Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf, nor does this fanfiction earn me any kind of profit.

A/N: I definitely recommend listening to the song this chapter is named after, great band and fantastic song that suits this story really well! I hope you guys like this chapter, it wasn't very easy to write, and I have a feeling some of you are going to be a little less than pleased with me...


Cuz nothin' good comes after midnight

Ain't no good love comes from pain

Nothing good comes after midnight

When you play the devil's game

After midnight

After Midnight – DOROTHY


The next step was obvious; we had to pay a visit to our local witchdoctor.

Getting to Deaton's clinic was easy, but once we were there, explaining the situation was slightly more difficult than expected. And the explanation was only more confusing.

"When is a door not a door?" the veterinarian asked us calmly once Stiles had shown him the sign language from his vision.

"When is a door not a door?" Stiles snarled dubiously, staring at the doctor like he wanted to kick him.

"If we wanted to speak in riddles, we would have gone to Dr Seuss," I retorted with a scowl, leather of my jacket creaking as I folded my arms over my chest.

Scott was the one who spoke up, much to our surprise. "When it's ajar."

"My subconscious wants to tell me a riddle?" my boyfriend asked incredulously.

"Not necessarily," Deaton shook his head. "When the three of you went under the water, when you crossed from unconsciousness to a sort of super-consciousness, you essentially opened a door in your minds."

The boys exchanged apprehensive looks. "Okay, so what does that mean?" Scott asked with a worried frown. "The door's still open?"

"A door...into our minds?" Stiles sounded skeptical.

"Juliet is probably the best example," the good doctor continued, gesturing to me. I looked up in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "When you compel someone," he began to explain, talking to me but obviously for the benefit of the boys. "The reason you can get into their subconscious is because you have the ability – usually through the use of eye contact – to open a door into their minds, allowing you inside so you can...influence them...rearrange things, if you will."

"What're you saying?" Stiles asked warily.

"I'm saying the same process has happened to you, only in a more...permanent way." Deaton paused, having the decency to look sympathetic. "I did tell you it was risky," he added with a twist of his mouth.

"What do we do about it?" Scott questioned.

"That's...difficult to answer."

"Wait a second, I know that look!" Stiles exclaimed, levelling the doctor with an unimpressed glare. "That's the 'I-know-exactly-what's-wrong-with-you-and-have-no-idea-how-to-fix-it' look."

"One thing I do know is that having an opening like that into your mind? It's not good. You each need to close that door, and you need to do it as soon as possible."

"Well, what about Jules?" Scott spoke up, turning to glance at me hopefully.

"What about Jules?" I asked with a raised eyebrow, turning to look at my canine friend curiously.

"If she has the ability to open these...doors, doesn't that mean she has the ability to shut them too?"

Deaton frowned deeply. "It doesn't work that way." At Scott's defeated look, he elaborated. "Even if her ability did work on werewolves, it's a very delicate balance up there," he said, reaching up to tap Scott's forehead. "We don't want anyone, no matter how skilled they may be, poking around in your head."

Scott's shoulders hunched, and his lips pulled down tiredly. "Come on," I said, instinct to look after my coven more pressing than anything else. "You need sleep," I took a moment to glance at Stiles. "Both of you."

"I'll call if I come up with anything," Deaton vowed, and we nodded before saying goodnight and filing from the room. I caught up with Stiles, slipping my hand into his and curling our fingers together. He shot me a smile, but the expression was drawn, leaving me worried.

Before we even got to the car, a familiar cruiser pulled up outside the animal clinic, making all three of us pause where we stood as the Sheriff climbed out of his car. "Dad, what're you doing here?" Stiles asked with a frown.

"I'm here because...I could use some help," John told us, eyes shifting between us warily before finally settling on Scott. "Actually...your help," he amended his statement.

"Why me?" Scott asked, looking as bewildered as I felt.

"Because eight years ago almost an entire family died in a car accident. One of the bodies, a young girl named Malia, was never found," the Sheriff began, but instead of answering my questions it only gave me more. "There's enough evidence to have me thinking that..." he hesitated. "That a werewolf could have caused the accident and then dragged her body away."

