betrayal: "Me…"
"Charlie, I swear I didn't say anything about you, okay? You didn't even come up," Scott spoke truthfully, yet his words did very little to console me.
"Maybe, but I sure bet my family did," I replied icily.
Falling silent again, McCall merely swallowed hard.
"I… I don't know what to say…"
"Clearly," I crossed my arms.
"I-I'm gonna fix this. I'm gonna make it right," he resolutely vowed.
"How?" I cocked a brow, highly skeptical that McCall could do anything to reverse the damage.
I mean, God knows what he all ready shared with Gerard, let alone where that information had led the ruthless hunter. I had no clue what the consequences of Scott's betrayal would be, but as I glowered at his big puppy dog eyes, which were quietly begging for my forgiveness, I found myself worrying whether or not I was being too harsh.
The man did threaten his mother after all, and perhaps if I could remember what it actually felt like to have one I'd be a little more understanding.
Softening up ever so slightly, I was still torn whether or not to consider Scott a traitor or the victim, but then the tan teen stepped forward, voice firm and chocolate eyes blazing.
"I'll tell you everything."
That was five days ago, although five days honestly felt like a lifetime.
So much had happened. So much had changed.
Sitting outside Ms. Morrell's office, entirely unenthused about having to endure another useless counseling session, I frowned deeply as I gnawed on my nails and listened intently to the bleak exchange occurring within the guidance office.
"Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one," Stiles' harsh voice floated over from the neighboring room. "And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt's computer; and not just of her though. I mean he photo-shopped himself into these pictures. Stuff of them holding hands and kissing, like he had built this whole fake relationship." I could heard the boy cringe at the very thought, whilst I did the same. "So yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what sent him off the rails, but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train."
Unable to argue with Stilinski's spot-on assessment of the recently murdered sociopath, I couldn't help but still feel irritated that I wasn't the one to finish Daehler off.
"One positive thing came out of this though, right?" Ms. Morrell's velvety voice was as monotone as ever. "With your father's suspension being lifted, things at home must be easier."
"Yeah, I guess, but I still feel like there's something wrong between us," Stiles confessed, loudly shifting in his seat. "I don't know. It's just like tension when we talk. Same thing with Scott."
"Have you talked to him since that night?" Marin asked, although it sounded like she all ready knew the answer.
"No, not really," Stilinski brushed off his feelings about the situation. "He's got his own problems to deal with though, and I don't think he's talked to Allison either," he deflected further. "But that might be more her choice, you know? Her mom dying hit her pretty hard, but I guess it's bringing her and her dad closer."
Guilt knotting my insides, I bit my lip as I thought back to Mrs. Argent's controversial death.
Obviously her family knew that her suicide was meant to be some sort of admiral last resort from becoming a werewolf, but it still couldn't have been easy for Allison to hear the entire town whispering about how selfish her mother was for offing herself. I might've even shown up to the Mrs. Argent's burial, regardless how risky it would've been, but my best friend was not only ignoring my calls, but Scott's as well.
"Death tends to do that," the mysterious counselor stated evenly. "Bring families together."
"Yeah, well it also tends to tear them apart," the sourness to the boy's words left an acidic taste in my own mouth.
Considering he and his father were still on somewhat rocky terms, I was left to assume Stiles was reflecting on his own experience, but clearly Morrell had a different perspective.
"Like Charlie?"
Instantly digging my nails into the leather cushions, I heatedly muttered: "Figures…"
But rather than being surprised by the language teacher's rude association, Stiles' heart rate spiked as he tripped over his words: "W-what? Who said anything about liking Char-oh, you mean her family?" I could hear him restlessly bouncing his leg: "I-I don't know. I guess you'd have to ask her that."
"I thought you considered her to be a close friend. I always see you two together."
"Well yeah, sure, I mean she sleeps a room over from me," it was only when the kid awkwardly dismissed the woman did I realize I had been holding my breath the moment my name was mentioned.
Office chair squeaking, I could picture Ms. Morrell leaning back, piercing brown eyes boring into her latest squirming victim: "Well what does she think about this growing distance between you and your father? Or Scott?"
"I, ugh, I wouldn't know," Stiles mumbled, his voice fading away as my mind traveled to our own uncomfortable predicament.
After the events at the prison, after the sheriff stopped interrogating us and making sure that we were okay, after we had given our statements and he finally drifted off to sleep, the two of us were left alone.
Side-by-side, still covered in blood and sweat, we sat on the edge of his bed is silence, neither of us quite knowing what to say to the other.
Chewing on the collar of his flannel, caramel eyes fixated on the convoluted web of research tacked to the opposite wall, I picked at my frayed and blood-encrusted skirt as I debated which topic I should bring up first: what happened between us at Lydia's party, Scott's betrayal, or the fact that Peter had just climbed out of his grave.
Deciding that my homicidal father's resurrection should take precedence, I inhaled and prepared myself to drop the bomb, yet before I could utter a single word, Stiles jumped up from his bed.
"Well," he stretched his arms out wide, yawning exaggeratedly. "I'm tired. Are you tired? We should probably go to bed."
Gaze never meeting my steady one, the human busied himself with grabbing his pajamas while I slowly rose from my seat with a frown.
"Um, yeah, okay," I mumbled, knowing why the gawky teen was acting even weirder than usual.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that he was embarrassed about what happened in that bathroom, and as I felt my face growing hot, I tried to ignore the throbbing pain in my chest.
Heading towards the exit, I knew he probably wanted to just forget about what occurred between us, and until I dealt with Scott, I figured I could keep that incident to myself. But what happened regarding Peter… that was just too big...
Stilinski needed to know.
"Ugh, Stiles," I paused in the doorway, voice so timid that it sounded foreign to my ears.
"Yeah?" he barely glanced my way before continuing to scrutinize over what dorky patterned pants he wanted to wear.
"There's, um, there's something I need to talk to you about," I ventured anxiously: "I-if you're not too tired."
