A/N: Hello beautiful readers, this chapter is really more of a filler than anything, but it sort of foreshadows events coming up very soon. Also, this chapter will push my word count to over 300,000! Kind of a big milestone for me, so I'm pretty proud. Send me a review in celebration!

On a different note, would any of you brilliant and talented people be interested in making either a banner or a video for this story? I'd love to see what you guys could come up with, and if you do it I'll pay you in everlasting friendship and early editions for future chapters. Let me know!

Our lives are stories, waiting to be told

In search of silver linings, we discovered gold

And judgement taught us that our hearts were wrong

But they're the ones that we'll look down upon

You showed me feelings I've never felt before

We're making enemies, knocking on the devil's door

But how can you expect me not to eat,

When the forbidden fruit tastes so sweet?

Sinners – Lauren Aquilina


I was dozing peacefully, not letting myself slip into a sleep deep enough to dream, too afraid of what I might see. I listened to the sounds of Stiles' heartbeat, focused on it as it sped and slowed, clearly dreaming.

Not quite conscious, I was shocked when I was abruptly jolted from my light slumber by Stiles shooting upright, screaming at the top of his lungs like a man in agony.

I instantly regained consciousness, eyes snapping open in a panic as I leapt over my screaming boyfriend, eyes scanning the room for any hint of a threat. When I was sure we were alone, I turned my full attention to him. "Stiles?" I yelled over his incoherent wailing. "Stiles?!" I repeated louder, alarmed as one of my small hands curled around his shaking bicep.

The door burst open with a sudden crash and John rushed into the room, making a beeline for his screeching son.

"Stiles!" he yelled, perching on the other side of the bed and wrapping his arms around him. "Stiles!" he bellowed in a panic as Stiles struggled to break his protective hold.

Knowing I had to do something, I gently but firmly pushed the Sheriff out of the way, making him stumble away from the bed. I immediately climbed on top of Stiles, grasping both of his clammy hands in mine and holding them to the mattress above his head with ease as I stayed sitting on his waist, preventing him from thrashing about and hurting himself.

"Stiles," I cooed as his hollering finally calmed to a mere whimper, body still shaking like it was set to vibrate. "You're okay," I assured him softly, letting go of one of his hands to cradle his face, staring down at him with unrestrained worry. "It was just a bad dream."

I wished I could say it was the first time this had happened, but in actuality it was really the sixth episode in under two weeks, and I was more than a little concerned.

John seemed to share my worry, kneeling beside the bed and staring at his son with anxiety. "You okay now?" I asked Stiles gently, and he hesitated before nodding, sucking in deep lungfuls of air like he was drowning.

Cautiously, I let go of my hold on his hands, lifting my leg and delicately moving off of his waist until I was sitting beside him.

"It happened again, huh?" John asked, though the answer was obvious. Stiles said nothing, nodding as he swallowed thickly. "I'll go get you some water," he offered after a beat, realising sitting there in silence wouldn't do anybody any good.

His footsteps echoed in my sensitive ear as he left the room, glancing back at me unsurely before continuing on down the hall – he still wasn't thrilled with me being in the same house as his son, but there was little he could do to stop me. Stiles remained on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling and panting heavily, sweat dripping down his brow.

"I wish there was something more I could do for you," I murmured as I absently listened to the pipes creak when John turned the tap on downstairs.

"You're already doing it."

I turned my attention back to him, leaning my head on my palm and turning so I hovered over him, keeping a close eye on his expression and his vitals. I reached up, allowing my fingers to gently trail over the clammy skin on his face, halfheartedly connecting all of his freckles together in a pattern.

"Maybe you should stay home tomorrow," I mumbled with a concerned frown, continuing to trace along the moles I loved so much.

"You say that every time this happens," he responded tiredly, brown eyes slipping closed with exhaustion.

"And you say no every time this happens."

He sighed, clearly not in the mood for our usual standard of banter. I didn't say anything more, giving him the space that he needed to recover. John's heavy footsteps echoed on the landing as he returned from the kitchen.

"Here you go," he said needlessly, holding out the glass of chilled water to his exhausted looking son, who took it and gulped it down gladly.

"I'll be okay, dad," he told the sheriff once he was done, placing the empty glass on the bedside table.

"Are you sure? I can stay-"

"Really, I'm fine," he insisted gently, peering up at his dad imploringly. John's gaze flickered to me, distrust in his blue orbs that made my stomach clench with sadness.