"I don't understand," I admitted, my brows furrowed in confusion.

"If you could somehow get a lock on her scent, if you could somehow help me find her body, it might provide the missing clue," he explained quietly, the hope in his tone unmistakeable as his eyes stayed locked on the boys.

"And what if it was a werewolf?" Stiles countered tiredly.

"Well then there's someone out there that murdered an entire family," he responded darkly. "Someone who still needs to be caught."

"You want us to track a scent that's over eight years old?" I asked dubiously, blinking in shock at the request.

"I want Scott to try," he nodded his head, and I got the message loud and clear: I wasn't invited to help. "Is it possible?"

I paused a beat before answering, mostly out of annoyed spite, "Well, it isn't impossible."

"How are we going to get her scent to begin with?" Scott asked, trying to understand the plan.

"If I can distract the living father, perhaps you could, I don't know...sneak in through the back of his house and find something with her scent on it?"

If the boys were surprised that the Sheriff was asking them to commit a felony, they weren't showing it. "I suppose so," the werewolf murmured, and John nodded his head.

"How about we meet at the house tomorrow and go from there," he suggested simply.

"I'll come over to your's in the morning," Scott agreed, and John nodded gratefully. "See you then, Sheriff," he promised, smiling once more in his direction before hopping onto his bike and starting the engine with a tinny rumble, turning out onto the main road.

"I'll drive Jules back, then I'll meet you at home for dinner?" Stiles asked his dad, and the man nodded again, shooting me an unsure, weak smile and heading back for his own cruiser and driving away. "He'll come around eventually," my human boyfriend assured me with a tired sigh. "I mean, he invited you to his office a few days ago, right? That's gotta be progress."

"Only because he needed something from me," I mumbled as I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. Stiles clamoured up behind the wheel and started the engine, the cab of the Jeep filling with warm, musty air from the vents.

"He just needs time to come to terms with the fact that you're-"

"A serial killer?"

Stiles hesitated. "I was going to say 'vampire'."

I scoffed self-deprecatingly, bitterness filling me, "Exactly the same thing."

Stiles sighed again, and I immediately felt guilty for sounding so hostile.

"Sorry," I apologised flatly, trying not to think about how it was really just empty words, no real remorse behind them. "I'm tired and..." I trailed off, having started speaking without being sure of what I'd been planning to say.

"It can't be easy," he nodded from where he sat, turning the heat up a few notches and resting one hand on the wheel, the other propped up on the door. "Having him be so..."

"Hateful?" I finished for him, and he winced.

"It'll all work itself out," he assured me quietly, but I could tell he didn't even believe himself.

The rest of the drive was made in silence, and finally he pulled into my driveway. I was still feeling frosty and bitter on the inside, so instead of saying a proper goodbye, I pecked him unfeelingly on the cheek and murmured a farewell, telling him I'd see him tomorrow and slipping from the car.

I made my way up to my front door, listening to the sound of him idling in the driveway. I could tell he was trying to decide whether to follow me or not. I hoped my tense posture kept him away, I needed all the space I could get right now.

After a long, drawn out minute, I heard the car whirr as he reversed and took off down the road. I paused where I was at my front door, key in the lock but not having been turned yet. I stayed frozen, vampire vision making the shadows non-existent.

I didn't want to go inside my quiet house and drink a bag full of refrigerated blood and listen to the same six jazz records on repeat like I did every night. I didn't want to have a bath that smelled of lavender and roses, and I didn't want to stay up late reading a novel I'd read eight times before.

I was sick of the mundane routine, it was boring.

It was like there was an itch in my gut, I was longing for things I hadn't longed for in far too long. My nose craved the scent of smoke and whiskey, and my ears yearned for the throbbing of bass and screech of guitar strings and wet thump of racing hearts.

I didn't want to relapse; I wasn't going to relapse. There was nothing wrong with going out for a few hours, I'd been couped up for far too long anyhow.

I slipped the key out of my lock, shoving the keyring into my back pocket, checking I had my phone and wallet before turning around and heading back out into the night.