"Yeah, sure, but ugh, not… not tonight. I'm shot," he yawned even louder, but as his honey-suckle eyes flitted from his alarm clock to my discouraged face, he quickly added: "And you… you were actually shot, so…"
"No, yeah, of course," I forcing a jovial laugh, convincingly waving of the dismissal: " "We can just talk about it tomorrow."
Thick silence befalling us once again, Stilinski simply stared at me before nodding jerkily: "Sure. Tomorrow," but as I listened to his racing heart skip a beat, I knew my best friend had lied.
False grin still plastered on my face, I stood there for a moment longer, watching him go back to rummaging through his drawers.
"Okay," my voice was barely audible. "Goodnight."
Not waiting to hear whether or not Stiles had returned my tidings, I then turned, eyes burning as they welled up with tears.
It had been like that all week.
When there was someone else around, we were fine, but considering he was barely talking to Scott and I hadn't spoken a word to Allison, the only middle-man left was his father, who as usual, was at the station more times than not.
So the only way Stiles could politely avoid me was to use the upcoming lacrosse championship as an excuse to escape the house and prevent any awkward exchange from taking place.
If only he knew that I didn't wanna discuss Lydia's birthday anymore than he did.
If only he knew that all I wanted was my best friend's support, but if he couldn't even give me the courtesy to hear me out, then that was his choice.
I managed to get this far in life on my own. I could handle this by myself. Who needed friends anyway?
"Jackson? Jackson hasn't really been himself lately," Whittemore's name caught my attention. "Actually, the funny thing is, as of right now, Lydia's the one who seems most normal."
Snorting, I bitterly shook my head.
I wonder if he'd still think that when he finds out what his precious Lydia had actually done…
"And what about you, Stiles? Feeling some anxiety about that championship game tomorrow night?" Ms. Morrell inquired.
"Ah, ugh, no. I-I never actually play," Stiles admitted, only to darkly jest: "But hey, since one of my teammates is dead and another's missing, who knows, right?"
"You mean, Isaac… one of the three runaways… you haven't heard from any of them, have you?" she fished, but Stilinski seemed just as wary of Beacon Hills' oddly perceptive counselor as I was.
"How come you're not taking any notes on this?" he countered, tone almost challenging.
"I do my notes after the session."
"Your memory's that good?"
Unshaken by the boy's resistance, I could practically hear Morrell smirking as she pressed onward: "How about we get back to you, Stiles?"
The room fell silent, with the exception of the teacher's steady pulse and Stilinski's increasingly erratic one.
"I'm fine," his voice was slightly higher than usual. Figuring Marin was giving him that same, sharp, soul-searching look she'd shoot me whenever I was fibbing, the teenager soon folded: "Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen…"
"It's called hyper-vigilance… the persistent feeling of being under threat," she explained, disregarding his sardonic response.
"But it's not just a feeling, though. It's… it's like it's a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe."
"Like you're drowning?"
"Yeah."
Hearing the pain in his voice, all that fear and anxiety, it was gut wrenching to find out how much the dork was struggling. I mean I figured it couldn't be easy being the only human in this mess, but I had no clue just how bad it was for him.
Stilinski always seemed so happy and upbeat. I was the negative one. I was the worrier. Not him.
But I guess I was wrong this entire time. I guess I didn't know my best friend as well as I thought I did.
Then again, he wasn't my best friend anymore, was he? No, I ruined that relationship…
"So if you're drowning, and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth? To not let the water in?"
"You do anyway. It's a reflex," Stiles rationally replied, but Morrell wasn't accepting that.
"But if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?" she persisted.
"Not much time," his voice was flat.
"But more time to fight your way to the surface," the young woman was simply unrelenting.
Pausing, Stilinski murmured: "I guess…"
"More time to be rescued."
"More time to be in agonizing pain," the kid corrected her bleakly. "I mean, did you forget about the part where you feel like your head's exploding?"
"If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it?"
Though her tone was soft, her words were weighty, and as I contemplated whether or not I believed such a viewpoint, Stiles asked: "But what if it just gets worse? What if it's agony now and then it's… it's just Hell later on?"
Although I was thoroughly shaken by the darkness in his voice, Ms. Morrell was apparently much less stunned.
"Then think about something Winston Churchill once said," she instructed: "If you're going through Hell, keep going."
Quote swirling around my brain, I felt my chest tighten as I became rather choked up.
Why should he have to go through Hell at all, or any of us for that matter? How was any of this fair, especially to Stiles, Scott, and Allison? Or even Lydia and Jackson?
I mean Derek and I were pretty much born into this shit-storm of misery, but they weren't. They were all normal once. They had hope and possibilities, and now look at them… barely holding on by a thread…
Anger bubbling up to the surface, I knew I was more resentful over how messed up this entire situation was rather than at Ms. Morrell, but still, the last thing I wanted to do was go in there and listen to her regurgitate supposed words of wisdom when she had zero clue about how screwed everybody was.
Quickly grabbing my things, I rose from my seat and headed towards the exit, but when I heard the office door creak open and the young woman's smooth voice call after me, I froze, head dropping.
Closing my eyes in frustration, I sighed and slowly turned to face the pleasantly smiling teacher, only for my eyes to land on Stiles' caramel ones.
Stepping out of his way, Stilinski offered me a stiff smile, but as I saw it fall to a troubled and depressed expression, I couldn't help but blurt out: "Stiles…"
Turning to look at my almost beseeching face, the kid adjusted his backpack straps, expression one of guilt as he yet again, brushed me off: "Hey, I… I gotta get to the locker room… big game tonight…"
"Yeah," I nodded, mentally kicking myself for expecting any other outcome. "G-good luck.
Flashing another uneasy grin, the nerd then focused on signing out with general office's secretary.
Stomach in knots as Ms. Morrell ushered me inside her office, I felt her knowing gaze burrowing into my wounded face as I took a seat.