"Alright," he finally allowed, however reluctantly. "I'll see you in the morning."

Stiles waited until his father had shut the door behind him to sigh heavily, dropping his head back to his favourite pillow and groaning.

"Come on," I prompted softly, shuffling down until I was settled beside him, my head resting on his chest. "Try and get back to sleep. If you insist on going to school in the morning, you're going to need the energy."

He sighed again, hand moving up so he could run his fingers through my loose raven curls.

Everything in the room fell silent, and instead of the quiet being peaceful, it was deafening. I reached out with my consciousness on instinct, worried that there was something supernatural affecting my boyfriend. I recoiled instantly, being met with a deep, deadly whirlpool of shadows.

"Jules?" Stiles asked worriedly when I flinched away from him like the touch of his skin had burned me.

"Something's wrong," I whispered back, inching closer until my head was placed once more on his chest, but no longer for comfort, but rather so I could get a better listen to his heart. It was pumping slower than it usually did, almost lazily, like it could barely be bothered to beat at all.

I moved back, reaching up to place my hand across his forehead. He went cross-eyed trying to keep his gaze on my pale skin. "Do I have a fever?" he asked with a frown.

"No," I murmured, matching his grave expression. "In fact, you're running cold."

I pulled back, disturbed by the strange differences in my human; most of all the deep, dark sense of evil that seemed to cling to him like a perfume.

"It's nothing," I dismissed quickly, feeling too sick to entertain such dark thoughts. "Go to sleep."

He didn't look convinced, but he was exceptionally tired, so with a reluctant frown he burrowed back under his covers, letting his eyes slide shut. Forcing myself to relax, I curled into him, assuming our usual sleeping position.

Just before I fell asleep, I could hear a voice whispering in the very far corners of my mind. I couldn't tell what it was saying to me, all I knew was that it reminded me of something, something I'd long since tried hard to forget.


"Well well, look who's no longer the crazy one," Lydia all but sang, bursting delicately through the doors of the school with a pleased smile spread across her ruby red lips.

"We are not crazy," Allison argued flatly.

"Hallucinating, sleep paralysis...yeah, you guys are fine."

The trio exchanged uneasy looks. "We did die and come back to life," Scott pointed out. "That's gotta have some side effects, right?"

The bell rang overhead, and all of us glanced up at the ceiling. "We keep an eye on each other, okay?" Stiles told the group bracingly. "And Lydia, stop enjoying this so much," he muttered, frowning accusingly at the redhead before walking past her, leaving me to speed up to keep pace with him.

We stopped by his locker first, and I leant against the blue metal of the locker beside his as he rifled through it for his English book. "So, are we gonna talk about it?" I asked when he slammed the door shut, the sound echoing around the emptying hallway.

"Talk about what?" he responded flatly.

"Your dreams," I said, though I knew he already knew. He didn't speak, shouldering his bag more securely and turning to head down the corridor. "Come on, Stiles," I sighed, easily keeping up with him, my shoes making no sound on the linoleum floor. "You barely said two words the whole drive to school."

He only pressed his lips together more firmly, breathing out sharply through his nose. To distract himself he glanced down at the book in his hands.

"I know it can't be good," I continued. "Otherwise you wouldn't have shut up about it." I glanced over my shoulder to see him standing still, staring down at the book in his hands with something like confusion mixed with terror spread across his face. "Stiles?" I was alarmed by the expression, grateful that the halls were now empty, most students in class. "Stiles!" I barked it this time, and he looked up at me in shock. "What's wrong?" I asked seriously. His eyes flickered back to his textbook, and he sighed heavily.

"Nothing," he said, his abnormally slow heartbeat faltering as he lied. He glanced up at me then, narrowing his eyes as he seemed to observe me in a way he never really had before. "Is this real?"

I was as surprised by the question as I was confused. "What?"

"Right now," he said, not making any more sense. "Is this really happening, or am I dreaming?"

My concern grew, and my brow furrowed as I shuffled closer to the vulnerable kid. "It's real, Stiles," I assured him, even though I wasn't really sure why I had to clarify that.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes roughly, as though trying to clear them.

"Come on," I prompted him much more gently than before. "We're late for class."

English went by with quickly, mostly because I spent the whole time with my attention on Stiles' vitals. He seemed to zone out for most of the lesson, staring unseeingly at the board while the new English teacher – some old bloke with rabbit teeth and a receding hairline – droned on about the book we were meant to read.