The closest bar was only a few blocks from my house. I'd been there once or twice, it was cute. There was an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner that played 70s rock and a dartboard on the far wall, surrounded by little holes where drunk people had greatly missed the target.

It was half full when I stepped in, mostly men on their way home from work. There was some kind of sporting game on the TV behind the bar, and a small crowd of blokes sat opposite it, staring in rapture and every now and then screaming obscenities at the players.

I was dressed appropriately for the kind of place it was, my black jeans and old Rolling Stones shirt letting me blend in with the crowd. A few heads turned to look at me when I entered, but most went back to their conversations. I took the tie out of my hair, letting my long raven locks fall freely down my back. I reached into my pocket, holding the button to turn my phone off. I wasn't in the mood to be on call in case of supernatural emergency and/or warfare.

I took a seat at the bar – as far away from the sport fanatics as possible – catching the young bartender's attention instantly and ordering a whiskey. He grinned at me, pouring the drink with a flourish and adding a little umbrella before sliding it to me with a wink. The moment his back was turned I tossed the umbrella onto the floor and rolled my eyes, throwing back the drink without so much as blinking.

What was I even doing here?

I stared around the room, trying to figure out why I'd come here at all. They were playing some kind of cheery punk rock from the jukebox, and I wasn't getting any attention – not that I wanted any, I corrected myself, thinking of Stiles.

Just as these thoughts crossed my mind, somebody slipped into the seat next to me. He was older, with greying hair at his temples and intelligent hazel eyes. His scent washed over me, he smelled of bourbon, cigars and sea salt, making my mouth water. I hadn't realised I was so hungry.

"Aren't you a little young to be here?" he asked me playfully, and I chuckled in pure amusement at the question, not missing the way his old heart stuttered in response to the sound.

"You have no idea," I responded smoothly once I'd gained control of myself.

"What's your name, beautiful?"

I appraised him carefully, trying my hardest to ignore the thrilling pull in my gut, that instinct that was telling me to kill him. "Candice," I lied with all the ease in the world.

"Nice to meet you, Candice," he said with a leery grin that he probably meant to be charming. "I'm Matthew."

I snorted, waving at the bartender for another drink. "I knew a Matthew recently," I told him with a smirk. "He turned out to be an evil bastard." I paused, watching the young man prepare my next drink. "Well, I suppose 'evil' is quite relative, isn't it?" I mused with a purse of my lips.

"Relative to what?"

"To where you yourself sit on the scale," I murmured, taking my drink and this time slowly sipping it, trying not to think of the disgust with which the Sheriff looked upon me.

"Are you saying you're a bad girl?" 'Matthew' asked me in a way he probably thought was smooth, leaning closer to me and smiling, revealing shiny white teeth.

I smirked widely, moving in closer, eyes bright with mischief. "You have no idea," I repeated with my signature impish smirk, showing all of my own pearly white, glistening and incredibly sharp teeth, and for a moment his heart stuttered for a reason other than arousal.

The sound of the blood in his veins snapped me out of my stupor and I wrenched myself back, realising exactly what it was that I was doing. I wasn't cheating on Stiles, of course I wasn't, so then why did it feel like I may as well have been?

Recovered from my moment of panic, I sat back, throwing down the rest of my drink and then leaving enough money to cover them along with a nice tip before slipping off the barstool. "Have a good night, Matthew," I said politely, ignoring how shellshocked he appeared as I turned and left the bar.

I could tell the night air was cool – of course it was, since it was Autumn – but it didn't affect me, and while people walking past were wearing thick coats, I was merely in my tee shirt. I shoved my hands into my pockets and started back towards my house. I was only a minute down the road when I heard heavy footsteps on the pavement, heading in my direction.

"Go back inside, Matthew," I told the older gentlemen, more of a warning than he knew.

"Come on, doll," he said with what sounded like a smile in his voice, though I didn't bother to look back and find out. "Come back and have another drink."

"No, thank you," I said through a clenched jaw, speeding up my footsteps.

He was drunker than I had originally thought him to be, and he stumbled forwards, clumsily grasping my arm and forcefully dragging me into a small alcove that couldn't be seen from the street. "I'll make it worth your while, sweet cheeks," he told me with a leer at my chest.