Continuing to stare out into the office as Marin closed the door, my forlorn eyes then met Stiles' through the glass window. Expression one of guilt, Stilinski quickly averted his gaze, only to turn around and practically run through the door as the bell rang.
Watching him hurry down the packed hallway, I swallowed the massive lump in my throat while the guidance counselor began her customary cross-examination.
"So Charlie, want to tell me about your week?"
Trudging through the shadowy forest, I took my usual shortcut to the animal clinic, ignoring my phone's incessant buzzing as I grumpily hurried along.
I was supposed to meet McCall over an hour ago, for he figured that the best way to identify the mysterious substance I had found was to bring it over to his boss'.
Ordinarily I would've been impressed at the Beta's ingenuity, however I was in simply too foul a mood to feel any sort of excitement that this could possibly help us take down Gerard.
Everything felt so trivial all of the sudden. Like no matter what we did, or how much we tried, we were still fated to fail.
Even if this test proved useful, even if it was the key to stopping Gerard, there was still the issue of the Kanima, whatever the Hell was going on with Lydia, and Peter's unnatural return.
Then, of course, we still had to deal with my idiot cousin and his volatile pack, the vengeful Argents, as well as Allison going dark side.
Stiles had it right.
We were drowning.
Each and every single one of us.
Scott even noticed my odd lack of fight since the events at the prison. We had been spending quite a lot of time together this week, and I never once snapped at him or lost my patience when he veered off topic and began whining about his ruined relationships with Allison and his mother.
When the kid asked me why I seemed so off, I told him that I was just tired, which he seemed to buy; however Ms. Morrell saw right through that… hence why I ended up leaving her office an hour past dismissal…
Squinting as I stared up at the setting sun shimmering through the softly blowing leaves overhead, my phone vibrated for the millionth time.
Sighing heavily, I yanked the annoying device out of my cardigan and stared down at the five missed calls and six texts from the oh-so persistent Scott McCall.
God, he was worse than Stiles… and that's saying something…
Assuming he wouldn't stop until I either showed up or answered, I warily shook my head and absentmindedly typed some half-assed response, too distracted to notice a silhouette quickly coming up from behind me.
And just as my onyx painted nail tapped 'send', I was suddenly slammed up against a neighboring tree.
Thoroughly startled, it was only when it registered whose emerald eyes I was gaping at, did my racing heart slow down.
"Jesus, Derek!" I panted, shoving the big lug away as I rubbed my aching back. "Ever heard of a phone?"
Unphased by my snippiness, the Alpha countered: "You mean the thing you've been ignoring all of my calls on?"
"Oh, don't be so sensitive," I rolled my eyes. "I haven't been ignoring anything…"
And would you believe it, as if right on cue, my pocket vibrated again.
Cocking a brow with an air of amusement, my older cousin gazed at my sour face, which twitched in irritation while I switched the damned thing off.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Don't lie to my face."
Pursing my lips in indignation, I brushed some hair from my face and simply stared back up at him in stony silence.
I didn't have time for this.
He needed to cut to the chase.
As if reading my mind, Derek asked: "Would you have even bothered calling me back?"
"Well not after throwing me into a goddamn redwood," I muttered sardonically.
"Who's being sensitive now?" he ignored my pointed look as he got back onto topic. "Just answer the question."
"Depends," I feigned thoughtfulness, only to inquire flatly: "You still all buddy-buddy with Peter?"
"I'm not buddy-buddy with him," my older cousin scoffed, turning his nose up at the very idea.
"No? Then why does he still have a pulse? Cause we both know he's not gonna just skip town," I mused darkly as I turned and continued on my journey to the animal hospital. "Not when he can still sit back and watch us both get annihilated by the Argents."
Mentally replaying all of the evil deeds that sorry-excuse of a man had committed, from walking out on my mother and I to murdering Laura for power, or trying to turn McCall and I into cold-blooded killers, rage bubbled up inside of me as I stomped along; but then Derek said something that made me stop in my tracks.
"What?" I hissed, wheeling around, all my anger now redirected towards the Alpha.
Hands in his leather jacket pockets, body and face still, I listened to his slightly elevated heart rate and could tell he never meant to mutter those words aloud.
But it was too late.
"Derek," my tone was threatening as I marched right back up into his face. "What the Hell did you just say?"
"He doesn't want that," he replied almost meagerly. Well, as meager as Derek could sound…
"And how would you know that?" I narrowed my eyes.
Searching for the words, I knew Derek was contemplating how best to phrase what would be yet another blow to our all ready strained relationship.
Incredulous laugh escaping my throat, I shook my head and crossed my arms in disbelief: "You spoke to him, didn't you?" When I was met with nothing but the sound of distant chirping birds, I muttered: "Of course you did…"
"Look, he came to me, okay?" he defensively stated.
"So you talked to him," I put it plainly, tone fairly even considering how testy I felt: "How nice…"
"Not really," Derek reflected honestly. "Mostly just kicked the crap out of him until I couldn't breathe and had to let him spit out some toothless apology."
Spotting the faintest remnant of a shiner decorating his stubby face, a small smirk tugged at my lips as sadistic glee took over at the thought of Derek knocking that bastard around. But the fact of the matter was that the Alpha still elected to listen to Peter's manipulative lies and tales of remorse rather than putting him back into the ground, and that didn't sit too well with me.
Grin fading, I clenched my jaw and remained in stony silence.
Fully aware that I was not one to believe, let alone hear out bullshit excuses, especially from the likes of my father, Derek decided to just get on with it: "He said he's been following Argent."
"Well naturally," I ignored how grave his expression was, continuing to give my own snarky retort: "He somehow gets Lydia to bring him back from the dead and the first thing he does is go right back to his stupid revenge mission."
Green eyes never leaving my sullen face, the man's naturally brooding gaze grew that much more serious.
"He said he overheard something," he cryptically shared, only to add ominously: "Something about you."
Not quite expecting that, pangs of anxiety immediately struck my heart as I swallowed hard.