Scott was waiting for us as we got out of class, and he eyed Stiles with concern when the kid barely returned his greeting. Before long, curiosity seemed to ignite in my naturally inquisitive boyfriend, and he turned to Scott with a frown.

"So what did you say you were seeing, exactly?" he asked his best friend curiously, glancing over at him as we made our way back towards Stiles' locker so he could pull out his things for the next lesson.

"Shadows," Scott answered vaguely, and Stiles took a moment to shoot him a familiar dubious look. "I know it doesn't sound terrifying, but..."

"I get it," Stiles cut him off, preventing him from having to explain.

The (now alpha) werewolf nodded his head gratefully. "Maybe we need a little more time to get back to normal," he offered hopefully as we reached the locker.

"Yeah, try not to forget that we hit the reset button on a supernatural beacon for supernatural creatures," Stiles murmured to him with a dark scowl. "There's a pretty good chance of things never getting back to normal."

"These things take time," I said, tipping my head back against the blue metal and eyeing the boys closely. "When I first turned I saw heaps of fucked up shit. It's just death being a little bitch because you beat him at his own game."

"Yeah, well..." Stiles trailed off, staring down at the lock in his hand with confused eyes. "What?" he asked himself, ducking closer to the numbers as though he was having trouble reading them. I looked to Scott, hoping the wolf would have something to add, only to see him staring off into the distance distractedly.

"I need a fucking smoke," I muttered to myself grumpily, reaching up to massage my temples.

The statement became ever more true a moment later when Stiles hissed, "Dude, your eyes."

I looked up in alarm, spotting Scott's eyes as they were glowing a fierce ruby red. "What about them?" he asked obliviously.

"They're starting to glow!"

"You mean like right now?"

"Yes, right now."

"Fucking hell, teen wolf," I hissed, sliding closer to my canine friend and slipping an arm around his shoulders, forcing him to duck his head, thereby hiding his eyes. "Get ahold of yourself."

"I-I can't control it," Scott whispered worriedly.

"We're going to calmly walk away from the students," I said collectedly as Stiles darted to his other side. "Head down and deep breaths," I added, guiding him through the thick crowd until I reached a classroom door. I shoved it open, relieved when I found it to be empty.

Scott all but dove into the room, tearing off his jacket as he began to hyperventilate. It reminded me of Stiles' panic attack only a few weeks before, but I had a feeling the methods I used for that weren't going to work on this werewolf.

"Get back! Get away from me!" Scott grunted, doubling over as he began to change.

"Stiles, stay away," I agreed as I moved forwards, keeping close to the teen wolf's side, one of my cool hands placed gently on the heated skin of his shoulder. "You're alright," I cooed to Scott, but he wasn't having any of it.

"I don't know what's gonna happen!" he shouted fearfully, looking up and exposing his glowing eyes and canine fangs.

I began to grow more concerned with every breath of air he struggled to inhale. I wasn't an expert on what to do, but there was little time to call one to get a second opinion, so I acted on instinct.

"Sorry about this, Scott," I said, and he glanced up at me in confused only to see my fangs slip into place and my eyes flood with blood. With a grunt I dove forwards, sinking my teeth into the space where his neck met his shoulder. He howled, and I hoped the walls of the room were thick enough to mask the sound.

His blood tasted like dog smelt; not at all appetising. I cringed and snapped my jaws harder, tearing through skin and muscle. Finally Scott collapsed under me, sinking to his knees as he grunted in pain. I removed my mouth from his skin, feeling the blood trickle down my chin as my fangs retreated to my gums.

"What the hell was that?" Stiles asked, looking vaguely horrified by what had just transpired.

Scott and I seemed to be on the same wavelength. "Pain makes you human," the wolf muttered, pressing one hand to the deep, bleeding wound on his neck. He glanced up at me, a thankful look in his dark eyes. It was a rare day that I was thanked for ripping into someone's throat, but I welcomed it; it was a nice change of pace to be appreciated.

"Scott, this isn't just in our heads," Stiles murmured with a concerned frown. "This is real. It's starting to get bad for me too." I sat back, bringing my hand to my mouth and beginning to wipe at the blood smeared there. "I'm not just having nightmares, I'm having these dreams where I literally have to scream myself awake." My eyebrows pulled together as I watched my human boyfriend with concern, halfheartedly listening to his slow heartbeat. "And sometimes I'm not even sure if I'm actually waking up."

I felt a curl of bitterness that Stiles could talk to Scott about this, but not me, but I smothered the petty feelings.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked wearily, the wound on his neck beginning to heal, the skin knitting itself back together.

