The Huntress

by TheLiteraryEscapist

Beacon Hills is a city which literally draws the supernatural to it. Adrianna is the daughter no one knew Kate Argent had. Follow Adrianna Argent, a born hunter, lethal weapon, and struggling demigod as she tries to come to grips with her mother's murder. Will she follow the code or will she follow her heart?

12. Chapter 12

12-Masterplan

I t was the beginning of the end. Scott could feel it in his bones.

And it wasn't just because of what had happened to Jackson. He didn't even fully understand that part, yet. It was everywhere, like an unpleasant odor or persistent stain that couldn't be washed away, no matter how hard you tried.

Gerard had fired the first shot. Now, Scott would have no choice but to fight back. There was no way he could get out of this now.

"I've got to meet with the medical examiner and try to figure out what happened with Jackson." The stressed Sheriff informed Scott, pushing a nervous hand through his thinning hair as he looked between him and Isaac. "I've got an APB out on Stiles. His jeep is still in the parking lot, so that means—"

He faltered, as Scott thought he might have, eyes turning hollow with confusion and distress. "Hell, I don't know what that means." The Sheriff cursed. "Look, if he answers his phone, if he answers his e-mails; if either one of you see him." The older man listed rapidly, his thoughts running faster than his mouth could keep up.

"We'll call you." Isaac interrupted. He was leaning against the lockers beside Scott rather casually. The two hadn't had a proper chance to talk about what had happened on and off the field.

Scott hadn't seen Adrianna since he'd sent her to save Isaac. He didn't know what had happened to her or if it might have been the same thing that happened to Stiles. For all he knew, she could have been dead, her body dumped in some ditch or stuffed at the bottom of a dumpster. The sickening guilt he felt because of it gnawed at his gut.

"Look, he's probably just freaked out by all the attention or something." Scott felt the need to add, although he didn't believe the words himself. "We'll find him." He said with more conviction when the Sheriff's gaze leveled on him.

"Yeah," Stiles' father sighed and his shoulders slumped, almost as though he had released much of the anxious pressure built up inside himself simply by expelling a breath. "I'll see you, okay?" He asked them both before walking away.

Scott glanced to the side, finding that Isaac had already done so himself, pushing off the locker to lean close to Scott's ear. "Something happened to Adrianna." He began, only to be forced to stop his explanation mid-way, retreating back to to the safety of the lockers when coach Finstock approached, his hands on his hips.

"McCall." Their frizzy-haired, wide-eyed, quite eccentric coach called out. Scott's shoulders rose in preparation for some form of berration or public humiliation. "We need you on the team, okay?" He said instead, surprising Scott. "You know I can't put you on the field next season if you don't get your grades up."

And although it was still rather embarrassing for Isaac, and most of the locker room, to have heard the real reason why Scott hadn't been initially allowed to play in the championship game, it was far milder than Scott had anticipated.

"Yeah," Scott agreed, ducking his head slightly. "I know, coach."

"All right." Finstock eagerly accepted, obviously uncomfortable showing that he didn't always have to scream and insult his players. "I mean, I—I know I yell a lot, but it's not like I hate you guys." He shared hesitantly. "Well, I kind of hate Greenberg, but, you know, that's different. It's Greenberg." He explained, bushy brows rising along with his determination.

"I'm just saying we—" The older man struggled to admit, clearing his throat as his eyes flickered about the room, never resting on one single place for more than a second. "I need you on the team. Get your grades back up." He finished, finally looking into Scott's eyes.

There was fear hidden in the depths of Bobby Finstock's gaze. Scott could understand that. The lacrosse team had been the coach's responsibility. Having a player die on the field must have been traumatic. But the longer the coach held his stare, the more Scott uncovered, not just fear, but compassion and support.

"I will." Scott resolutely promised. He had more than just his friends counting on him, now. Despite the nervous jittering in his stomach and the cold sweat beginning at the base of his neck, Scott thought he was up for the challenge.

He had to be.

Nodding, the coach clapped his shoulder, stepping back as he acknowledged Isaac's presence for the first time since he'd come over. "I know." He replied, for once, no trace of mocking humor in his tone.

As the kids filed out of the locker room, one by one, Scott and Isaac stayed behind, waiting until the room went silent. "Is that everyone?" He asked Isaac some time later.

Looking around, Isaac had his back to Scott as he confirmed the assumption. "I think so." The beta muttered as Stiles' locker door crunched and bent beneath Scott's hands. He pulled, throwing the decimated metal to the floor in a twisted heap. Isaac took a step back, evaluating the situation before speaking. "You're gonna find him by scent?" He theorized as Scott dug through his best friend's locker.

"Yeah," Scott pulled his arm back, two random articles of Stile's clothes in his hands. "We both are." Lifting up a sweaty t-shirt to his nose, Scott held out the remaining object clutched in his left hand for Isaac to take.

"But how come you get his shirt and I get his shoe?" Isaac distractedly asked as he accepted the converse sneaker Scott had offered him. Grinning, Scott prepared to make some lousy excuse that might make Isaac laugh, but the expression on the young man's face stopped him.

Isaac frowned, his chin turned downwards and his eyes averted, all traces of mirth or sarcasm washed away. "Adrianna saved me from those hunters Gerard sent to kill me." He told Scott.

For some reason, he appeared troubled by the words, and not relieved, as Scott had assumed he might be. "Isn't that a good thing?" He asked, the tip of his nose still stuffed within a ball of chlorine-smelling fabric.

"Yeah, I guess." Isaac replied non-committedly. "It's just the way she did it. I can't stop playing it over in my head." He shared, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to alleviate a headache.

Scott had to remind himself not to panic the more he thought about Adrianna. He had a bad feeling that something terrible had happened to her. "What did she do?" He questioned when it was clear that Isaac wasn't going to carry on and explain any further.

The suspense nearly set his hands shaking as Isaac's lips puckered in thought. "She fought like—well, she fought like she always has—like she loses herself in the violence and bloodshed. Like she enjoys it."

