Chapter 22

This was the last thing Kara had expected to be doing after work. She had planned on actually cooking herself dinner for once, sick of surviving on takeaway and noodles. Having time to take for herself still felt new and she didn't want to waste the opportunity. In the supernatural world, something always came up.

Although this, Kara reminded herself, was something completely and utterly mundane. She'd accidentally left her new book at the loft. Kara had brought it to her sparring session with Isaac the day before but had become a little preoccupied when they had almost broken Derek's coffee table. Isaac had been getting pretty good at dodging the occasional jet of golden light Kara fired from her palms, but this time one caught him square in the chest. He went sailing back and crashed into the wooden table. He had been distracted, his thoughts too caught up in their newest supernatural problem; the side effects Scott, Stiles and Allison were experiencing from the ritual. Kara suspected there were other things on his mind too, things that he wasn't quite ready to voice. So, Kara had suggested that they take a break from training for a while—for the sake of Isaac as well as Derek's furniture.

Kara made a mental note to call Scott as she climbed the stairs leading up to the loft. She'd barely spoken to him since the fight with Jennifer and the Alpha Pack, and weeks had passed. Kara wondered if the teens had talked to Deaton about their symptoms. From what Isaac had told her, Allison was practically hallucinating to the point where she couldn't tell friend from foe. It was only a matter of time before someone got hurt.

Kara froze. A noise, almost like a loud thump, reached her ears. She continued to creep up the remaining flight of stairs, straining to hear if it was coming from the loft. A muted growl sounded from above her. Oh shit, Kara thought, her heart thundering. Déjà vu washed over her, a memory gripping her. She had once cowered behind the loft door, listening to Kali torture Derek. It was the first time she had ever seen Deucalion—at least, the first time since that fateful night twelve years ago. But Kara tried not to think about that. Deucalion and the rest of his pack were gone. Not all of them, a small voice reminded her.

Her instincts turned out to be right. The first people Kara's eyes fell on when she stepped into the loft were the twins. One of them loomed over a figure sprawled on the dining table, his fist connecting with his victim's face over and over again. Stiles and Lydia stood in the corner of the room with anxious faces. The person lying on the table groaned in pain. Kara realised with a lurch that it was Scott.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded. At the sound of her voice, one of the twins—Ethan, Kara assumed—wrested his brother away from Scott. Stiles and Lydia cautiously edged towards him, checking to see if he was okay.

Aiden met Kara's eyes with an angry snarl. "We're teaching him control," he growled.

"By beating him up?" she shot back. She glanced at Scott, who spat out a mouthful of blood. Why did Scott need to be taught control? With a sinking feeling, she thought back to what Isaac had told her. Was this a side effect of the ritual—Scott losing control over his powers?

"We need to teach him how to give in to shifting," Ethan explained. "He needs to let go before he can control it. It's the only way he can roar."

Once again, Kara's gaze slid uneasily to Scott. She glared at the twins before making her way over to him, and Ethan tugged his brother towards the door. They left without another word. Lydia and Stiles looked up at her, guilt clear on their faces. They obviously hadn't expected the twins to be this brutal. Scott propped himself onto his elbow with a groan, and Kara helped him sit up.

She looked at him, her mouth set in a grim line. "You've lost control of your ability to shift." It wasn't a question, but Scott nodded with a wince.

"Why do you need to be able to roar so badly?" she asked, sensing that it was important. Important enough that Scott had turned to the twins for help, of all people.

"It's a long story," Scott sighed.

Stiles jumped in, saving Scott the trouble of explaining. "There was this case my dad was never able to solve, about a family who was killed by a wild animal—well, at least they thought it was a wild animal. One of the daughters went missing, Malia, and everyone thought she was dead, but we found out she's actually a werecoyote."

Kara listened with a frown as Stiles continued to explain. When he finished, she was silent for a while, her mind ticking over everything he had told her.

"So, you're telling me," she said, "that there's a girl in the woods trapped inside the body of a coyote, and Scott's roar is the only thing that can turn her back?"

The three teens nodded. Kara braced her arms on the table. She had seen Malia before, she realised. The day she'd seen a coyote in the woods—it had been her. Those brilliant blue eyes didn't belong to a regular coyote.