"You know how you can tell if you're dreaming? You can't read in dreams. More and more over the past few days, I've been having trouble reading. It's like I can't...put the letters in order."

"Like, even now?"

Stiles looked both fearful and reluctant as he climbed to his feet, glancing over at the chalkboard where the quote of the day was written. "I can't read a thing."


"Jules, thanks for coming," John said when I knocked on his office door, watching me warily as I slipped into the room, hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jeans.

"Am I here as a criminal or a friend?" I asked cautiously, and he paused.

He sighed, running a hand down his aging but handsome face. "I'm making an effort," he told me softly. "For Stiles' sake," he quickly added, making sure I still knew exactly where we stood. "That's why I asked you to come."

"If you don't mind me asking, Sheriff," I began as he shut the door behind me. "Why did you ask me to come?"

John and I, while perfectly cordial on most days, weren't exactly at the same place we had been back before he'd found out the truth about me. Things would never be the same now that he knew of all the blood on my hands, and a part of me mourned the loss of a friend.

"I'm going over some old case files, looking for supernatural causes," he told me, moving back around his desk and crouching next to the boxes there that were overflowing with loose pieces of paper. "I could use a more experienced eye."

Frowning, I knelt on the floor opposite him, picking up a file and holding it in my hands. "Isn't this just torturing yourself, in a way?" I asked delicately, running one finger along the spine of the file. "What could this help?"

"I just-" he cut himself off, seeming to consider his words more carefully. "I need to know."

I wanted to argue, but our relationship was tenuous at best right now, and I was willing to do anything to get back into his good books. "Fair enough," I nodded, cracking open the file in my hands and scanning it quickly. "What are we looking for, exactly?"

"I've got a werewolf pile, a kanima pile, a sacrifice pile and that one there," he gestured to a small pile sitting to my left, "would be the vampire pile."

I frowned but didn't comment, holding up the one in my hand. "What about the human pile?"

He pointed to a large stack behind him, and I leaned over, placing the folder on the pile. "How can I tell the difference between werewolf and vampire attacks?" he asked curiously, eyes firmly focused on the papers before him.

"Lot's of ways," I began, picking up another file and cracking it open. "The biggest thing you want to look out for in a vampire case is a severe lack of blood in the victim. Another telltale sign is any witnesses having chunks of their memory missing."

"...because you can control minds."

My lips twitched upwards, "In a manner of speaking."

"I haven't come across many that make me think 'vampire'," he admitted somewhat stonily, and I lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

"Werewolves and other shifters tend to stick close to the west coast, but vampires and witches are more commonly found out east," I told him, quickly tossing a file on the 'sacrifice' pile.

"Why?"

"We don't tend to get along," I told him. "It's best if we stay out of each other's hair."

John looked contemplative for a long minute. "But you're friends with Scott and the Hales," he pointed out with a confused frown.

I snorted before I could stop myself. "Scott, yes," I nodded with a bitter smirk. "The Hales? We just barely tolerate each other."

"So why are you so different from others of your kind?" he asked, and I looked up in mild surprise. "Friends with werewolves, not feeding on people, dating high school students," he listed, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. He sounded somewhat resentful, and guilt clotted in my chest.

"There's this thing that vampires can do," I began to explain, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "We call it a 'switch' that we can flick. Hit that and it turns off your humanity like a light."

"So, other vampires, they don't have...humanity?" he tried to understand. "But you do?"

"Yes," I nodded, the constant uncomfortable tug of pain in my chest reminding me exactly how switched on it was.

"Why you?"

I shrugged again. "I guess I'm just an anomaly."

We were quiet for another few minutes. "What does it look like? To have your humanity just...gone." He looked confused. "How does that work?"

I pursed my lips as I considered how to answer. "Humanity is really just a fancy word for 'feelings'," I told him, current file left forgotten in my lap. "Imagine a human with no guilt. No sadness, no remorse or shame or discretion." I sighed, hoping I didn't sound as wistful as I felt. "The only thing we can feel in that state are the primal things; hunger, pleasure, rage." I glanced over at him to find him already watching me. "Imagine all of that, with enhanced strength, speed and senses, coupled with an insatiable bloodlust."

"That sounds like a nightmare," John murmured, horror showing on his face.

I winced, staring back down at the file. "Yeah," I lied through clenched teeth. "A nightmare."

The door cracked open, surprising me, and as the air whooshed through the room, I caught the familiar chocolatey/minty scent of Stiles, along with the sweet scent that all flowers carried.