A shiver rushed up Scott's spine. He'd nearly forgotten how dangerous their young Argent ally really was when she wasn't impeded by gunshot wounds or bleeding to death. "That's not it, though." He astutely realized as Isaac rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "That's not what's bothering you."

When Isaac looked up, it was almost as though the blue in his eyes had turned to solid ice. "Adrianna didn't just save me. Not like everyone else does it." He quietly continued. "She killed one of the hunters. Snapped his neck like it was nothing." Isaac's voice suddenly felt too loud for the room, echoing off the walls and bouncing into Scott's brain.

Yes, he'd seen Adrianna kill before; the omega on her first day in Beacon Hills had been plenty for him to go by when it came to her particular skills-set; but a secret part of him had wished that Adrianna had left all that behind the moment she'd chosen to desert her family and fight on Scott's side.

For the millionth time since becoming a werewolf, Scott's hope had blinded him. It was beginning to annoy him, if he was being truthful. He was getting tired of being so honest and trusting. So far, it had only brought him trouble.

"And that's not all," Isaac's hands clenched into fists and then released. Stiles' sneaker bent in his strong grip. "After she killed that man, she went after the other hunter. I tried to stop her, to tell her to stay and cut her losses, but she didn't seem to hear me. There was this look in her eyes; a look I've only ever seen on one other person. "

Scott could guess as to who Isaac was speaking about. He'd learned about the teenager's harsh childhood a long time ago, when he'd decided to help Derek break Isaac out of jail for supposedly killing his father. His mind painted a vivid image of Adrianna's determination to win. He'd seen a reserved version of it himself once or twice when she'd fought by his side.

He couldn't bring himself to imagine what it would have looked like when she lost total control.

"It was like madness—like she'd finally snapped—and I knew that nothing could stop her." Isaac spoke the words clinging to Scott's lips. "I knew that I'd lost her. Maybe for good."

Scott didn't want to be the one to say it, but he found that there was no one else he could rely on. Stiles was the one that usually voiced what everyone was too afraid to admit out loud. Without him, Scott felt with even more intensity, the burden resting on his shoulders.

"Do you think she's still on our side?"

Isaac shook his head, his curly hair bouncing along with the movement. Whether it was in confirmation or denial of the question, Scott couldn't tell. "That's the thing." Isaac exhaled a long, heavy sigh. "I don't know. And I don't think she does, either."

Scott's gut instinct was to trust her. She'd sacrificed so much; her entire family, along with her safety, and almost her life, just to keep Jackson alive. But when the wild, unpredictable side of her surfaced, none of those things made any difference. Scott had to remind himself that she'd never actually told him which side she was on. Only that she hadn't wanted Gerard to kill Jackson.

He found himself doubting, more and more, the steadfast faith he wanted to have in Adrianna Argent. His instincts had been wrong before, never more so than they'd been with the Argent family—Allison in particular. Scott wondered if the same could be said about Adrianna.

"We need to talk." A voice boomed from behind Scott, startling him out of his internal conflict.

Scott turned on a dime, faster than any human would have been able to, and Isaac mimicked his movements, coming to a stand-still directly across from Derek.

Only, Derek wasn't alone.

Perhaps even taller and more imposing than Scott remembered him being, standing behind and slightly to the left of Derek's broad shoulders and fierce expression, was a man that Scott had never thought he'd face again.

Lips pulling into a proud smirk, one brow rising as though he was amused by Scott's obvious surprise, Peter Hale stepped forward so that he stood next to his nephew. "All of us." He amended, grinning like he was among old friends, and not two of the people that had been responsible for his fiery death.

Scott breathed in deeply, unsure if he was hallucinating. When Peter remained where he was, the same irritating smirk and self-righteous look present on his visage, Scott said the first rational thing that came to his spinning mind.

"Holy shit."

#-#-#-#-#

His eyes burned as he was pulled down a hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet. Blinking harshly, the shadows from the bag that had been tied over his head for close to half an hour still clinging to his vision, Stiles grunted as the door in front of him was roughly swung open and he was shoved down the stairs in front of him.

Landing in a twisted, black and blue heap at the base of the wooden staircase, it took a moment for the dizziness to fade before he could regain his bearings. Sprawled on the floor, both his aching palms flat against the unforgiving concrete, Stiles watched as the sliver of light washing into the room through the door which he'd come, narrowed further and further until he was plunged into total darkness.

His breathing increased in fear, loud and sporadic. For whatever strange, inconvenient, totally cliché reason, Stiles had always been unnerved by the dark. The chill of the floor beneath him began to seep into his lacrosse jersey, still damp and sticking to his sweaty skin. It spiked a long needle of terror through his heart and lungs.

As he blinked again and again, desperately trying to clear his distorted vision, Stiles relied on his remaining senses to ease the tension in his shoulders and the trembling of his fingers. His ears buzzed as a familiar noise became apparent, his breathing already becoming regulated as his hyperactive mind happily set to work puzzling out his latest mystery.

Because, as his eyesight slowly returned to him, Stiles understood three very important things, the first of which being that he was not in total darkness, as he'd first assumed.

Directly across from him, some four or five meters into the pitch black of the room, an oddly colored strip of light pervaded through what appeared to be the bottom of a door, streaking into the room and allowing Stiles to vaguely make out the rough shapes and dimensions of his prison.

The next thing he realized, was that he could hear water running in loud trickles, as though someone had left a tap on and the sink was beginning to overflow. He tilted his head to the side, tuning his hearing on that one sound, which he soon discovered was coming from the very same room that the light spilling under the door had originated in.

His heart slammed against his rib-cage as a sudden scream pierced his eardrums, leaving behind a high-pitched ringing that promised to wreak some permanent damage on his ears. And that was when he understood that he wasn't alone in the Argent's creepy, dark, cold basement.

Standing on wobbly feet, Stiles reached out his hands around himself to assist in navigating the dimly lit room. He forced himself to remain relatively calm, despite the continued cries echoing through the room, as he stumbled into the wall behind him, his hands fumbling for a light switch.

