Thanks for the reviews, and a massive welcome to Silverdawn2167. It's people like you who keep me writing, and I really, really appreciate your support. Also, shameless self-promo, I'm a diehard Stydia shipper and they're the main couple I write about, so if you have a spare moment you might like to check out some of my other stories. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the next chapter.

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It bothers him.

And more than that, he's bothered by the fact that it bothers him. He'd underestimated Scott, and now he's going to have to rectify the problem. Stiles and Lydia are sitting in the living room, side by side and in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The real Stiles is louder now too, re-energized by what Scott had done back in the basement, and it takes a lot of effort to drown him out.

Damn Scott. Damn him and his pack and his selflessness and his goddamn heart. Lydia had been trying to torture him and he'd taken pain from her – even knowing that it wasn't really Lydia feeling the pain, it was the being in her body. The one who had stolen her from him. In all his time here, Scott hasn't given up. He hasn't betrayed his friends, he hasn't begged for mercy, he hasn't turned on his pack. He's lost his spark, but his heart is still warm.

That's what I've been trying to tell you.

The voice is in his head but he closes his eyes, trying to block it out. But Stiles keeps talking.

You can't beat him. Scott is going to find a way to win. He's going to save us.

He opens his eyes again and shakes his head, speaks his response aloud. "It's too late, Stiles," he says calmly, and he can feel the boy shiver with fear. "He's not going to save you. Nobody is."

The real Stiles falls silent, but he hasn't given up. He just knows to pick his battles, and in this case silence is the best defense. Stiles – the demon in his body – sighs. He turns to Lydia, who's filing her nails and humming some kind of pop ballad. "Is she giving you grief?" he asks.

Lydia looks at him, her humming slowing down but not stopping. "No," she says at last. "She's quiet, actually. Almost cooperative."

No. Lydia would never give up. You're lying.

He smirks. "My host seems to think that you're not being entirely truthful."

She shrugs, unconcerned, and returns to her nails. "Suit yourself. I have nothing to prove."

Silence falls over them again; even the real Stiles is quiet. n-Stiles gets to his feet and starts pacing, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy. This isn't like him; he's normally totally in control, aware of his surroundings, able to isolate minute details and not be overwhelmed by the bigger picture. But the big picture isn't looking so good anymore: he's lost the twins, he's lost Derek, and even Scott isn't broken yet. And Allison still hasn't come back.

"Scott," he says abruptly, spinning around to face Lydia. "He's a true alpha, isn't he?"

She rolls her eyes in a very Lydia-like gesture. "Yes," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What's your point?"

"Alphas are there to keep the pack together." He starts pacing again now, his eyes on the floor and his mind racing. "So maybe the reason we haven't been able to conquer the pack entirely is because we didn't go for him first – we didn't try to cut them off at the head."

"Cut?" she echoes, demure. "Now you're talking. What did you have in mind?"

"We have two options," he says, glancing up at her as he passes. "We kill him, which would mean the rest of the pack has no alpha. Or we try to turn him against them. If we can get him to do the same thing Lydia did – disavow the pack – then we might be able to break their bond."

"And then we can just pick them off one by one," she says, catching on. She gets to her feet and walks over to him, seemingly suddenly excited. "Perfect."

"So which option do you prefer?" he asks, as she twines her fingers with his and looks into his eyes. This isn't love, and they both know it. Stiles and Lydia do love each other, but the nogitsunes aren't even capable of the emotion. But lust; well, that's another matter entirely.

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully. "Which option will mean I get to make him scream more?"

Stiles grins. "Why don't we go and find out?"

They start to move, but Lydia pulls up short. Her head tilts to the side and she gets a quizzical look on her face, and then she says, "Hm."

On edge at once, Stiles tenses. "What is it?"

"Lydia has a proposition to make," she says, still holding his hand, but more loosely now, like she could drift away at any moment. "She says she'll stop fighting me if we let Scott live."

Stiles snorts. "That alpha has them wrapped around his little claw," he says. "They all think they can save him. They'd give their lives for him. And more than that, they'd give their lives to us."

Lydia turns back to face him. Shadows play across her face, making her look almost otherworldly. "It would be nice to have some quiet in my head," she says. "How about this, then. We leave Scott alone tonight, and you give me a break. Deal?"

There's silence, and Stiles watches as a number of expressions flit across Lydia's face – amusement, frustration, confusion. Then she smiles, and her eyes lose that distant look and she's his again.

"Lydia has agreed to be quiet until we decide what to do about Scott," she announces.

You can't kill him. I won't let you.

Oh, Stiles and his meaningless threats. He wonders if the boy knows just how helpless he is. "So how do we spend the intervening time, then?"

Lydia's triumphant smile softens into something more seductive. She takes a step back toward him, pulling him closer, resting his hand on her hip. "I have a few ideas," she murmurs.

They're the kind of ideas that leave both of them hot and sweaty, and they help to relieve the tension. It also helps that Stiles is fighting the whole time. He had always wanted to know what Lydia tasted like, to know what she felt like under him, and now here's his chance. It's just a shame he's not the one steering the wheel. Afterwards, while Lydia is pulling her clothes back on, Stiles – the nogitsune – breathes in deeply and savours the moment. The real chaos is about to begin, and there won't be many more moments like this. But that's okay, because what's coming up is going to be even better.