"You know the last time we brought one of these to her grave, it was stolen the same day," Stiles said, eyes on the bouquet in his hands as he shuffled into the room. "A hundred bucks, down the drain."

Finally he looked up, meeting my eyes as his brows raised in sheer surprise.

"Jules?" he asked, as though he wasn't sure. I lifted my hand from the file I was scanning, wiggling my fingers at him in greeting. His eyes flickered down to where his father was elbow deep in a box of files. "Dad?" he asked cautiously. "What're you doing down there? And why is Juliet with you?"

"We're working," the Sheriff responded succinctly.

"Dad, what is all this?" he questioned, not letting him get away with the one word answer.

"We're looking over some old cases from a more...illuminated perspective...if you know what I mean."

Stiles took a moment to open a folder, reading the text inside, "strange sighting of bipedal-lizard-man sprinting across freeway."

"Kanima pile."

He dropped the file onto the pile. "And Jules is completing this task with you because...?"

"I needed a more experienced eye," he said, glancing up at his son. "Doesn't get more experienced than 300 years," he said the words sardonically, making my stomach churn.

"200," I corrected, hoping it would make a slight difference. The Sheriff merely shot me an annoyed look. "It's not important," I backtracked, waving the words off and leaning back against the wall, going back to scanning the file before me.

"Dad, you're not going back through all your old cases and seeing if any of them had to do with the supernatural, are you?" Stiles asked when the uncomfortable silence got too much to bare.

"I tried to tell him," I singsonged from across the room, keeping my eyes firmly on the words in front of me.

"I admit that the recent opening of my eyes to the greater mysteries of the universe has got me reassessing. There are at least a hundred cases here where I can look at the details and I can ask myself: if I knew then what I know now..."

"Are you sure you wanna go down that path?" Stiles asked reproachfully.

"Do I have a choice?" John countered darkly. "There's this one case in particular that I can't get out of my head. Eight years ago, when I was elected Sheriff of the county, my first official duty was to tell a man that not only had his wife and two kids died in a car accident, but as best we could tell, the body of his nine-year-old daughter had been dragged from the wreck by coyotes."

"You mean dragged and eaten?" Stiles asked as I placed another folder on the werewolf pile, and this time I kept myself from making a remark.

"We didn't find the car until three days after the crash," John said, eyes clouded and distant, clearly seeing something we couldn't. "They had driven off the road into a pretty deep ravine, the two bodies that were still in the car were covered in bites and slashes."

"So you're thinking probably a werewolf attack," Stiles deduced with a nod, staring down at the file in his hands. "But coyotes, they scavenge, right? So couldn't they have just left the bites and the slashes?"

"Absolutely," by now I had abandoned my task, full attention on the father and son standing by the desk. "But guess what night the accident occurred on."

"...the night of a full moon," Stiles sighed in realisation. He paused, seeming to consider something. "Hey dad, where're all these going?" he asked, eyeing the boxes covering every surface of the room.

"Yeah, we probably need to talk about that," the Sheriff responded, and I could instantly tell by the tone that it was a conversation they needed to be alone for.

"If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to call, Sheriff," I told John as I climbed to my feet. I moved over to Stiles' side, reaching for his hand and squeezing it as I leaned in to him. "I'll be waiting out by the Jeep," I promised, and he nodded absently, swooping down to peck my cheek in farewell. I turned around, nodding at John politely before slipping from the room.

"See you, Juliet!" a nice lady at the front desk said with a smile, but I didn't know her name – or how she knew mine, for that matter – so I merely forced a smile onto my lips and stepped out into the cool autumn air.

Instantly my fingers sought out the cigarettes in my pocket, and I slipped one between my lips and lifted my lighter to the tip. The smoke was hot and harsh on my throat, which immediately began healing as soon as the minimal damage was done.

I was on my second stick when someone passed me on the street. It was a girl, probably younger than Stiles. She had her head down with headphones in her ears, nodding along to the beat, skin pale in the light from the streetlamp she passed under. Pulling the smoke from my lips, I couldn't help but inhale, salivating at the sweet, fruity scent that followed her.

My mind swam to forbidden places, images of me walking up to her, looking into her eyes and telling her not to scream. I imagined running my tongue along her throat, tasting the sweet but salty flavour of her skin before sinking my fangs into her neck, holding her still as she struggled to get away.

"Jules?!"

The girl was gone, and Stiles was standing right in front of me, a worried expression on his handsome features; clearly that hadn't been the first time he's called my name.