After what felt like decades, Stiles' clumsy fingers caught onto the familiar pointed end of the light switch. Without giving it much thought, Stiles flipped it upwards, and although the bulbs hanging overhead flickered at first, they managed to project a steady flow of yellow light across the room for Stiles to see by.

But what he saw as he looked ahead of himself, almost made him wish he'd never bothered to turn on the light.

He saw Erica and Boyd, frightened but alive, their hands tied above their heads with the same black tape that was wrapped across their lips. Erica was standing on her tip-toes, too short to reach the rafters both of them were hanging from. Stiles wondered how they'd been caught and why Derek hadn't been, either. It was clear by the wideness of their pupils and the surprised silence resonating loudly, that they hadn't expected anyone to be joining them. Which begged Stiles' favorite question; why?

"Mmmhh hhmm mhhh." Erica unintelligibly told him, her words lost between the tape and Stiles. Shaking his head, Stiles found himself stepping forward as his gaze moved between the two werewolves and the strange contortions of tape holding them steadily beneath one of the overhead light bulbs.

"What?" Stiles whispered, wary of the room at the far end where he could still hear water sloshing. "I don't understand? What happened?"

Boyd looked over his shoulder, his chin hardly moving more than an inch thanks to the small amount of space his head was afforded between his muscular biceps, before attempting to explain. "Hhhhhm mmmmhh hhhm." In a series of mumbles even Stiles couldn't decipher.

One brow rising, Stiles sighed as he placed a finger to his lips for silence. "Okay, don't worry." He told Erica and Boyd as he came even closer to them. "I'm gonna get you out of here."

Stretching to his tallest height, which wasn't actually that tall, Stiles reached his hands up and began to pull away the tape holding the betas captive. Instantly, Erica and Boyd began to squirm and utter confusing syllables of gibberish messages Stiles would never receive.

"Shh." He demanded angrily, his stare determinedly never wavering as his fingers set about to completing their task. He couldn't risk a glance across the room for fear of what he would find—of who he would find. The tightness in his gut told him that his worst suspicions were probably correct.

As another spine-shuddering scream split the stale air, Stiles' mind dared to picture what exactly was going on behind that one closed door. Someone was being tortured, that much was clear. He'd studied enough police records and watched far too many reality TV shows not to know that the sounds he kept hearing from within the room meant that water-boarding was most probably being used on the unfortunate victim.

He just didn't want to think about it—about who the victim was or why they were screaming so loudly, their voice so familiar to Stiles and yet, just out of reach of his crowded mind. Not when he was so close to freeing Erica and Boyd. Not when the tape was peeling like candy wrapper and he could already feel the restraint unraveling beneath his fingers to reveal copper colored wire.

"Ow!" He abruptly yelled as an electric shock rushed through his body. His balance swayed and he fell backwards to the floor, his skull colliding painfully with the cement.

As suddenly as he'd fallen, the noises coming from the torture room came to a halt. Soon after, the sloshing, trickling water faded away, replaced by heavy, determined footsteps.

In the light peeking through under the door, Stiles could see a person approaching, coming straight towards him. The knob began to turn and adrenaline fused with Stiles' blood making his veins feel as though they'd been lit with kerosene and stretched out beyond their limit. His vision tunneled, focused on the door and nothing else as it swung open effortlessly, squeaking slightly on it's hinges.

For a moment, as the figure walked out of the room, a pool of water clearly visible inside along with a fluorescent bulb and overturned chair, Stiles' heart stopped—not because it was Gerard Argent, of all people that walked out—but because, strapped to the toppled wooden chair, her hair drenched and her skin nearly translucent, bruises under both her eyes and several small cuts slashed across her lip and arms, was Adrianna Argent.

Her green eyes, usually filled to the brim with anger and unyielding determination, were life-less and pained as they met Stiles' surprised brown. He dully noted, as the door shut between them, that there was a knife embedded in her thigh.

"They were trying to warn you." Gerard informed him as he unfolded a handkerchief from his sweater-vests' breast-pocket and cleaned his hands, his chin pointing towards the captured beta's who were staring in horrified awe at him. "It's electrified."

"Uh," Stiles unintelligently noted as he scrambled to his feet, watching as dark stains seeped from under Gerard's fingernails into the once white, pristine linen. "What are you doing with them? Has this been a part of your plan all along? What is your plan? Why is Adrianna in there? Are you going to kill us?" He fired off at rapid-speed, his head hurting as each complicated theory and connection seared through his brain-waves, tingling all the way to his toes.

Gerard laughed, as though Stiles was a mildly entertaining squirrel that the hunter hadn't yet decided was worth killing more than it was worth watching. "You are observant, I'll give you that much credit." He darkly admitted, the cloth in his hands folded neatly as he tucked it back into his breast-pocket. "But I'm certain you can understand why I won't be able to answer all of your questions."

"Yeah, I get it. It wouldn't be very beneficial to your plan if I end up telling Scott and Derek what you're up to." Stiles conceded, his head bobbing nervously as he chewed on his lower lip. "I don't have to like it, though."

Gerard smiled, condescension and perhaps a fraction of respect in his eyes as he clapped his hands together. "And I don't expect you to, Mr. Stilinski." Despite the man's previous efforts to clean his fingers, Stiles could still see what he assumed to be Adrianna's blood tinting Gerard's hands. "What I do expect you to do, is listen, because I will only explain myself once."

Stiles eagerly nodded, his eyes narrowed, hiding away his uncertainty and distrust. He could already guess Gerard's modus operandi. He was an arrogant hunter, the best at what he did, and his only weakness—like all proud psychopaths—was that he needed an audience to appreciate his genius.

"At the moment, I've decided to keep these two betas comfortably locked away." He began, one arm stretching out and gesturing towards Erica and Boyd with a flourish. As he did so, the light bulbs flickered, a particularly strong current running through both werewolves who whimpered in pain. "There's no point in torturing them. They won't give Derek up. The instinct to protect their Alpha is far too strong to allow that." Gerard's lips lifted in a garish grin.