He starts to ask Lydia what she thinks Isaac is doing, but then he stops. Something stabs into his heart, tightening his chest, and he suddenly loses the ability to breathe. Lydia stares at him in alarm as he lurches from the bed, falling against the wall and struggling to breathe. He waves her away when she tries to approach, and he sends his senses out to find the source of the problem.

Allison.

He's lost her.

Stiles can picture the fly lying on the pavement, mixed with blood and saliva, the depressing remnant of what had once been a grand plan. Allison isn't his anymore; she's going back to the pack. He can't tell details – where she is, who she's with, how it happened – but he knows the last of his flies have now run out. A rush of energy comes back to him, actually knocking him off his feet. It's too much, too soon, too wild. His breathing is ragged and, for the first time, he's scared. They should have killed her when they had the chance. Now they're going to have to do it anyway. And then, no matter what Lydia or Stiles says, they're going to kill Scott.

Lightheaded, Stiles leans against the wall, eyes closed and mind spinning. The real Stiles is too shocked to say anything, so the only sound is the rushing of blood through his veins. Then Lydia moves toward him, sinks to her knees in front of him, cups his face in her hand. He can't hear her but he can read the words on her lips. Are you okay?

Stiles starts to nod but then he shakes his head, unable to explain. It takes a few minutes for the sensations to fade, for his normal rhythms to fall back into place, and even then there's still something off about it all. He feels agitated, anxious, uncertain – this must be what it's like to be Stiles.

Pushing the feelings away, he gets to his feet and glances at Lydia. "Come on. We need to go."

She hurriedly shoves her feet into the nearest shoes and then shrugs into a jacket, and in under a minute they're out of the house. She doesn't ask what's wrong or where they're going, and he doesn't offer any explanations. He just drives. If he focuses, really focuses, he should be able to find her. His powers aren't limitless, but they're pretty damn strong. There might be just enough magic left in the fly for him to be able to track it down, as long as he hurries.

The drive passes in tense silence. Lydia chews on her thumbnail, uncharacteristically nervous, but Stiles has more important things to worry about. Like what the hell that damn pack is doing now. The streets are dark, deserted, ghostly – just the way he likes them. It's not hard to navigate through the main part of town, but then his senses start to fade away. He can tell which general direction to go in, but not specific streets.

Through trial-and-error, he finds a battlefield. The car slows to a crawl as they pass it, and Stiles looks intently out the window, sensing that Allison was here. His suspicions are confirmed when he sees the bodies – Isaac and Mr Argent. He doesn't focus on them; instead he gets from the car and scans the ground. Sure enough, there's a trail – bloody footprints. He shares a look with Lydia and then starts to follow it.

It doesn't take long for them to find where the trail ends, but what's waiting at the other end is surprising. Stiles, still holding Lydia's hand, pulls her into the shadows on one side of the road and watches what happens on the other side. Allison is on the ground and Kira is standing nearby, wary. Neither of them seem to sense the presence of the two nogitsunes, and neither of them even glance their way.

Silently, Stiles watches as Kira approaches Allison and cautiously helps her to her feet. They have a rushed, quiet conversation, too low for Stiles to hear. Then Allison slings her arm around Kira, and they start to walk up the street, back the way they came – or rather stagger, because it seems like both of them are hurt. And they're both definitely on the same side.

When they're definitely out of earshot, Stiles groans. "I bet that damn kitsune figured out a way to bring her back," he says bitterly. His mind flashes back to a time earlier on in this journey, when Allison had warned her about Kira, had told him that she might be a threat, had urged him to take action.

He hadn't listened then, but he's sure as hell going to now.

"Let's see where they're going," he says, his grip on Lydia's hand tightening, and he starts to lead her down the street. They keep a safe distance between them, and follow them back to the wreck. Back to where the bodies are.

Only they aren't bodies. With mounting unease, Stiles watches as Allison and Kira tend to Mr Argent and Isaac – who aren't dead. They seem to just be paralyzed, and it's not long before the two of them are able to stand again. Then the group stands in a small circle, evidently trying to come up with a battle plan. At one point Allison breaks down completely, throwing herself into her father's arms and sobbing. She composes herself again quickly, but it's enough for Stiles to be sure that she's back to her old self again. Shame, that.

"Aren't you going to take them?" Lydia asks, watching them with an indifferent expression on her face. She's not scared of them, but she's also not pleased that there's something resembling a pack again.

He shakes his head. "There's too many of them, and I'm not prepared." With a sigh he turns away from them, bringing Lydia with him. He casts one last look over his shoulder as he departs, feeling anger building up inside him. How dare they think they can win. He'll show them how foolish they are. "Enjoy it while you can," he murmurs to them, knowing they can't hear. Knowing they have no idea what's coming.

Then he turns around and keeps walking, a slight spring in his step, his mind quiet and his heart racing.

Tomorrow, he's going to kill them all.

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