He leaned in closer, sniffing my throat in a way I'd find creepy if I wasn't already the definition of the word. Little did he know that this gave me a perfect chance to take a whiff of his delicious, if not slightly sweaty, scent.

That heavy, salty and smoky scent invaded my senses. I grit my teeth when my gums tingled, clenching my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my skin and made my palms bleed.

"Go back inside, Matthew," I told him again, barking the words roughly, my voice raspy with need.

He leaned closer again, even go as far as to stick out his tongue and lick at my jaw in a way that made me physically sick. "Come on," he goaded. "$200?" he offered, and I would have felt offended, but it wasn't the first time I'd been propositioned in such a way, and in this day and age, it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Leave," I snarled harshly, fists tightening to the point that my knuckles cracked under the pressure.

He tilted his head to the side, exposing the column of his throat. Before I could stop them my fangs had descended, pressing into my lower lip. I felt my eyes flood with blood, and I tried so hard to stop them. My nostrils flared in panic and tears filled my eyes. The urge was too strong, too powerful for me to control. I needed it, more than I needed anything else.

Before I knew what had happened, my fangs were sinking into his throat and he gave a pained cry. I covered his mouth with my hand, tearing into his jugular, ripping it open with all the ease of a lion munching on a deer. Blood spilled down his front, staining my clothes as well, but I couldn't have cared less. I gripped him tighter, sucking as hard as I could, barely giving myself enough time to swallow the blood as it pooled in my mouth.

I couldn't stop myself. I tried to pull back, I tried so hard, but I just kept drinking as though I hadn't eaten in weeks, like I was a dehydrated man in the desert. I didn't stop until it was far too late, the older man's body slumping in my grip, all the life sucked from him.

Only once the blood stopped coming did I pull away. I dropped the corpse to the ground, hyperventilating even as I licked my lips, trying to get every drop of blood I possibly could.

I knew the panic was about to come; it was only momentarily put off by the surge of power the blood had given me. Instinct took over, actions programmed into me centuries ago happening like clockwork. It was dark and late, so I knew people weren't likely to see the blood. I held the corpse up at my side, as though he were a drunk friend I was helping home.

I went quickly, the entrance to the forest not even a block away, just around the corner. As soon as we were in the cover of the trees I threw the body over my shoulder, rushing deeper into the woods.

I went to an old campsite by the river, one I usually passed on my walk to school. The body slipped from my shoulder, landing on the ground with a sickening crunch, bones cracking under the deadweight.

My hyperventilating – which hadn't stopped since it had started – got more intense. What the fuck was I doing? What the fuck had I done?

I let myself drop to my knees, a sob wracking through my body that made my chest ache. I'd ruined everything, I'd broken my own vow. I'd killed somebody innocent. I'd never hated myself so intensely. Another sob tore through me and my eyes stung so I shut them as tightly as I could. I felt bile rise in my throat but I painstakingly swallowed it down, refusing to allow myself to throw up.

"Get it together," I hissed at myself furiously, voice cracking and my hands shaking. "Get. It. Together."

I forced my eyes open, heightened sight cutting through the darkness to peer at the corpse, throat completely torn out, cloudy hazel eyes staring unseeingly at the stars.

I slammed my eyes shut again when another wave of nausea rolled through me. "I'm sorry," I murmured, bowing my head in remorse, no idea who I was actually apologising to – the only person with me was dead and therefore couldn't hear a word I was saying.

Maybe I was apologising to God; that would make sense, right?

I sobbed once more, chest aching painfully before I once more opened my eyes and forced myself to my feet. I took a cigarette from my pocket, sniffling pathetically as I brought my lighter up to the tip and lit it, inhaling instantly, though the usually-calming chemicals made little difference.

I stared up at the stars, hoping the beauty would distract me from the sickening act I now had to do. With a disgusted grunt I crouched down once I had properly psyched myself up, igniting the flame and lighting the edge of his clothes. It would take a while because I didn't have any kind of petrol or alcohol to help the process. I held the flame over the wounds on his neck, getting rid of the evidence of vampirism.