Stiles repressed a shudder as his brows furrowed. "Okay, so what are you doing with me?" He questioned, summoning up the bravery he'd had trouble finding up until then. "Because Scott can find me, all right? He knows my scent. It's pungent, you know?" Stiles demanded, the fear wiped clean from his system, replaced by vexation and frustration.

"It's more like a stench." He went on to describe. Stiles was tired of always being the weak link, the tag-along, the side-kick; the Robin to Scott's Batman. "He could find me even if I was buried at the bottom of a sewer covered in fecal matter and urine."

And yet, as the words passed his lips, Stiles realized that he couldn't even defend himself without leaning on his best friend's help like a crutch. He was the only human—untrained and unprepared—in a world of monsters, super-lizard creatures, and badass hunters. Who was he kidding? He didn't stand a chance.

"You have a knack for creating a vivid picture, Mr. Stilinski." Gerard pointed out, his nose crinkled distastefully and his stare began to heat, overcoming the shock of Stiles' pathetic tirade. "Let me paint one of my own. Scott McCall finds his best friend bloodied and beaten to a pulp. How does that sound?" He taunted.

Gerard's wrinkled, aged fists clenched by his sides as he seemed to tower over Stiles. His hair was grey, nearly white, and where the top of his head was once bald, more hair follicles of the same color neatly covered the scalp, which should have been shining in the musty basement like the top of a boiled egg. Only, it wasn't. For whatever strange reason, Gerard didn't look as old as he should have.

But even so, he was still human. Both of them were. Maybe, just maybe, this was a fight that Stiles could win.

"I think I might prefer more of a still life or landscape, you know?" Stiles dared to mock the hunter, though there was a stutter in his voice. "What—what are you, ninety? Look, I can probably kick your ass up and down this room." He reported disrespectfully, and probably would have gone on if a sudden, grating cough hadn't rung in his ears from across the room, behind the locked door.

He'd almost forgotten about Adrianna. About what Gerard was doing to her.

"How about you let us go now?" He found himself asking with more confidence than he felt. "You said it yourself, Erica and Boyd will never tell you where to find Derek, and Adrianna and I are useless to you because we don't actually know."

"Come on, what do you say?" Stiles continued as Gerard remained silent. His eyes flickered around the room uncomfortably, always landing back where they started, on the door separating him from Adrianna. "No one has to get hurt."

Gerard's chin tilted downwards as the older man glowered at Stiles. There was an unreadable storm brewing in his eyes that didn't bode well for anyone present. "You foolish child. You know nothing about what your friends have been up to." He growled, teeth baring like a wild animal as spittle flew past his lips. "Adrianna knows where Derek is, I'm certain of it, and if my particular methods of extraction do not work on her, then I can always use you as motivation." Gerard pronounced deliberately.

"Me?" Stiles squeaked, all of his new-found courage draining away in an instant as his stare refused to tear away from the water that was trickling out from under the shut door.

"Oh yes," Gerard eagerly agreed, his left fist slotting into his right palm in a pummeling motion that reminded Stiles of cartoons he'd laughed at as a kid. Now, the gesture wasn't so funny. "I'm sure Adrianna's been careful to hide it, but ever since her mother's death, she's become quite the bleeding heart. All it will take is a little blood and agony on your part and I'll have what I want in no time at all."

Stiles gulped, the saliva evaporating from his throat and leaving the organ dry and sand-filled. He breathed deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth, and squared his shoulders. "I'd like to see you try." Stiles challenged.

One of Gerard's wiry eyebrows rose in what could have been amusement or anger. "Open it up." He commanded to no-one in particular. Stiles was only confused a moment before the door he'd been dreading and anticipating to see open, did just that.

Quietly and slowly, far too slowly for Stiles' thin patience to bare, the wooden door was pushed open from within. A hunter stood by the entrance, burly and strong, a gun strapped to both of his meaty legs.

Inside the room was Adrianna, just as she'd been a minute before, only now the chair was upright. A single bulb with a pull-cord dangling from it's base swung over her head, casting shadows every now and then over her ghostly pale skin. She was heaving, water dripping from her hair, chin, nose, and the tips of her ears.

Panic filled Stiles as he noted that black, sticky goo was dripping past her lip, staining into her soaked blouse. Stiles was no doctor, but he was absolutely certain that—human or not—blood wasn't supposed to be that color.

"Oh my god." He breathed as she looked up at him. It wasn't the look in her eyes, so much as the extra dagger plunged through her remaining thigh which caused his distress. When it had happened, he didn't know. He hadn't heard any more screaming and by the tension in her jaw, her teeth no doubt gritted tightly together, Stiles could guess that she'd meant for it to be that way.

The sound of Gerard's knuckles cracking brought Stiles back to the present as he whirled around to face the Argent hunter. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Stiles demanded, his voice turning shrill. "She's your granddaughter—your family!"

A fire sparked in Gerard's gaze as he abruptly grabbed hold of Stiles' shoulder, his bony fingers digging into the flesh painfully as he held him steady. "You should learn to respect your elders."

And then he punched Stiles in the face, again and again, and Stiles realized that he should have paid more attention to the unnatural youth that Gerard possessed, because not only did he look younger, but he hit like a twenty-year old, too.

Black spots danced in his vision and the agony nearly overwhelmed him in every way possible. He nearly didn't hear Adrianna's pleading shouts for her grandfather to stop, before he was plunged into unconsciousness.

#-#-#-#-#

They were not pleased to see him, that much was rather obvious to Peter. Honestly, he couldn't care less. So he'd gone on a minor killing spree, given Scott super-human powers for absolutely no cost whatsoever, accidentally slashed Kate Argent's throat to ribbons, ruined a couple families, unleashed Lydia's true powers, and endured another fiery death at the hands of his unstable nephew?

Did all that really make him a monster? Peter didn't think so.

He'd been recovering from a comatose state that Kate had been responsible for putting him in, not to mention that justice had been served when he'd had his own medicine handed out to him. In Peter's opinion, that gave him all the right he needed to exact his revenge. Although, he had to admit, he hadn't wanted to hurt Laura, but, some things were simply unavoidable.