This couldn't be good…
"Gerard put the word out for le fantôme louve…"
Icy chill running up my spine the instant my hunter-given alias echoed throughout the silent forest, it took all I had to remain convincingly indifferent: "Yeah, I know. I've had a big ol' bounty over my head since Elkins."
It's not like I was surprised.
I knew my past would eventually catch up to me, but still, here I was, left feeling like the air had been sucked right from my lungs.
"Well the number just doubled. Two million for the Ghost Wolf dead, five alive."
Letting out a long whistle, I raised my brows: "Guess I should start looking into life insurance policies…"
Irritated by my breezy charade, my cousin snapped: "Charlie, this is serious! He knows you're in Beacon Hills!"
Easily seeing past his impatience to the look of pure worry swirling behind his piercing eyes, I shifted uneasily.
How could he possibly know I was here?
I mean sure, I had been petrified this entire time that the guy would find out that I was a werewolf, and a Hale at that, but Elkin's evasive killer?
"No," I practically guffawed. "No way he could know. No one's seen me fully shifted since New York… well, no one living anyway," I cringed at the memory of those times I had lost all control and gave into my inner beast.
"That's not completely true."
Pausing as I idly paced about, it suddenly dawned on me that there was one, singular instant when I actually did maintain my humanity. The last time I gave in, the last time I not only shifted, but embraced my powers was the very same night that had changed everything.
"Winter Formal," I breathed, pulse escalating.
Nodding his head solemnly, I then caught onto what Derek was thinking.
"Oh come on. You can't honestly think Scott or Stiles would've…"
"No," my older cousin cut me off. "Not them."
Falling silent for a moment or two as his words sunk in, a cold, sickening sweat washed over my nervous form.
"No," I shook my head vehemently. "Allison would never."
"She's a hunter."
"She's also my friend."
"She's one of them, Charlie," Derek pressed, his stoic face appearing almost apologetic.
"No," I felt myself growing nauseas at the very idea. "No, she's nothing like them," I couldn't accept what the man was alluding to.
I wouldn't accept it!
"She just lost her mother," Derek voiced the nagging, sinister thoughts that had been plaguing my own mind all week. "And not from cancer or an accident. She killed herself cause she got bitten and was going to turn. Her mom killed herself, and who's she gonna blame, huh? Our family."
Firm gaze searing into my dumbfounded face, I opened my mouth to argue, but the Alpha merely spoke over me: "We both know Gerard would do whatever it takes to get revenge, including manipulating a grieving granddaughter. So when he asks her who was involved with Kate's murder, who's side do you think she's gonna take? The family that caused both her mother and aunt's deaths, or her own?"
Denial slowly giving way to the harsh reality of the situation, I couldn't blame the girl if she had given me up because of our family. I certainly would have if the roles were revered…
But as my eyes begun to sting from both guilt and betrayal, something Derek had said caught my attention.
Her murder…
The night of her death…
The evening where the Hale fire arson finally paid for all of her sins…
Like a powerful tidal wave washing away the muddled details and distortions from mixed emotions and passed time, the memories became crystal clear as they flooded back.
Fatal wound so deep that her spinal chord was exposed, Kate Argent lifelessly stared up at me from where she lay within the charred skeleton of my home.
Cold brown eyes wide and filled with pathetic tears, she whispered her desperate apologies as her weeping niece watched my sneering father rip the woman's throat out.
Gnashing my fangs in her frightened face, my claws dug deeply into the screaming hunter's flesh.
Fully shifted, body vibrating with primal rage and vengeance, Peter and I predatorily cornered the human guilty of murdering our entire family.
"You see, Kate, I'm not the only enemy you made," Peter moved aside, as my bloodthirsty wolf form stepped forward from out of the shadows. "My daughter's got a bit of a bone to pick with you."
Shrinking deeper into corner in which she was thrown, the battered woman thrust her hand into her jacket and looked up at me as if she had seen a ghost: "You… the w-white wolf…"
"That clicking noise," I breathed, which threw my cousin completely off.
"What?"
"The last time I shifted, the night Peter killed her, Kate saw me," my heart thumped erratically against my constricting chest.
"We know that all ready," Derek was unimpressed to say the least.
"No, what I mean is she saw me and recognized me," I elucidated further, but when the Alpha stared back at me blankly, I impatiently shoved my hand into my black sweater and demonstrated: "The bitch texted Gerard that she had found me… in her friggin pocket!"
Beyond aggravated that I had stupidly overlooked such a thing, I grumbled: "She didn't even get the stupid translation right…"
Just staring at me with the most vacant of expressions, I couldn't quite tell if it was my casual tone or the fact that a dead chick got the one-up on me that had Derek so bewildered.
Regardless which it actually was, the instant I turned on my heel to leave, the Alpha found his voice once again and called after me: "Where are you going?"
"To meet Scott," I didn't even glance over my shoulder, feeling oddly numb to the situation at this point.
"You really think it's a good idea wandering around the woods alone after what I just told you?"
Making a face, I paused and glanced back at him, his body language tenser than my own; and after taking a moment or two to reflect, I replied with a blasé shrug: "I guess Gerard's just the least of my worries right now."
Intently watching me, I think Derek finally realized that I wasn't putting on a brave face, and as the man grew unnerved by such an honest confession, he stated heavily: "Be careful, Charlie."
"You too," I curtly nodded, as the early evening breeze picked up, carrying with it the unsettling sensation that something much darker than Gerard or the Kanima, or perhaps even more than Peter's resurrection, was on it's way.
Hairs standing on end as if the very air had been electrically charged from the unknown storm steadily encroaching upon an unsuspecting Beacon Hills, I forebodingly added: "Cause something tells me I'm not the only one who's gonna have to watch their back."
Familiar sound of yapping dogs assaulting my sensitive ears, I walked along the lively animal clinic's main hallway, attempting to shake off the newest update as to how beyond screwed I actually was.
