{018}

Coming to felt like being hit with a semi-truck on the freeway, every part of her hurt. The young Gypsy blinked down at the sloppy stitches on her side, grateful she had been knocked out for that part and grateful for the fact that whoever had done it had decided to make her shirt into a crop top instead of simply removing it and leaving her half naked.

Well this is shit. Alex groaned, her attempt at sitting up slightly hindered by her bound wrists in front of her. The physical pain sucked but what worried her more was the fact that she couldn't clearly remember what happened. Her memories over the last few hours were a jumbled mess inside her head. Her thoughts were sluggish and dusty, like a heroine junkie on a high.

She took a deep breath, relaxing her mind, taking stock of everything around her. Thick, scratchy, discolored ropes were wrapped tightly around her wrist, the material biting harshly into her delicate skin with each movement. She felt somewhat drained. The feeling was disconcertedly familiar. Reminding her of the day Peter had used too much of her ability to heal himself.

Sighing, Alex kept her eyes moving.

A dark circle of ash surrounded her, giving her barely enough room to maneuver around. The room around her was barely lit, the only light coming from the moonlight that crept in from the cracks on the windows. The air was filled with the sweet scent of rose water and frankincense, cut harshly with the smell of dust and decay.

There was nothing but stark silence. An eerie quiet that was only displaced by the sounds of her harsh breathing and the feint crackling of a flame somewhere in the distance. Damn her human eyes. Derek's Werewolf vision would come in handy right about now.

Daughter of myth and magic.

The voice swept around her like a quiet whisper on the wind. Drifting through her mind like a falling feather, slow and steady. Alex choked back a sob. Mommy. The familiar lilting voice wrapped around the young Gypsy, covering her in a pleasant warmth.

A small smile flittered across her chapped lips, her emerald eyes closing as she drew in a long breath. Daughter of myth and magic.

Myth.

Alexandra Moore, daughter of Kirsten Moore was part Gypsy—and part Werewolf. A child of light and dark. Of magic and myth.

Hazel eyes permeated the darkness. A ghostly light amongst the inky blackness. Her surroundings lit up as if the night had never existed.

The bitter smell of iron and stench of mold whirled around her. Pillars of metal stretched out high towards the ceiling, extending up towards the battered metal of the tin roof. The rain dripping from the cracks above rhythmically generated a melancholy melody, filling the absence of sound around her. The building was practically empty, but for a few obsolete pieces of rusted factory equipment.

Ivy gnarled its way through the cloth covered broken windows, tangling its leathery shape throughout the eerie abode. Alex shivered, a gust of wind breaking through the poorly covered windows caressing her skin like a knife.

This was her dream. This was there she was going to die.

Peter was pissed. More than pissed. He was livid. The Alpha had a slew of adjectives to describe his current state of anger and the solution to it was simple.

Kill.

They had taken her right beneath his nose. On his own property. That was something the Werewolf would not stand for. Now, not only was Derek missing, but so was Alex. He should have known better than to leave her alone. The woods around them hadn't smelled like hunters-it had smelled like magic.

Dark magic. The kind that comes with sacrifices. Not the animal kind either. This kind of magic always came with a price. It was magic that was twisted and stolen by a whorl of dark forces. It was not the type of magic that was born to someone. Someone like Alex.

Kirsten had warned him. Begged him to protect her daughter from what was to come. Peter knew they would come for her, but he had made a miscalculation. They had help. The Werewolf shook with fury, hands clenched tightly as his sides, standing stiff in the doorway of the quant little house his pseudo-daught4er had grown up in.

He wasn't too proud to admit that the local town Sherriff had done a wonderful job at raising Alex. Not that he would admit it out loud, but Peter was proud of who the young Gypsy had become. She was driven, passionate, and loving. The red head had the same fiery temper as her mom. The same defiant look in her emerald eyes. Stilinski had let her grow into who she wanted to be. Never holding her back.

It didn't matter though.

That should have been him, raising her with Kirsten in their home, surrounded by those who were just like her.

Different.

Peter couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy towards the Sherriff. The Werewolf had done a little snooping when he had dropped the young Gypsy off in her bed less than 48 hours ago. The house was filled with pictures of her with them…the Stilinski's. Showing that the wayward family had easily incorporated Alex into their lives. Her first dance should have been with him dropping her off, scaring away any potential suitors. It should have been her mother helping her pick out her outfit for her first date. It should have them together at every Lacrosse game—at her graduation.

The Argent's had robbed him of that future. Robbed her of that future. There was no going back now.

Rolling his shoulder, the Werewolf ran a hand through his hair, taking a long deep breath before doing the only thing he could think of to help get her back.

He knocked.

Alex was pacing her small circular prison, the black ash proving to be an effective barrier. The young Gypsy was pissed. She was scared. All of which was amplified by the fact that she was in pain and hungry. A hangry Alex was not a fun Alex

More than anything, though, Alex just wanted to go home.

She wanted to wrap herself in the warmth of Derek's arms and let the world fade away. Alex could still feel the comfort of the young beta's embrace wrapped around her like a cocoon of safety, whispering words of endearment in her ear. Up until the discovery of Peter being the Alpha, Derek had come to her each night just to hold her, shield her, at least for a small while. Trying his best to help them both forget about the uncertainty around them.