"What the hell is this?" Scott finally managed to complete a sentence that didn't involve muttering curses under his breath or staring daggers into Peter's smug form.

Beside him, Derek tensed, his feet shuffling slightly as his chest puffed out. "You know," He began, and Peter could instantly tell by the terseness in his tone that his nephew was seriously pissed off. "I thought the same thing when I saw you and Adrianna talking to Gerard at the sheriff's station."

Instantly, Scott's expression melted into a guilty puddle. "Okay, hold on." He raised one of his palms outwards as he shut his eyes, collecting his thoughts. "He—he threatened to kill my mom. I had to get close to him, what was I supposed to do?" Scott admitted, licking his lips nervously.

Peter kept his arms firmly folded in front of him as he held back an amused grin. He'd forgotten how much fun the golden-hearted Scott could be, especially when he clashed with dark and brooding Derek.

Almost as though he could sense the shift in Peter's mood, Derek turned to face his uncle, eyes narrowed, demanding an explanation. "I'm gonna go with Scott on this one." Peter supplied, his shoulders rising as he easily brushed off his nephew's irritation. "Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous."

"Shut up." Derek rumbled, his words nearly blocking out Scott's as the young man expressed an identical sentiment, nearly matching Derek in his intensity.

This time, Peter did grin. He rolled on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to another as he coolly regarded the group. "Who is he?" The curly-haired beta he had yet to meet wondered, leaning closely to Scott as though he expected to get an answer from him.

"That's Peter, Derek's uncle." Scott actually replied, much to Peter's surprise. "Little while back, he tried to kill us all, and then we set him on fire and Derek slashed his throat."

Once Peter moved past the unflattering rendition of his crimes directly following his brief stint as an Alpha, he considered why the boy he'd been entirely certain was Derek's beta, was looking to Scott for leadership. More importantly, why was Derek allowing it?

"Hi." Peter waved his hand, staring into the beta's eyes, determinedly searching for answers.

Brows furrowing, the beta's gaze didn't shy away as Peter's stare intensified, like he'd expected him to do. Instead, the young man appeared intrigued and perhaps slightly baffled as he bit the inside of his cheek. "So you're the one that killed Adrianna's mom?" He seemed to ask himself, nodding along to the words. "That's good to know."

There was a slight, very brief dagger of what could have been surprise in Peter's shriveled, burned-up heart, and he attributed it to the strange sensation the boy's words created inside him. Peter felt as if the beta was going to tell on him. For whatever reason, Peter didn't want that to happen. He had to learn more about the mysterious Adrianna Argent before she could find out that he wasn't as dead as a door nail.

Clearing his throat, drawing the conversation back to it's original course, Scott straightened his posture as he continued rather seriously. "How is he alive?" He wondered, a twinge of spite in his voice.

Sighing, Derek ran a frustrated hand through his spiky, uncombed hair. "Look, the short version is he knows how to stop Jackson." His nephew shared gruffly. "And maybe how to save him."

The beta, a bite of sarcasm shining in his eyes, breathed out through his nose in a huffed laugh. "Well, that's very helpful," He stated bitterly. "Except Jackson's dead."

"What?" Derek nearly gasped, instead choosing to clench his fists and pull his lips into a snarl.

Peter himself felt the shock-waves rolling through him. He looked over to his nephew, who was already staring in his direction, and Peter found that beneath the angry bravado Derek always wore, they shared the same dubious, fearful expressions.

"Yeah, Jackson's dead." Scott affirmed, as though he could sense their unease and he was searching for the reason behind it. "It just happened on the field."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Peter groaned lowly as he could sense Derek hardly restraining himself from lashing out on the overturned lockers nearby. Peter didn't have the time to wonder how they'd gotten that way and he mentally reminded himself to go back when the fate of their pack and their continued existence wasn't on the line.

"Okay," The tall, lanky beta carefully expressed, some of the worry Derek and Peter were expressing, rubbing off onto him. "Why is no one taking this as good news?"

"Because if Jackson is dead, it didn't just happen." Peter gesticulated with his hands as he conveyed their dire situation to the two, naive werewolves before him. "Gerard wanted it to happen."

"But why?" Peter heard Derek question, although he was standing off to the side, one hand pressed flat against an already dented locker door.

Smiling, Peter shook his head as his arms flexed anxiously where they were crossed. "Well, that's exactly what we need to figure out." He informed the group rather patronizingly. "And something tells me the window of opportunity is closing—quickly."

It was times like these when Peter wished he still had some family left, aside from his ornery, sour, emotionally-blocked, anti-social nephew. What he wouldn't give to have a little of his sister, Thalia's advice.

#-#-#-#-#

Her fingertips where sore and blistered from the night she'd spent hunting and capturing Erica and Boyd. In some spots, the skin had broken apart into tiny, cracked segments which bled superficially whenever she pressed too hard on a particular digit.

Allison set down the knives she'd been sharpening, pulling open a drawer on her desk and uncapping a healing salve Gerard had given her as soon as she'd gotten home and he'd noticed her injuries.

Overhead, the lights flickered. If she focused hard and held her breath, Allison was convinced that she could hear the werewolves downstairs screaming. She forced herself not to mind, not to care—to accept that they were on separate sides now. That they were the enemy and not her friends.

"I saw the lights flicker." Her father dutifully pointed out, breaking through the heated conversation he'd been having with her grandfather a moment prior. Despite herself, Allison looked over, curious as to why her father's voice sounded so torn and why Gerard—who was standing beside her—had suddenly gone rigid.

"Probably one of our guests getting comfortable downstairs." Gerard reminded her father, setting aside the future dispute and clapping Allison's shoulder as he began to walk away. "Get some sleep." He said, this time, talking directly to Allison. "I have a feeling the next twenty-four hours are going to be eventful."