I knew it was only a matter of time before Elkin's friends tracked me down, although I had to admit just how ironic it was that my best friend's grandfather, the most feared hunter amongst my kind, would be the one to find the arcane Ghost Wolf.
But besides karma coming to bite me in the ass for my past transgressions, I was also acutely aware that losing focus and giving into my mounting panic would only make things worse.
I needed to be sharp and on my A-game, for it wasn't just my life on the line anymore, but that of my pack, my friends. And the fight wasn't going to end here. Whatever menacing force was coming this way, it was bigger than all of us, and I intended to be there when it did. There was no way in Hell I'd let Scott, Stiles, and Allison, or even Lydia, Derek, and his pack face this alone. So, I needed to remain calm so that I could keep a pulse long enough to protect everyone.
Inhaling deeply, I collected myself and steadied my pulse as best I could, and then I walked into the main examination room, gaze immediately shooting past Deaton's pleasant smile and McCall's relieved face once I spotted an uninvited Isaac Lahey standing in the corner.
"What's he doing here?" I could care less about my poor manners as I shot the baby Beta an aggressive look.
Clenching his jaw, I continued to stare the offended wolf down as he struggled to keep his temper in check, all while a cruelly satisfied smirk curled my lips.
Good.
At least he understood where his place was, considering the second he received the Bite, the once affable boy turned into an arrogant ass.
"He's been helping me out," the good doctor airily spoke up on his behalf, unaffected by the hostile glowers being thrown across the room.
I knew the enigmatic vet intended to diffuse a possible volatile situation from erupting, and as the bald man continued to grin at me, his eyes twinkled with the same knowing glint they always held.
Alan definitely had a reason for summoning Lahey, but I didn't care. The kid had rubbed me the wrong way for far too long.
Opening my mouth to utter some sort of impolite comment, my eyes soon met Scott's chocolate ones, and as the annoyingly genial boy shook his head, I surrendered with a huff: "Whatever."
Flipping my hair as I coldly strode past our silent guest, I asked my best friend and his boss: "So? How'd the test go?"
"It's still running," Deaton replied, turning his attention back to the sickly dog currently occupying the gurney.
"What do you mean 'still running'?" I petulantly demanded, following him to the metal table as he began measuring out the canine's medication. Eyes flitting to the syringe in the doctor's hand, I quickly stifled my cravings and continued: "You had all day!"
Noticing where my gaze had landed, Deaton's face seemed impassive enough, yet his eyes told a different story, though they weren't judgmental in the least. Merely overlooking my flushed face, he replied thoughtfully: "Yes, but it proved to be a bit more difficult that I had anticipated."
Looking from Scott's dopily helpless face back to the man as he administered the drug to the ailing pup, I blinked in disbelief and repeated: "Difficult."
Nodding his head in silence, I remarked crossly: "Trying not to eat half the county during the full moon's difficult! Not this!"
Catching Lahey nodding in whole-hearted agreement over my blunt statement, I couldn't help but grow even more peeved.
Seriously, Scott? You had me sprint all the way here… for this?
"Charlie," the tan teen tentatively spoke up, obviously trying to ease my temper, but I just shot him a look.
Shutting right up, it was the vet's voice that sounded next.
"There's a lot of things that it could be," he admitted, injecting the now whimpering dog. "So the process is time consuming. I'm sorry."
Loud whines escaping its pained form, all four of us quickly forgot about the current conversation and turned to the poor animal limply lying there, barely strong enough to look up at us.
"What's wrong with him?" Isaac asked, venturing a few steps closer to the group, his navy blue eyes never leaving the suffering creature. "Why does he smell like that?"
Sad smile spreading across his face, Deaton put the drugs away and threw out the needle: "Scott said almost the same thing to me a few months ago. One day he could somehow tell the difference between which animals were getting better and which weren't."
"He's not getting better, is he?" he asked the obvious question.
Shaking his head morosely, Alan pet the dog as Isaac swallowed hard.
It was odd seeing the boy so broken up about anything, let alone this.
"What, ugh, what does he have?"
"Osteosarcoma," I blurted out in boredom.
"What?" a mystified Scott asked.
"It's pretty much bone cancer," I shrugged, nonchalantly tugging at a stray thread on my floral skater skirt, but once I felt everyone's piercing gazes stabbing into my distracted form, I glanced up at both gaping boys. "What?" I arched a brow, noting that even Deaton appeared rather surprised.
God, it was like they had never heard me say something smart before…
"It has a very distinct scent, doesn't it?" Deaton's words were slow, and although I knew he was addressing Isaac, his warm brown eyes continued to stare at me.
Bitterly snorting in dark agreement, my mind traveled back to how my own late mother's myeloma spread to her bones and became the very same illness that was now slowly killing the creature before us.
How ironic…
"I know you're well aware of what your new abilities can do for you… improved strength, speed, healing… you ever wonder what it could do for others?"
Watching the blatant confusion spread across Lahey's handsome face, the Beta timidly glanced from Scott and I to the veterinarian's patient form.
"Give me your hand," the human extended his arm, and as the now timid young wolf inched closer, I could have almost sworn I saw a glimpse of the sweet boy I had befriended in detention a couple of months back.
Guiding Isaac's quaking hand, Dr. Deaton placed it on the heavily panting dog's back, and the instant he made contact with its lackluster coat, the veins in his arms turned the darkest shade of blue.
Breath hitching as he inhaled sharply, the teen's wide eyes welled up with overwhelmed tears as he watched the once tense pup finally relax.
Tired brown eyes shutting as it's graying head rested upon its paws, Isaac stared down at the peacefully slumbering animal as he rubbed his arm and stammered: "W-what… what did I just do?"
"You took some of his pain away," McCall answered almost reverently, taking in the overcome Beta quickly wiping away the singular tear streaking down his embarrassed face. "It's okay. First time he showed me, I cried too."
Still reminiscing about my mother's last few, painful months on this Earth, I barely gave both bonding Betas a cursory glance.
If only I had those powers when she was so sick. If only I could've eased her pain, even for a second.