Alex wanted her family.

Noah, Stiles, Scott—Peter when he wasn't being a domineering asshole. The young red head counted herself lucky to have a second chance at a family. Not many people received that opportunity in life. She wanted to get back to them. Back to the Noah's warm smile and Stile's stupid jokes. Back to Scott's quiet strength and back to Peter's protection.

However, Alex's abilities were gone.

Or dampened. She wasn't really sure how it worked, but whatever the rope was made of was making it impossible for her to draw up even an ounce of her magic. If only her life as a Gypsy came with a rulebook. Or Jiminy Cricket.

Hell, at this point a big flashing neon sign would have been a relief.

But there was nothing. Nada. She was on her own. Left to her own devices. Where was a Giles when she needed one? Alex shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had been in the same spot for what felt like hours. From the amount of times she had to pee it certainly had to have been at least four or five.

She was no longer alone. The GI Joe man from the woods with the buzzcut had come to watch her. Take her out when she needed to pee, ignore all her questions…that was his job. He had barely said two words to her, and they were 'shut the hell up'.

Okay, four words.

The same four words repeated over and over again each time she attempted to engage him in conversation Alex couldn't help her inquisitive nature. She was bored of being held hostage. The least he could do was talk to her or give her a deck of cards.

Too bad I can't howl Alex thought. As useful as amplified hearing and sight had been, it had drained her, and was in no way useful for an escape. Now claws would have been something. She would have no problem clawing her way through GI Joe like he was made of butter. No matter what it did to the color of her eyes.

"How about a game of Go Fish?"

GI Joe growled from his chair. He was not interested in playing her games.

"Old Maid?"

Alex continued to push. If anything, she could at least have fun riling the man up.

"Strip poker?"

She was desperate.

"Although you would have a slight advantage seeming as I am already almost topless," She continued to rant. "I would say let's have you even the score and take your off too, but I don't think that would be a sight I want to see."

That earned her a backhand to the face. Damn, he was no fun.

"Anyone tell you that you have no sense of humor?" Alex taunted, flexing her sore haw. That was sure to leave bruise. Peter was going to be furious. "Maybe you have. Were you dropped on your head as a baby?"

The man sneered at her, his breathing growing ragged the more she taunted him. She just had to make him angry enough to make a mistake. One simple mistake.

"I say that because your head seems to have a dent in it," She continued, a smirk resting on her lips, eyes gleaming. "But hey, some women like that. I'm not one to judge. Plus, I doubt it was just your head you were dropped on. Your face seems to have a dent in it too…or were you just born that way? Cause if you were…"

The man roared, breaking through the ash circle, rough hands reaching to encircle her neck. There it was. The mistake.

Alex jumped back out of the broken circle of ash and bolted; the man hot on her heels. Emerald eyes faded to glowing hazel orbs as she navigated her way through the darkness, her heart thudding in her chest, brow slick with sweat. She had to get out and find Peter.

Her hands gripped tightly to the handles of a large iron door. Alex threw all her strength into heaving the doors open, the sound of rusty hinges reverberating off the cold concrete walls. Her hands were still bound, but the red head managed to slip into the next room, hazel eyes still taking in her surroundings.

Then there was light.

Not just any light. A flash of burning white light overwhelmed her senses, knocking her back on her ass, her bound hands automatically brought up to protect her eyes. Unable to cushion her fall, Alex's head cracked against the concrete floor with a dull thud. Black spots danced across her vision as she tried to blink away the pain and regain her focus.

What the hell was that?

"I was wondering how long it would take you to try and escape, Cel Mic."

The cool sardonic voice was familiar, if not rougher than she remembered. Alex was almost too afraid to look up at who it belonged to. Looking up would make it all too real. Looking up meant that she would have to face betrayal from the man she once idolized.

"Honestly, I didn't think it would have taken so long." The man's smooth voice was closer now, his worn black boots appearing at the edge of her vision as he knelt down beside her, his rough hand guiding her up to sit. Alex remembered the gentleness that once held her as she slept. Unbidden, her eyes travelled from the floor to take in the man before her.

He was different than she remembered him as a small child. Time would do that. Chance someone's perception of a person. Steel grey eyes assessed her, roaming over her face for any hint of recognition. His face split into a wide smile, pearly white teeth flashing against sun kissed skin. His face was smooth, holding onto a youth Alex couldn't believe was real.

He hadn't aged a day.

Alex stayed silent, watching his movement like a hawk. She knew he couldn't be trusted, knew what he was capable of. He smelled different too. The air around her was filled with death and decay, not the simple oak smell he once held. Alex flinched away as his rough hand reached out to cup her cheek. She didn't want him touching her. His smile faded, eyes burning with rage. A small cry left her lips, her head whipping to the side as his palm snapped across her face.

"Is that how you greet your father, you ungrateful girl?"

A/N: TADA! YAY! Thank you again to everyone who reviews, favorites, and follows! I love it when you do!

Till next time...