Her father trailed behind Gerard, following him to the end of Allison's room where they were just out of sight, but not quite out of her ear-shot. "Are you going to tell me what happened at the game?" She heard her father demand, his voice sounding tired, almost as if he'd been asking that same question over and over again, without success.

"Didn't you hear?" Her grandfather's tone lifted, hidden meaning embedded in his words like he was sharing a private joke. "We won."

"I meant Jackson." Her father corrected, sounding exhausted by this point.

Allison could almost picture the smile on her grandfather's face as his next words floated into the tense air. "So did I."

Her hands, burning from over-use, the muscles tight and unyielding, loosened over the jar of healing salve which nearly clattered to the floor and would have spilled it's contents all over her cream-colored rug, if she hadn't forced her grip to remain steady.

Grimacing as the pain rushed all the way up to her elbow, Allison nearly laughed as her trembling fingers set down the jar before any real damage could be done. She couldn't remember a time when archery practice had ever been so taxing on her. Perhaps it never had been. The urge to cry was like a menacing black cloud which pressed against her eyes and squeezed at her heart.

She rasped in a breath, blinking rapidly as she concentrated on packing away her brand new set of daggers, her eyes never straying away even as she felt her father's presence remain in the room. "Do you need something?" She wanted to quietly enquire, but ended up rudely demanding.

Allison could feel her father bristling at her tone. She might have been apologetic, even sheepish, if she wasn't so tired. Allison had never been shot before, but she imagined it must have felt similar to the crushing agony stabbing into her lungs with every exhale and inhale she managed to take.

"I want you to step aside and let us handle this." Her father eventually said after meandering around her room for a few minutes more, collecting his thoughts.

She looked up, meeting her father's intense stare with an equally fiery gaze. Rage bubbled just beneath the surface, ready to be tapped into at a moment's notice. "You're kidding, right?" Allison spat, the knives and her blistered fingers all but forgotten.

Chris shook his head as he clasped his hand in front of him. "One of your friends is dead." He reminded her, his arms tensing as though he was holding back from touching her, from comforting her like a child.

The picture of Jackson's body, shredded, bloody, and un-moving, was burned into Allison's mind. She didn't need her father to remind her what she'd lost. Each death felt like a right of passage, more ammunition in her quiver, and another reason why she had to complete her mission.

"Because of Derek." Allison shuddered, the name of her mother's murderer tasting acrid in her mouth. "How do you think Jackson became that thing in the first place? Kate, mom, Jackson." She listed, silently vowing that there would be no more.

Her father's chin bowed, perhaps out of respect or even embarrassment, but it didn't matter to Allison. Even though needles stabbed her fingertips as she roughly shut the briefcase storing her shiny set of daggers, Allison found herself relishing in the pain; in a chance to escape the disarray of her emotions.

"What about Scott?" Her father asked. Allison felt her breathing falter, the pain of her fingers suddenly not enough to distract her. "What if he dies too?"

She didn't want to think about it. Scott was Scott. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shut him out of her heart—not entirely. "Since when do you care about Scott?" Allison deflected as her eyes watered despite the effort she placed into keeping them dry. Inside her mouth, the skin of her cheek split beneath her bite, spewing a small amount of copper-tasting blood.

Her father stayed where he was but somehow, his presence had been magnified. She could feel his disapproving stare on her back like a lazer-beam, hot and precise. "I care about you." He whispered the final straw that snapped Allison's composure.

"Really, Dad?" She growled, her throat suddenly too tight and dry to swallow. "If you're going to start quoting from the list of the top five things a parent should say to a child every day, why don't you start with, 'I'm proud of you'?" Allison lifted her hands up, finally giving in to the temptation to face her father as she turned. "Because I am doing exactly what you wanted." Allison dug a pointed fingernail into her chest as she glared at her father.

"No, Allison." Chris resolutely denied, his pained expression begging for her to understand. "You're doing exactly what he wants. We all are."

Shaking her head, Allison released a grating, aggrieved laugh. She thought about telling her father how wrong he was, about reminding him how he'd been the one to encourage her training and that her mother's dying wish had been for Allison to fill the role of a leader—of a huntress.

But her eyesight was already hazy, fatigue pressing on her every movement and slowing down her reflexes, nearly negating her ability to hide the tattered insides of her heart. She feared what would happen if she continued to argue. What would she unleash, what would her father see, if she lost total control right there?

"I'm tired." Allison said instead. Swallowing roughly, the saliva felt more like molten lava as it slid down her throat slowly. "I just really want to pass out, okay?" She insisted when her father relayed his confusion through a furrowed brow and tightly pressed lips.

"Fine." He reluctantly agreed as Allison's heavy feet dragged on the carpet, carrying her to her soft, wonderful bed. She sighed, hoping the tension in her chest would abate, but finding that it remained as oppressing as ever.

"By the way," She called out as Chris made his way to the far side of her room, calmly inspecting her array of weapons, most of which Gerard had given her in the past few days. "Don't forget you owe me a new bow."

She remembered the way he'd shot at her, snapping the wooden bow in her hands cleanly in half. Even now, she wondered whether she was glad he'd stopped her from possibly killing Erica and Boyd right there in the woods, or angry that he'd thought he had to.

His back was turned to her but she could see that under the fabric of his shirt, his muscles were tense and unrelenting. He was angry, perhaps just as angry as she was. "And a new crossbow." He added, holding up her shiny, hardly used crossbow, the string where she'd ordinarily nock an arrow hanging loosely in the air, broken.

But no matter how angry her father became at her, no matter how much rage filled up inside him at the actions he seemed to think were foolish and immature, but which Allison knew to be necessary evils, Chris would never be able to understand her pain.

Maybe there was only one person who could relate to the whirlwind that her life had become ever since her mother had been murdered.

Unfortunately, Allison hadn't seen Adrianna for many days now. It was apparent that her cousin had chosen to fight on Scott's side. And yet, there was a hopeful glimmer inside her damaged heart that told Allison it wouldn't be that way forever.

They were both Argents, after all. Both destined to lead the family to greatness.

And if she didn't, then there was only one thing Allison could do.