A skilled medical examiner would be able to see the damage through the char, but I wasn't planning on the remains every getting examined by one. Once the body was sufficiently lit, I kicked at the mouth with all the force I had, shattering the jawbone and knocking out most of the teeth. I reached into the now-dry cavity, pulling out a handful of the loose teeth, turning around and throwing them roughly into the forest, scattering them in the rusty fallen leaves.

I pulled the cigarette from my mouth with two fingers, blowing the smoke out in rings as I past the time. The body continued to burn. We were far enough in the forest, and the fire was small enough, that it was unlikely anyone would see the smoke. Even if somebody did come to investigate, I'd hear them from miles away, giving me plenty of warning.

The sun had long since risen when the body was finally no more than a charred skeleton, and I spent a long time staring into the trees, enjoying the misty, dewy air that clung to the forest. The pain sat like an anvil in my gut, and my arms ached with the shock. I leant down, picking up the flaky, smoky remains and holding them out in front of me, walking only a few paces away until I reached the bank of the river.

With one great toss the corpse was tossed into the water, sinking almost instantly.

I stood still, making sure it didn't reappear as I stuck another cigarette between my teeth, lighting it and taking a drag with a sigh, eyes stinging.

I'd thought this aspect of my life was over, when I woke up yesterday this was the absolute last way I'd imagined spending my night. I felt guilty, ashamed, remorseful and pathetic.

Suddenly a memory flitted through my mind.

"I'm not going to switch off your humanity...You're going to spend a week with me, and then you're going to do it yourself."

Kol.

"That stupid, God-damn, asshole, motherfucking Original bastard," I seethed out loud, spinning around and sending my fist into the nearest tree trunk. The wood splintered under the force of my hit, and after a beat I went back to staring broodily into the distance and taking long drags of my smoke.

I finally understood what he meant. In that God-forsaken week of memory that was taken from me, I knew I'd done similar acts. I couldn't remember them, but of course they had a physical effect that I hadn't considered before now.

My tolerance to blood was lowered. I'd spent years building up this resilience, spent years learning how to train my body to say no to the call of the blood. That's what had happened in the missing week, I'd lost my tolerance, and that didn't mean anything good.

Kol was right about one thing, I did want to turn off my humanity. The emotions were crushing me. I felt like I couldn't physically function. The shame, the pain, the guilt; it was all too much for me to bear. I'd never wanted to feel nothing more in my whole life.

I stopped myself, the thought of Stiles keeping me from going over that particular ledge.

What was I going to tell him?

The answer hit me like a tonne of bricks. I wasn't going to tell him.

The thought of lying to him made me want to throw up again, but I didn't really have a choice. He couldn't know. He'd hate me, almost as much as I hated me.

I sniffled again, teary eyed as I finished off my cigarette and tossed what remained into the river, turning around and legging it to the house.

Thankfully it was empty when I got there, and I slipped through the back, tossing my bloodied clothes into the fireplace and lighting it (yet another thing I had to burn today) before turning up the stairs and instantly sliding into the shower.

The water was as hot as it could go, and it still wasn't hot enough.

No matter what I did, I still didn't feel clean. I scrubbed at my skin until it was red, then kept scrubbing once the red had healed.

Once I was dressed in a new pair of jeans and an old sweater that had bits of cotton hanging from the sleeves, I finally turned my phone back on, realising that it was later in the day than I'd thought it was. Stiles had called four times, and texted me five. Apparently he'd come to get me for the Sheriff's plan today, but I'd obviously not been here.

Just another thing to feel guilty about.


"Where the hell have you been?" was the first thing Stiles asked when I appeared at his window, sitting precariously on the edge of his windowsill. He rushed over to me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into the room. I went with him slightly reluctantly, feeling dirty and unworthy of his touch.

"I had some errands to run," I lied, pulling myself from his arms once my feet were on the floor, refusing to acknowledge the shame curdling in my gut. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he said instantly, though he was frowning at the distance I'd put between us. "I was worried though."

"How did things go?" I asked, glancing out the window at the setting sun, changing the subject before he could notice the guilt written clear as day on my face. "Did Scott find the scent?"