But then something dawned on me.
I had never actually used my abilities in any such way.
Not one time.
I always knew that I had become quite jaded, no doubt a result from years of being filled with rage and loss, but still, the thought never even crossed my mind to help this poor creature slumbering before me… or anyone for that matter…
Frowning to myself as I distractedly gazed out the window, I felt pangs of guilt knotting my insides.
Would the person I am now stop what she was doing to help ease the suffering of some poor, dying single mother? Would I have helped my own mother?
Self-loathing coursing through my veins, I had to admit the bleak reality to myself that I was too far gone.
Even if I was making strides in regaining some semblance of humanity or compassion, I could still feel that dense pit of darkness sitting at the bottom of my stomach, consuming my insides.
I knew what I was capable of and it terrified me.
But the thing that truly kept me up at night, more than the night terrors, more than the voices, was the fact that I understood there was a tiny part of me, a small sliver of my subconscious that embraced this shadowy alter ego.
How many times had I ignored someone else's pain? Or worse, how many moments of sheer pleasure did I get out of inflicting such misery on others?
"Like father, like daughter," Peter's velvety whispers bounced around my brain, sending shivers up my spine.
"They're leaving tonight, during the game," Isaac Lahey's garbled and distant voice floated to my clogged ears.
"Why are you telling me?" McCall inquired as I finally snapped back into the present, realizing that Dr. Deaton had disappeared somewhere, leaving the three of us alone.
"I'm not telling you," the tall, fair boy with wavy brown hair averted his eyes. "I'm asking you. I'm asking for your advice."
Obviously having missed the beginning of a deep and possibly detrimental conversation, I tried to piece everything together as my friend asked, utterly confused: "From me? Why?"
"Because I trust you."
Eyes moving between both boys, I assumed this had something to do with Lahey's pack; otherwise he would've just gone to Derek for guidance.
Maybe the kid was finally growing wise to the fact that my cousin didn't hold all the answers…
"Why?"
"Because you always seem to want to do the right thing," Isaac shared honestly, pulse and voice equally steady.
Running a hand over his thick mop of hair, McCall admitted: "I usually have no idea what I'm doing. Actually," he corrected himself grimly, "I always have no idea what I'm doing."
Smirking to myself, I hadn't noticed that I giggled aloud until Scott and Isaac turned to me.
"Um, sorry," I half-heartedly apologized, chomping down on my cheek, swallowing my grin.
"Do you want to let me know what you're doing right now?" Isaac continued on with their somber discussion.
"I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you mean," his expression became stern. "I have too many people here who need me."
So that's what this was about…
Reyes and Boyd had had enough. They were planning on running for the hills, but it's not like I could blame them.
And this certainly explained why Derek was suddenly being so nice to me. His precious little pack was abandoning him!
"Well, I guess that makes me lucky cause, ugh, cause I don't have anyone, so…"
Eyes flitting over to Isaac's conflicted face, we briefly made eye contact, as we were both reminded just how much of kindred spirits we truly were.
"Are you gonna with them?" my tone much less disparaging than Scott's.
Looking down at me with an almost appreciative expression, Isaac nodded and mumbled softly: "Yeah, I think I will."
Shoving his hands into his pockets, his broad shoulders then slumped as he turned and stalked away, but before he left the room, he paused: "Good luck with the game though."
"Thanks, but I'm not going either," Scott responded somewhat stonily. "Can't even think about playing some meaningless game right now."
Astonished, I raised my brows.
Just a month or two ago, McCall would have blown a gasket over the idea of missing a match… boy, had things changed…
"You weren't at practice last week, were you?"
"No, I skipped. Why?" he furrowed his brows.
"Then you didn't hear?"
Sensing just how uneasy the baby wolf was, my chest tightened as McCall and I demanded in unison: "Hear what?"
"Jackson was there."
Weight of his words quickly sinking in, a fresh wave of nausea washed over me whilst Scott stuttered: "W-what… what do you mean 'there'? Like, h-he was…"
"As if nothing happened," Lahey tone and expression were more than grave; they were downright disturbing.
"T-that means… the game… tonight…"
"Yeah," I immediately yanked out my cellphone, heart pounding wildly against my panic-stricken chest as I called upon the only person I could think of: "He's playing."
"Derek!" I called, lungs burning as I sprinted up our overgrown driveway, heeled booties slipping over the loose gravel as I dashed up the rickety porch and burst into the dimly lit house: "Derek! Derek?"
Panting, hands over my head as I wildly searched the shadowy first floor, I frantically barked: "Derek, where the Hell are you?"
"I'm afraid he's running a little late," a familiar, smooth voice floated down from the staircase behind me.
Wheeling around, I knew who I was about to see, and yet the second I laid my eyes on the perfectly healthy form of Peter Hale sauntering out of the darkness with a characteristically cheeky smirk plastered on his smug face, it felt like I had been rammed in the gut.
Steely blue eyes twinkling with delight over my absurdly slack-jawed face staring up at him from the spot in which I was currently frozen, the haughty bastard didn't miss a beat: "What? No hug?"
"Bite me," was my instinctive retort.
Not fazed in the slightest, Peter sighed as he slowly made his way down the creaky steps, "You have real intimacy issues, you know that right?"
Unamused, I glowered at the man I so hated and snapped: "Where is he?"
"Running after his wayward sons and daughters," the man with perfectly quaffed blonde hair lazily replied, strolling passed me into the living room.
Gazing down at the hole in the floorboards, still marred with claw marks from when he had recently dug his way out, my estranged dad turned to me, genuinely asking: "So, what do you think?"
"About you making this place look like even more of a shit hole, the nightmare of a fact that you're the parent that gets a second shot at life, or how Derek's pack is high-tailing it out of here?" my tone was acidic, expression harsh.
"Interesting," his soulless eyes stared at my sour face, demeanor unaffected by my disrespectful attitude.
"What is?" I inquired through clenched teeth.