For the good of the innocent humans Allison was entrusted with protecting, she'd have to kill her. She'd have to kill them all.

#-#-#-#-#

The floorboards groaned in protest under his feet as he followed Derek and Peter through the gloomy, musty rooms of the burned-down Hale house. In his pocket, Scott felt his phone buzzing. By instinct alone, he reached inside and pulled out the phone, reading the text message he'd gotten from the Sheriff.

"Oh, thank god." He muttered, truly relieved as the bright screen glared up at him through the fog, nearly blinding him. "They found Stiles." He told Isaac, who was carefully following each of his steps, just as afraid of falling through the floor as Scott was.

A small, hesitant smile slid across Isaac's lips, but his eyes remained hollow and concerned. Scott felt instantly guilty, his happy expression sliding off his face. He'd forgotten all about Adrianna and how, now that Stiles was found, no one was looking for her. As hard as it had been, they'd come to the decision that telling Stiles' father to send out an APB on a sword-wielding, karate-chopping teenager with super-human powers the likes of which Scott didn't understand at all, was far too outlandish to be taken seriously, even for Beacon Hills.

"I told you," Derek complained as he stopped in front of Peter, who was kneeling down beside the rickety staircase in the center of the home. "I looked everywhere."

Peter's hands slid across the third step from the bottom, searching for something. As his fingers pulled out the charred plywood covering the bottom half of the step, Peter looked over his shoulder at Derek, a boastful smirk present on his quirked lips. "You didn't look here."

Scott leaned in to get a better look as Peter's hands reached into the step, coming back with a large, rectangular box clutched tightly in his grip. "What is that, a book?" Derek insulted as he studied the object over Peter's shoulder.

"No." Peter denied, his brows pinching along with his disbelief. "It's a laptop. What century are you living in?"

Blowing over the lid, a cloud of thick, gray dust—or perhaps ash—rising into the air, just as promised, Peter snapped open a clasp and unfolded the computer, which roared loudly, it's processors working tiredly through the dirt collected in it's circuits. Scott found himself speechless as the screen lit up white. A part of him had thought Peter must have been lying. He'd never seen a laptop as thick as this one.

"A few days after I got out of the coma, I transferred everything that we had." Peter explained as they waited for the dinosaur to boot up. "Fortunately, the Argents aren't the only ones that keep records."

The loud, disruptive buzzing of his phone interrupted the strange, unsettling stare Peter had directed at him. Fishing out the device, Scott answered, his own gaze reluctant to tear away as Peter's eyes narrowed.

"Hey mom," He began hurriedly, intent on finishing the conversation as soon as he could. "I can't talk right now."

"Oh yeah?" His mother replied, quick to realize that he was about to hang up on her. "Well, I'm so freaked out that I can barely talk either."

Her voice trembled and Scott could almost swear that her heartbeat pulsed through the phone, into his hands. It was fast, frightened. "What's wrong?" He instantly demanded, all thoughts of Peter's strange behavior wiped from his mind.

"Something—definitely something." His mom assured him. "I don't know what, but I think you're going to want to see this for yourself."

"Okay," Scott agreed as his mind recalled where his mom had gone after the game. "I'm on my way."

His mother had joined the EMT's in taking Jackson's body to the hospital's morgue. Which meant that, just like Peter and Derek had suspected, Jackson's death hadn't been an accident. Now he had the chance to find out why.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Scott clapped Isaac's shoulder. "Can you come with me?" He asked. "Something's happening with Jackson."

Frowning, Isaac nodded and easily followed behind Scott as they made their way out of the house. "Scott, wait!" Derek called out, stopping them in their tracks as his confusion became evident in his wide stance and clouded expression. "We're out of our depth here, with the Kanima. Do you know where the bestiary is? We might need it."

Scott felt the USB drive in his pocket become ten times as heavy as it once was. He tilted his head to the side as he considered his options. Beside Derek, Peter stood up so that their shoulders touched.

"I'm sorry, I don't have it anymore." He shrugged, already feeling guilty for lying. "Gerard took it."

The two Hales stood side by side for a moment, suspiciously watching him as Isaac waited just beyond the door frame. With a good-natured grin, Scott lifted his shoulders again in a gesture that was supposed to be sheepish before walking away.

For once, he was glad that he had a reputation as an honest, naive altruist. It meant that Peter and Derek thought they could easily read and manipulate him, when in reality, he'd been doing exactly what he wanted to do, all along.

Even if Derek had sincere intentions with the bestiary, Scott knew that Peter was literally bad to the bone. He'd already learned not to trust the elder Hale the hard way, and Scott was in no hurry to re-learn that lesson.

Not when he was so close to finishing the plan he and Adrianna had crafted up.

Not when he was so close to finally winning.

Not this time.

#-#-#-#-#

The doors to his study were locked and the curtains drawn, leaving the desk lamp as the only source of light in the whole room. Gerard preferred it that way. If he could barely see, that meant that anyone passing by, intent on eavesdropping or not, wouldn't be able to catch more than a blurred shadow through the french doors sealing him in the room.

As he pulled open a drawer which slid languidly on it's hinges, Gerard shoved aside the myriad pencils, pens, and small tools that littered the space before latching his index finger around a small indentation in the drawer.

With little effort, Gerard was able to pull away the false bottom of the drawer to reveal the lock box within. He eagerly reached for the metal container, sliding it onto the desk top and retrieving a key from his pocket which slotted perfectly inside the keyhole of the box.

Turning the key and lifting the lid, Gerard smiled greedily as purple light reflected on his visage from the large syringe of wolf'sbane contained within. His trembling fingers took hold of the six-inch long, glass body, the metal plunger fitting firmly in his grasp.

He had waited far too long to use this particular tool.

Carefully, Gerard stashed the syringe in a compartment meant for guns or knives which had been custom sewed into his suit jacket. Placing back the lock box, followed by the drawer's false bottom and the various knick knacks stored within, Gerard stood up quickly, overly accustomed to the borrowed strength he'd taken from Adrianna and, as a result, feeling the strain in his tired muscles much more than he usually did.