He sagged, disappointment obvious in his voice. "No," he told me with furrowed brows.

"It's been too long," I said knowingly, and he nodded sadly. "You know, I can compel Scott's father," I suggested gently, almost desperate for a way to make up for something he didn't even know had happened. "I can get him to back off of your dad."

"Even if you did, there are other people the FBI could send," he murmured defeatedly, shaking his head and rubbing his temples tiredly. "You can't shut down the whole operation altogether."

He had a point, and I sighed drowsily. "You're right," I admitted with a frown. "Can't fight the system on my own."

There was a pause, and Stiles seemed to hesitate before speaking. "You look tired," he finally said, and I winced.

I was tired. Exhausted, actually. I felt like I was about to pass out, my need for Stiles to think I was alright the only thing holding me together. "Dead on my feet," I joked, forcing myself to wink. He rolled his eyes, and if I didn't know better I would think everything was okay but I did know better, and everything was not okay.

Stiles could sense it too, I could tell he did. Guilt – an emotion I'd never loathed more – churned in my gut, but I fought through it, unable to help myself as I reached down, grasping the hem of my worn sweater and tugging it up and over my head, the loose knot of hair at the nape of my neck coming undone, raven waves cascading down my shoulders gently.

"I thought you were tired," Stiles said warily, eyeing me like he wasn't sure what to make of me.

I forced my lips up into a smirk and I glanced down at the simple nude bra that was clinging to my breasts. "So help wake me up."

There was this gaping hole in my chest, a grief that wouldn't go away – it needed to be filled, and I couldn't think of a better way than by having sex with Stiles. I had to do something, I needed him inside me, I was desperate, hoping he would somehow be able to heal what was so very damaged in there.

"I'm pretty tired myself," he mumbled as he looked away, and a cold, stinging rejection filled me, instead of any kind of bliss.

I felt ashamed, like I was no more than a pathetic slut – which, I had been at one point or another over the years anyway, so it wasn't that much of a leap. "Yeah," I nodded immediately, swiping my sweater from the floor and making sure it was the right way around before slipping it over my head.

I got the feeling that the real reason Stiles was saying no was because he knew something was seriously wrong – he knew I was keeping something from him. But how, how could I tell him that I'd...fallen off the wagon, as it were?

How could I do it without breaking down and pleading for forgiveness I didn't deserve? How could I do it without feeling so sickened by myself that I wanted to feel nothing once more? Without taking the step I couldn't take back and flicking that famous little switch inside myself?

Stiles must have been able to see the pain in my expression, and his heart stuttered. He took a step forwards, hand outstretched like he wanted to reach for me, when footsteps echoed on the wooden staircase.

I stepped away from him like I was about to be caught doing something I shouldn't have, confusing him, and a moment later Scott burst into the room.

"Scott?" Stiles asked his best friend, worry clear on his gorgeous face. "What's going on?"

"We're going to go out and find a body," the werewolf told us, brandishing a flashlight like it was a sword. "A dead body."

Falling back on my dark humour, I couldn't help myself from forcing a smirk and murmuring sarcastically, "I'm glad you clarified that, teen wolf, I thought you meant a body of water."

Scott paused for a long moment, then a massive smile spread across his face. Stiles' heart stuttered again, and I looked over at him, awaiting an explanation. "Stiles said almost the exact same thing at the start of the year, the night when we met," the teen wolf – alpha, I corrected myself – told me. "I guess you guys really are meant to be."

He said the words offhandedly, a bright smile on his lips, like he was telling us something we should be happy about. Ordinarily I'd be thrilled, but with the sudden inexplicable (that was a lie, there was definitely an explanation – it was me; it was my fault) space between us made it somewhat awkward.

Scott looked confused by our reactions, but ultimately decided not to comment, instead gesturing to the door. "I'll let you get ready. Meet me downstairs as soon as you can," he said, shooting us a final suspicious look before letting the door creak shut and heading down the steps.

We were silent for a long moment after the wolf had disappeared, before he finally turned to me, a wary, unsure look in those honey brown eyes that I loved so very much. "Are you up for it?" he asked me in concern.