"And you thought it was a good idea to ask the twins for help?" Kara asked Scott, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"I didn't know what else to do," Scott admitted. Kara softened. Losing control of her powers was her worst nightmare. She could only imagine how it made Scott feel.

"There's something else," Lydia started. "Malia's father doesn't know about all this, and he's hell-bent on killing what he thinks is just a coyote."

Kara's eyes went wide. "He's going to kill her? When?"

"We don't know," Scott rasped. "So we need to get to her fast."

"We're doing it tomorrow. Deaton gave us tranquilisers, so even if we can't change Malia back, we can still save her from her father." Stiles added. The three of them filled Kara in on the rest of the details and they set a time to meet in the woods tomorrow. There goes my day off, Kara mused as she said goodbye to Scott, Stiles and Lydia. They disappeared down the stairs, leaving Kara alone.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kara spotted something lying under the table. She crouched down and retrieved a book from the floor, the one she had left here by accident. She examined the front cover, her eyes narrowing.

"Bastards," she muttered. The cover was bent, evidently from having been caught in the crossfire of the twins' assault. She supposed she should be grateful it wasn't covered in blood. Kara eyed the small pool of crimson liquid on the table. Sighing, she headed to the kitchen to find something to clean it up with. Werewolves were going to be the death of her.

"Anyone else think we might be doing more harm than good?"

Lydia's words settled uneasily in Kara's stomach, roiling with the uncertainty she'd felt since waking up that morning. She felt like she was walking into this blind. Scott, Stiles and Lydia had told her everything they knew, but it still didn't change the fact that Kara had only become aware of the situation yesterday.

They stood before a sign marking the beginning of the Beacon Hills Preserve. It was warm enough that Kara had been able to forego a jacket, but she felt a hint of winter on the breeze that swept past them. She wished Derek was here. The thought hit her with surprising ferocity, the sudden longing momentarily overpowering her fear. He would have known what to do.

"We're trying to keep a father from killing his own daughter," Scott replied.

"Actually, we're trying to keep a guy from killing a coyote, who is actually his daughter, who we don't know how to change from a coyote back to his daughter," Isaac said.

"And again with the not helping," Stiles remarked. Kara watched Scott close his eyes in exasperation, as if they bickered like this constantly.

Scott turned to Allison. "Did you bring it?"

Allison retrieved a gun from the boot of her car. It was strange to see Allison wielding a gun instead of a bow, or ring daggers. Then again, it wasn't one Kara was used to seeing either. She could tell that the long, skinny barrel was designed for a type of non-lethal force—tranquilisers.

A gunshot rang out from the woods. The six of them whirled around, eyes searching the trees. Dread curled unpleasantly in Kara's stomach. What if Malia's father had already gotten to her?

Kara hadn't even realised Scott had made for his bike until his engine revved. He sped into the woods with Isaac following close behind.

"Wait!" Stiles shouted behind them, but they were already gone. Kara and Allison locked eyes before racing after them. Stiles' shouts followed them as they hurtled past trees, desperately trying to catch up. Kara's boots struck the earth hard as she dodged roots and ducked under tree branches, Allison at her side. She felt the pounding of her feet and her heart become one, her mind clear save for a single thought—get to Malia. Kara spotted Isaac metres away and pushed her legs faster than she thought possible.

"Isaac, wait!" Allison called out, but he pulled further ahead. A guttural scream split the air, stopping Kara's heart dead in her chest. She skidded to a stop. Her eyes landed upon Isaac, hunched over on the ground. Allison raced ahead and Kara followed after her, willing the paralysing fear away. She had to remind herself to breathe when she saw Isaac's bloodied hands gripping something clasped around his ankle. His leg had been caught in a bear trap, she realised with horror. Allison crouched down beside him, eyes wide.

"Allison, there he is," Isaac gasped, and she instinctively raised her gun. "Hit Tate. Use the tranq on him. Okay?"

It took Kara a moment to spot the figure they were looking at. She could barely make out Malia's father in the distance. A small, furred figure stood just in front of him, and Kara inhaled sharply.

Allison's hands shook as she gripped the gun, trying to steel herself. Kara shot her a worried look. They only had three darts. Three chances.