"You okay?" he asked warily, eyes flickering over me in concern.

"Fine," I told him, only partially lying. "Come on," I said, dropping what was left of my cigarette and stepping on it heavily. "You look like you could use some sleep."

It looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do, but I wasn't surprised.

I didn't want to go to sleep either.

In the car he sighed, and when I asked what was wrong, he began to tell me all about what his father had told him.

Mr-dick-bag-McCall was, essentially, trying to the Sheriff fired. While things were still tense between Stiles' dad and I, the last thing I wanted was for the man to lose the job he loved. I tried to comfort my boyfriend, leaning across the console and resting my head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to my forehead then fell silent, both of us too wrapped up in our thoughts to do any talking.


"Something's wrong with Stiles."

I looked up from the donut I was tearing apart, raising an eyebrow at the concerned looking teen wolf. He looked serious, however, so I dusted my cinnamon covered hands off on my old leather pants and stood from the floor by the lockers where I was eating my lunch – human style. "What happened this time?" I asked softly, making sure the group of passing freshmen couldn't overhear.

"We were in Economics and he seemed really out of it – didn't even notice Coach calling his name. He was scribbling in his notebook, and his heart was beating too slowly. When I looked over at what he'd been writing, it just said 'wake up' repeated probably a hundred times on the page."

I frowned worriedly, glancing over my shoulder where I could see my human heading towards us. "I'll keep a closer eye on him," I swore, and Scott nodded in agreement.

"Come on," Stiles said when he reached us. "We're meeting the others outside."

Lydia, Isaac and Allison had claimed a table on the lawn. We headed towards them, Stiles and Scott sliding onto the bench opposite the trio. I let my bag drop to the ground, hopping onto the end of the table with ease, folding my legs under me so I was sitting comfortably and could see all of our little makeshift pack.

"Okay, so what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?" Scott began, the reason for the gathering clear.

"And is unable to tell what's real or not," Stiles continued, free hand coming up to rest on my knee, beginning to draw random patterns on the thin leather material.

"And being haunted by demonic visions of dead relatives," Allison added, running a finger over her peachy lips.

"They're all locked up because they're insane," Isaac deadpanned, and I snorted in amusement at the comment.

"Can you at least try to be helpful?" Stiles sneered in annoyance. "Please."

"For half of my childhood I was locked in a freezer, so being helpful is kind of a new thing for me."

"Are we still milking that?"

"We are still milking that, yeah."

I grinned at the squabble, only for a new, unfamiliar voice to speak up. "Hey," a girl stepped up to us. I raised an eyebrow at the new person, not many new people dared come up to us in such a bold way, and she screamed 'shy'. "Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing what you guys were talking about...and I think I actually might know what you're...talking about," she said as though she'd surprised herself.

She suddenly went quiet, like she wasn't sure she should continue. "If you have something to add, then please, by all means..." I prompted her, not quite kindly, and she looked even more uncomfortable. Scott shot me a frown, but I wasn't bothered.

"There's a Tibetan word for it, it's called Bardo," the new girl finally told us, something like hope on her pretty oriental features. "It literally means in between state; The state between life and death."

"...and what do they call you?" Lydia asked icily, glancing up at the girl with a critical eye. I watched her closely, observing her reactions.

"Kira," Scott said suddenly, and even I turned to look at him. "She's in our history class," he explained at our dubious looks.

"So are we talking about Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?" Lydia asked Kira, narrowing her eyes in challenge.

"Either I guess," she responded eagerly, even go as far as to take a seat in the spot beside Stiles, looking around at us all with hopeful eyes. "But all the stuff you guys were just saying; all that happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations, some you see, some you just hear, and you can be visited by peaceful and wrathful deities."

"Wrathful deities," Isaac parroted, pointing at her with his pen. "And what are those?"

"Like...demons," Kira answered cheerily, a large grin on her lips that greatly contrasted the general air hovering around the pack.

"Demons!" Stiles repeated, glancing up at me with a bitter smirk. "Why not?"

"Hang on," Allison spoke up, warily. "If there are different progressive states then what's the last one?"

"Death," Kira told us with a bright smile. "You die."


A/N: Next chapter is a big one, but here's a teaser to tide you over:

The urge was too strong, too powerful for me to control. I needed it, more than I needed anything else in this world.

I'll let you guys stew over what she could be talking about. I'll see you in the next chapter! Leave me a review and let me know your thoughts.