"We'll swing by my place," I assured him with a – once again – forced smile. "I'll fill my tank and be good to go."

He looked unsure, but quickly changed into jeans and threw a flannel over his shirt.

We met Scott downstairs, and though he'd driven his bike here, we decided all to take the Jeep instead of travelling alone. "So we're looking for the body of that girl, trying to solve dad's case?" Stiles asked excitedly.

"Yeah, that's the plan," Scott nodded with the usual happy grin. He turned to look at me properly. "You look wiped," he said as we pulled out onto the main road in the general direction of my house. "Are you sure you don't want to just sit this one out?"

That was the second time I'd been told how wrecked I appeared, and the thought made me cringe. "I'm fine," I assured the alpha, turning around in the passenger seat to face him. "Just had a long day."

"Where were you today, by the way?" he asked as though he'd just remembered I hadn't been there with them.

"Errands, you know how it is; busy, busy," I lied again with a dismissive wave of my hand, and though he looked skeptical by my halfhearted answer, I had no heartbeat to prove that it was a lie.

A few short minutes later Stiles pulled the Jeep into my driveway.

It was dark enough and late enough that I didn't need to worry about exposure. "I'll be back in a second," I told the boys, cracking the door and flying into my house. I was back in the car before the car door had even completely finished swinging open, my lips wrapped around the straw of a blood bag.

"Wow," Stiles murmured thoughtfully. "You really meant that 'second' thing."

I didn't have it in me to wink at him, so I forced my lips to tip up for the millionth time, deciding to stay silent as I settled back into my seat, quietly having a late – well, it definitely wasn't dinner, and I definitely wasn't drinking it because I was hungry. I was more than full from my...

Slip up, I thought as I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, trying to force the (un)pleasant memories out of my head. The only real reason I was drinking this refrigerated blood was to get the intoxicating taste of the fresh stuff out of my mind.

My eyes didn't open again until we pulled up onto the reserve, slipping the now-empty bag onto the ground under my seat.

Without a word Stiles turned off the car, hopping out of his beloved Jeep and locking the doors once we were all on the ground.

"We'll split up," I said, more because I needed space than for any real tactical advantage.

"Okay, you go that way, I'll go this way and Scott can go-"

"Scott's staying with you," I cut my boyfriend off, and he looked at me abruptly, blinking in surprise at my sharp, commanding words.

"Uh-"

"You know better than most what kind of dangers lurk in the shadows," I told him gently. "I'm not letting your unwittingly human ass stumble around the forest without someone supernatural on hand to get you out of trouble."

"Did you just call me ignorant?" Stiles asked, sounding mildly offended. He turned to Scott, expression indignant. "She just called me ignorant."

"I think she said unwitting," Scott answered, looking awkward.

"Which is a synonym of ignorant."

"Um, I'd rather not get involved," the teen wolf murmured uncomfortably.

"Just go west," I told them venomously, lips twisted into an ugly and irritated scowl. "I'll go north. Stay within shouting distance," I added, tapping my ear pointedly and locking eyes with Scott. He nodded and without another word I turned and faded into the shadows, slipping through the trees and barrelling forwards, focusing everything I had on finding that body, even though all I wanted to do was crawl into the deep dark hole where I belonged and sob the night away.

I didn't stray far enough that I couldn't hear the boys' conversation, but I hummed to cover the sound of their words, I didn't want to know what they were talking about; I was too afraid it would be me.

I didn't catch any scents that were out of place, and my perfect vision slipped over the fallen logs and underbrush without coming across a hint of human remains, or the remains of a crashed vehicle. The smell of coyote clung to everything, and I crinkled my nose at the stench.

A loud howl echoed around the forest, and I knew it had come from the animal I was thinking about. I heard Stiles gasp and jump in fright, and though I knew it was stupid, I was by their side in the blink of an eye, looking over the human for damage.

"I'm fine," Stiles told me instantly, hands held up as though it were proof. "I just hate coyotes," he added, cringing into the darkness as Scott shuffled down a steep incline to retrieve his phone, which was glowing from under the surface of a large puddle. "They always sound like they're mauling some kind of helpless little animal."