"Okay, come on," Allison said under her breath, before firing the first dart. Kara's eyes flicked to Tate, but the man didn't fall. Allison had missed.

"Allison," Isaac said. Allison's gaze snapped to him, and something unspoken passed between them. "Breathe," he instructed her. She inhaled deeply before turning her attention back to Tate. Tightening her grip on the tranquiliser gun, she whispered something to herself. A mantra, it seemed. A code. The gun fired, and for a moment Kara thought Allison had missed again. But then Tate fell, and a laugh somewhere between relief and disbelief escaped Kara. She grinned at Allison, and the corner of her mouth lifted up in triumph. Allison's smile slid from her face as she peered through the eyepiece of her gun. "She's gone," Allison said, paling.

Kara scanned their surroundings, but Malia was nowhere to be seen. Kara crouched down next to Isaac. "We need to get you out of this," she said urgently, eyes on the metal sunken into Isaac's skin. Blood had stained his pant leg a deep crimson, and when Kara gingerly touched the metal her fingertips came away red. Her heart pulsed in her throat. It was only a matter of time before Malia ended up in one of these traps.

Hands trembling, Kara cleared the leaves around the trap, looking for something that would wind down the jaws of the trap. "There has to be a spring or—or a dial or something that'll disarm it."

"Here," Allison said, brushing leaves away from a dial nestled on the side of the trap. Kara reached to turn it when a roar sounded from somewhere in the distance. Scott, she thought immediately. He'd done it – he had controlled his powers and shifted. Kara flinched as Isaac let out a roar of his own and ripped the metal trap apart, freeing himself. He collapsed on his side, breathing hard.

"He did it," Isaac said. He shook his head, huffing out a laugh. Relief flooded through Kara. She sat down next to Isaac, needing a moment to catch her breath. Somehow, their crazy, totally insane and idiotic plan had worked. She couldn't believe it. For once, things had actually gone their way.

A week later, Kara was scrubbing various glasses and plates in the kitchen of The French Twist. She had fallen into a rhythm since rescuing Malia—work, home, reading, cooking. Months ago, Kara worked whatever jobs gave her the most hours, and home was somewhere she dreaded returning to. She read to escape and cooked only the most basic of meals for her and her mother because it was all she had time for. Now she did all of these things by choice.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Luke poked his head in. "It's slowed down out here. Do you need any help?"

Kara shook her head and motioned to the remaining dishes. "I've got it," she said. "But thanks."

Luke started to retreat back outside but hesitated with his hand on the door. He scanned the kitchen as if trying to figure out who else was in here.

"Ryan's on his break," Kara offered.

"Good," Luke said. Confused, Kara wrung her hands and wiped them on her apron. Luke stepped into the kitchen, letting the door swung shut behind him.

"You're going to Dani's part, right?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Danielle had invited Kara to a last-minute Halloween party, and it took impressive effort on her part to convince Kara to go. "My girlfriend's place doesn't have heaps of room, so it's just going to be a few of us," Dani had said, looking at Kara with pleading eyes. Kara couldn't remember the last time she went to a party, let alone a costume one, but she'd said yes anyway.

Luke gazed at her hopefully, a few strands of blonde hair falling into his eyes. Kara started to put the clues together—his nervousness, the way he'd seemed to pay more attention to her in the past week…

"Yeah, why?" she replied, keeping her voice neutral.

"I was, uh, wondering if…you maybe wanted to go with me?"

Despite her suspicion, his words took Kara by surprise. It must have shown on her face because Luke cleared his throat hastily. "I mean, I get it if you don't want to – we can just go as friends, or not even go together at all," he rambled.

"I'd love to," Kara said without thinking, and a grin spread across his face. Kara found herself smiling. He was a little awkward, but she couldn't deny that it was sweet.

"Cool, well, I'll pick you up at eight?"

Kara nodded. "I'll text you my address."

He ducked out of the kitchen and Kara smiled giddily to herself. Luke wasn't someone she thought she'd be attracted to—quick to crack a joke, always talking and moving a mile a minute, every feeling as clear as day on his face. Or maybe she was just used to the dark-haired, strong and silent type. The type who was equally as dangerous as she was. Kara dismissed the thought. Type or no type, it felt nice to be wanted.