"You said Derek's pack."
"So?"
"So the great and loyal Delta's not only refusing to stand by her Alpha, but her own blood," his icy eyes steadily watched my edgy form shift a bit with discomfort.
He knew how hard it was for me to turn by back on Derek, and he was enjoying making me squirm.
"What ever happened to 'family is forever'?" Peter tutted.
"Guess you blew that value straight to Hell," I snarkily shot back. "Speaking of… how was it?"
Lips quirking, Peter honestly seemed tickled: "I almost forgot how witty you are."
"Well I haven't forgotten what a sociopath you are," I snarled.
"I can't say I'm surprised by your cold welcoming, but the fact that you're so defensive," he appeared sincerely hurt and disappointed as he dramatically tapped at a spot on his hollow, chiseled chest where a heart should be. "It hurts me, Charlotte. It hurts me right here."
Cringing at the sound of my name, I caught Peter's lips curling ever so slightly, but before I could rip the prick a new one, Derek's gruff voice came out of practically nowhere.
"It's Charlie."
Turning around to find my exhausted older cousin shooting daggers at my father from the doorway, I couldn't help but feel somewhat pleased over the gesture.
"Right," Peter feigned innocence, waving his hand in the air and wiping the tiny grin from my face: "Forgot. Sorry."
"Sure you are," I grumbled, crossing my slender arms as Derek took his position beside me.
"I thought I told you to stay away from here," the Alpha's husky voice was deep and threatening.
"And what? Stay away from my baby girl whom I've missed so much?" his electric blue eyes widened with false horror.
God he was laying it on thick…
"I all ready admitted that I might have gotten a little carried away. What more do you want? An apology?
A little carried away?
Guffawing loudly, I shook my head. Derek, on the other hand, must have heard this speech before, so he offered his simple, inimical rebuttal: "Get out."
"Not until we all agree to get past this petty tiff," Peter argued diplomatically, but when Derek merely continued to glower at him in stony silence, he breezily outstretched his arms: "Come on, give peace a chance!"
Eyes narrowing, the Alpha was just about out of patience: "No."
"Why not?" my father melodramatically pouted.
"Because I don't trust you!" my older cousin roared, veins bulging out of his thick neck.
"Don't trust… Derek, you do realize I could've killed you last week," Peter gestured to the adjacent hole. "You, lying there, unconscious… lungs filled with wolfsbane… I could've returned the favor and ripped out your throat. I could've become the Alpha again, but I didn't," his words were amiable enough, yet I could sense my father's rage simmering just underneath the surface.
"If you want a 'thank you', you're not getting one," my cousin hissed stiffly.
"I don't want a 'thank you'. I want in."
"I told you, that's not up to me," Derek folded his muscular arms stubbornly.
Face twitching with irritation, Peter's once calm demeanor faltered.
"You're really relying on her judgment on this?" he shot my perplexed self the harshest of looks as his enraged words bounced off the blackened walls. "She's not even in your pack!"
Stunned, I gazed up at my older cousin with the most dumbfounded of expression as he explained to the seething man: "Of course she's not. She's a Delta." Half-expecting an insult to follow such a statement, what came next forced my jaw to the floor: "And she's been right about pretty much everything so far… who to trust, where to put her loyalty… so yeah, when it comes to her instincts about you, I'm following her lead."
I was floored.
No one besides Deaton had ever said something positive about my kind, and now here was my bull-headed older cousin, the guy that was so hard on me, the person I constantly disappointed, standing up to my father and swearing his allegiance to me.
Swallowing the growing lump in my throat, I was too touched to say much of anything, but my old man was never at a loss for words: "You can't be serious. This is ridiculous!"
"Hey, you're not back in that grave because of me, but if you get in with the pack, that's gonna be because of her," the Alpha nodded over at me firmly.
Watching a frustrated Peter grappling over the idea that his fate now rested in the hands of his only child, I felt the broadest smile stretch across my face.
Taking a moment or two to collect himself, the recently resurrected wolf inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes in defeat: "Okay, Charlie. Name your terms."
"My terms?" I played dumb, cocking a highly amused brow.
"Yes," his pulse was erratic as he fought to keep his temper in check. "Terms. Conditions. Any and all personal debts I must repay to get in your good graces."
"So I name anything. Anything at all…"
"And it's yours," Peter cut me off rather sharply, but when Derek gave him a stern look, the man begrudgingly added: "I give you my word."
Furrowing my brows and tapping my finger against my chin, I mused aloud: "Well gosh, there's just so much I could ask for. I don't know where to begin..."
Seeing a crooked grin spreading across Derek's stubbled face from the corner of my eyes, Peter was evidently much less humored.
"First thing that comes to mind," his voice was strained, words rushed.
Christ, this felt good! And although I could have basked in this rare moment of victory against my father, I knew precious time was still ticking away.
"Okay, I got it," I stopped pacing about, staring squarely into his eyes with the most unforgiving of expressions: "Leave."
Chuckling in disbelief, Peter asked: "What?"
"Did I stutter?" I stepped right up to him, face mere inches from his own. "Leave Beacon Hills. No, better yet, California. Leave the state and never come back."
Peering down his slender nose at me with such malice, I waited for the heartless man to process how truly serious my provisions were.
"You know I can't do that," he muttered grumpily.
"Why? Cause you're an Omega? Cause you need a pack?" I raised my brows, voice unsympathetic to say the least. "Not my problem."
"You ungrateful little-"
Muscular form rushing forward and shoving my infuriated father away before he could attack me, the Alpha's eyes flashed that precarious shade of red, whilst I coolly remained in the exact same place.
"I'm the one that found out Gerard tracked down the Ghost Wolf! I'm the one that warned you!" Peter's shouts violently shook the house, knocking ash from the ceiling.
"You're also the reason he caught wind I was even here, so for your sake, I hope you got something better," I snottily countered.
Then, face once contorted and twisted with pure ire, Peter's expression morphed into eeriest of smirks.