Stiles hesitated where he stood above Scott and I, clearly contemplating how to get down without making a fool of himself. With a fond roll of my eyes I held out a hand, my pale skin ethereal and glowing in the moonlight.

"You know, in a perfect world, I'd be the big strong vampire helping you, the damsel in distress, get down from a ledge," he grumbled, taking my hand and allowing me to balance him as he stumbled down the incline.

"Did you just call me a 'big, strong vampire'?" I asked amusedly once he was firmly on his two feet, shoes sinking slightly into the thick mud.

"Better than being called ignorant," he quipped with furrowed brows, and the words stung within me. I cringed, slipping my hand from his grasp and folding my arms across my chest, looking over at Scott pointedly.

"It still works," the wolf informed us, wiping the screen with his sleeve, peering down at the blinking lights on the phone. I squinted at the dots, trying to figure out how to read the strange looking map.

"Pass me the flashlight?" Stiles murmured, and Scott handed over the item distractedly. "I think I found it," the human declared suddenly, and I looked up in surprise, clear eyes blinking into the shadows around the bend, revealing what was left of an old, crashed car.

"Why wouldn't they move it? Isn't it evidence?" Scott asked, slowly approaching the wreck.

"Probably too much of a pain in the ass to tow out." We were silent, all of us moving closer to the car. "You see those?" he asked quickly, the light hovering over a line of marks clearly etched into the door of the car, like a werewolf had sliced their claws through the thin material. "Animal claws would be closer together, right? A lot closer."

Scott hesitated, gently dragging his fingertips across the marks. "Then it was a werewolf," he muttered, not quite shocked.

"The Sheriff was right," I added with a hum, turning away from the wreck and allowing my eyes to slide through the shadows of the forest. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end. Something was watching us.

"What's that?" I vaguely heard Scott say from behind me, but my attention was on the unpleasant weight in my gut. I sniffed delicately, trying to find a human or werewolf – or vampire, for that matter – scent in the air.

All I was picking up was that damn coyote.

There was a high pitched squeak, like recorded words, then a large and violent outburst from Stiles, who slammed into my back. I stayed still as a statue, the knock having no effect on me, but I still spun around, abandoning my vigilance to grasp my boyfriend by the arms, holding him up and keeping an eye on his racing heart.

"I think I just had a minor heart attack," the human murmured, relaxing back in my hold.

"Your heart's fine," I assured him, pushing him gently so he was upright and holding his own weight.

He opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by his best friend. "Hey, Stiles?...Juliet?" My attention snapped away from Stiles, to the coyote growling at us from the tree line. Not completely unusual, except that the beast's eyes were glowing a bright, shining, shifter-blue. "Please tell me you guys see that too."

I sniffed again, it was definitely the same creature that had marked it's territory around the wreck site. "We see it," Stiles assured him, shifting backwards subtly, smart enough not to make any sudden movements.

The coyote in the trees growled once more then turned and darted through the shadows. Before either of us could make another comment, the teen wolf had thrown himself after the creature, hurtling through the woods as fast as he could.

"Scott!" Stiles exclaimed, tripping forwards as he stumbled after his friend. "Scott, wait!"

"Dammit Scott," I hissed, keen eyes focused on them as they raced away from us, further into the forest.

"What are you doing?" Stiles snapped, gesturing wildly in their direction. "Go after him!"

"And leave you here alone?" I countered with a sour frown.

"I'll survive," he retorted with a stubborn scowl. "I can handle myself. Now go!"

I grit my teeth but did as I was told, no matter how much I wanted to do the exact opposite. I hurtled through the trees, following the path the coyote – and Scott – had taken.

If my boyfriend and friends' living nightmares weren't bad enough, on top of that we've got what is possibly another shifter in town, Stiles and I were having relationship troubles, and I was once again a bloodthirsty and unpredictable murderer with no idea of my limits and no idea about just how bad things were going to get. Had I left anything out?

Never a dull day in Beacon Hills.

Now if only I could get through the next few weeks without completely flying off the handle.


A/N: I know. Trust me, I know...but send me a review anyway and I'll talk you guys off the ledge. Love you!