"Oh, I do," his vulturine gaze danced between both Derek and my own unnerved forms. "Cause I know how to solve this pesky Kanima problem of yours."
My heart nearly stopped in my chest.
"You're bluffing."
Gruffly releasing the arrogant man, Derek backed up beside me, just as skeptical and equally curious.
"Would you be more inclined to let me stick around if I said I knew how to stop him?" he drolly adjusted his t-shirt.
"You mean kill him," I corrected, voice flat.
"Oh no, no, no," Peter shook his head before condescendingly adding: "We both know your obedience trainers… I mean friends would never approve of such inhumane methods."
"Then what are you talking about?" Derek impatiently demanded as I glared at the prick.
"Why saving him, of course."
Taken off guard, my cousin and I gazed at one another, wondering if we should even indulge the homicidal maniac. I mean the likelihood that he was lying through those perfectly straight teeth of his was pretty damn high.
"There's a myth that you can cure a werewolf by calling out its Christian name," Peter took our momentary and tentative silence as an invitation to carry on.
"That's just a myth," Derek was unimpressed.
"Sometimes myth and legends bear a hint of truth. Otherwise our entire family lineage would be a fairytale, wouldn't it?" my father pointed out. "Our names are symbols of who we are, but the Kanima has no identity. That's why it doesn't seek a pack."
"It seeks a master," the wheels in my head were rapidly turning as my cousin finished Peter's train of thought.
Crooked grin curling his lips and decorating his unshaven face with dimples, the undeniably clever man posed the question: "And who else grows up with no pack? No identity?"
"An orphan," I responded while the mystery as to why Whittemore had turned into such a monster finally made sense. "Like Jackson."
"And right now his identity is disappearing beneath a reptilian skin, and you need to bring him back," Peter elucidated further.
Green eyes focused on Peter's cerulean ones, the Alpha's tone was solemn: "How?"
"Through his heart," he stated simply. "How else?"
Chortling, I reminded everyone present of the sad truth: "In case you haven't noticed, Jackson's never had much of a heart."
"I don't think that's true," my dad shook his head, brows furrowed. "He'd never admit it, but there is one person. One young lady with whom he shared a read bond. One person who can reach him. Who can save him."
Stomach plummeting, I instantly grew ill.
Room beginning to spin, I could feel all color drain from my all ready fair face, and as Derek said her name aloud, confirming my fears, I almost vomited right then and there.
"Lydia."
"Your best ally was always your anger, Derek, but what you lack most is a heart," Peter's words were drowned out by the deafening sound of my heart pounding in my eardrums.
How could I have not seen this before?
It was so simple! But it was also so risky…
I knew this could possibly be our only shot, but what if it didn't work? What if Lydia got hurt, or worse?
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what the right answer was.
"That's why you've always known you need Scott more than anyone, and anybody as burned up and dead on the inside as me knows better than to underestimate the simple yet undeniable power of human love."
Abruptly marching towards the exit, I knew there was no time to waste, and even if I didn't have a plan yet, I couldn't stand around any longer.
Things were coming to a head.
People were in danger. Good and innocent people.
I had to do something.
"Whoa! Where are you going?" Derek bounded after me as I threw open our chipped front door.
"Jackson's playing in the game tonight," I shared, words almost as fast as my racing heart. "I need to get over there."
Firm hands yanking my slight frame back around to face him, my older cousin's gaze was sharp: "You can't go. Gerard's going to be there."
Catching Peter's impassively observing form over Derek's bulky shoulder, I stared right up at the Alpha: "So are my friends."
"But they're not the one he's after," he reminded me of the personal peril I was about to run headlong into, but truthfully I didn't care. Not with so many people I cared about at risk.
"He's got something planned, Derek. Something really, really bad," I passionately confessed some of the intel McCall had recently shared with me. "He's been tracking you and your pack. And apparently me. He threatened Scott and his mother to cooperate, and now… now he controls the Kanima. Whatever he wants, whatever he's after, he's not gonna stop. He's gonna do whatever it takes to get it, and right now, at this very second, he holds all the cards. I have to go!"
Staring down at my heavily breathing figure, I could see him searching for a way to convince me to reconsider my choice, and as his usually unreadable face surrendered to deep worry, he practically whispered: "It's a suicide mission, Charlie."
"Probably," I frankly agreed, attempting to come across light-hearted about the dismal situation; however, once I heard my father's obnoxious sniggers, my forced smirk fell flat.
Of course he'd laugh…
The man never cared about anyone other than himself. He couldn't possibly grasp what it meant to put your own life on the line for someone else.
"I meant what I said earlier today," I hatefully eyed Peter as I clarified: "About watching your back."
"What are you talking about?" the sound of the Alpha's thoroughly unnerved voice forced my attention back onto him.
"Did you know that Deltas can sense when danger's coming?" I prepared to finally release the troubling secret I had been harboring for so long.
Someone needed to hear it.
Someone had to warn the others. Just in case.
"So you think something's coming?"
"I don't think. I know," the level of confidence behind that reply made both men tense up.
Staring hard at one another for a moment or two, my shaken up relative asked stiffly: "What is it?"
Knowing that stoic mask of his all too well, I was fully aware of just how fretful Derek was, and rightfully so.
"I'm not sure yet, but it's gonna be bigger than anything we ever faced before," I admitted darkly, running a hand through my raven hair before bleakly sighing: "Let's just hope I make it through tonight so I can figure it out before it comes."
Eyes locking onto his, I had never seen Derek in such a state. Emerald orbs burning with a plethora of negative emotions, his expression was twisted with pain.
I understood what was going through his head.
It was going through mine, too.
This could very well be our last moments together.
And although I could literally feel both of our heavy hearts aching, there we stood at an arm's length apart in grave silence.
There would be no tearful farewells, last minute 'I love you's, or tender embraces. There wouldn't even be a handshake.
Just a final, lingering look, followed by a curt nod because we were Hales. Hales to the end.