He frowned, clenching a wobbly fist and finding that the bones nearly creaked. Shaking his head, Gerard realized that he had to act quickly, before his disease ran it's course.

Navigating the corridors of his son's home, Gerard made his way to the basement at a steady pace so as not to attract unwanted attention. He was mindful not to step on loose floorboards as he descended into the basement, the chill from the concrete floors and walls seeping through his skin and forcing his stiffening joints to complain.

Since coming to Beacon Hills with his granddaughter, Gerard had been able to stave off many of the symptoms that the parasitic cancer inside him should have gifted him. But even with the strength of a demigod, he couldn't outrun the truth forever. Apparently, it had chosen to catch up to him now, of all times.

Walking past the guards he had stationed near the two werewolves Allison had captured for him, along with Scott McCall's rather useless best friend, Gerard dipped his chin in a silent command as he plowed past, unobstructed.

Stiles Stilinski, as the boy seemed to prefer being called, wasn't going to be of any further use to him. There was no need for him to stay when Gerard no longer needed him. Certainly not when he'd be much more effective as a warning to Scott.

As he was lifted up off the floor, the Stilinski boy struggled, the bruises mottling his features appearing much darker in contrast to his pale skin, eyes wide and frightened as he followed Gerard's path towards the locked door Adrianna was hidden behind.

"Stop! Let me go!" He roughly told the two men effortlessly dragging him up the stairs. "What are you doing? Gerard, what are you going to do to her?" He shrilly called out, concern evident in the way his gaze jumped between Gerard—who had taken the time to watch the ordeal with triumphant revelry—and the shut doorknob clutched in his hand.

"How is it that the youth say it these days?" Gerard sarcastically wondered, tapping at his chin as he stretched out the boy's anxiety. "Oh yes, it's none of your business."

The wolves hanging from the ceiling thrashed against their restraints, electricity crackling off their skin in showers of orange sparks as the young Stilinski was pulled away, the door slamming in front of his shocked expression.

"Now, that's much better." Gerard clapped his hands, turning his back on both beta werewolves and pushing open the door before him. "Since you've been adamant throughout your punishment not to share information regarding Derek Hale's whereabouts, you've forced my hand." He shared ominously, shutting the door behind him.

Adrianna's eyes stayed fixed on the struggling betas as long as the door permitted her. Once it was shut, the lock slotting in place, she turned her attention on him, a glare far braver than she should have permitted, adorning her features.

"You and I both know that nothing and no one can force you to do anything." She growled, her hands secured onto the armrests of the wooden chair with plastic zip ties which dug into her flesh, aggravating the skin and drawing a thick line of black blood. "This has been your plan all along, since the moment you got sick. Don't treat me like a fool. I know you better than you think I do."

Adrianna's chin rose defiantly as her green eyes nearly burned with the intensity of her ire. Gerard felt the sides of his lips twitch as he nodded his head imperceptibly. "You are so much like your mother." He voiced, withdrawing the syringe from inside his jacket. "It's a shame things had to happen this way."

Starting towards her, Gerard glanced at the hunters standing on either side of her and they moved into place, holding either of her arms in place as she began to struggle. "What's going on?" She breathed, fear rising to the surface for the first time that night. "What are you doing? What's in that?"

Her voice cracked as Gerard came within a foot of her. He held the syringe in front of her face tauntingly. Purple light shone across her pale features, drawing out the dark blue and black bruises under her eyes and making her look very much like a cadaver.

"I think you know what this is, my dear Adrianna." He moved the syringe and Adrianna's gaze followed. She was almost entranced by the wolf'sbane. If it hadn't been for the droplets of sweat accumulating at her temples and dripping from the corner of her eyes, Gerard would have never been able to tell how truly terrified she was.

"Wolf'sbane." She looked up at him, hatred in her eyes though her body was still.

That one word, so fragile and honest on her lips, gave way to how weak she was. It told him that, despite how much fight was in her eyes, her body was depleted beyond it's breaking point. She was so close to snapping in half, a shiver ran up Gerard's spine. He felt excited and disturbed at the same time.

"Now, my granddaughter, before the inevitable must occur," He shed his jacket, dropping it to the floor. "Grant me the strength I will need to control the Kanima and purge Beacon Hills of the vermin werewolves."

Adrianna bit her lip, looking away from him, but she did not speak. Gerard took his chance, reaching out with his free hand, which shuddered and appeared sickly—wrinkles and dark blemishes marking the skin—before making contact with Adrianna's frigid cheek.

Gerard sighed in relief as black veins sprouted on the top of his hand, stretching to Adrianna's skin and climbing down her neck. He flexed the muscles in his arms, happy to feel the familiar corded ligaments and tendons responding to his every command.

Tilting his head back in euphoria, Gerard forgot about the years of grueling training Adrianna had been through, the hellish landscapes and hunting parties she'd been forced to endure, and the blood which ran through her veins; diluted or not.

Because, as inhuman and as imperfect as Adrianna was, she was still an Argent.

As he gradually sapped the life out of his granddaughter's weakened form, he forgot to give her the respect she deserved. He forgot about the tiny, sliver of fear he'd felt towards her since the moment Kate had brought her to him. He forgot just who it was that he was dealing with.

It was, quite possibly, his most foolish mistake.

With his eyes closed, she lashed out, her foot hooking around Gerard's leg and toppling him to the ground in a dazed pile of spaghetti limbs. When he recovered a moment later, he was rendered immobile as he watched the creature he'd forced out of Adrianna, surfacing it's menacing head.

Somehow, she'd broken one of her arms free from the plastic restraint and was managing to fight off both guards, one-handed. Blood steadily dripped from her lacerated wrist, telling Gerard of the effort it had taken to escape. He frowned as she grabbed hold of the chair, which her left arm was still strapped to, and swung the wooden seat straight into one of his most trusted hunter's chest, propelling him towards the opposite wall where he collided and fell.

Not a sound was heard from the hunter after that and he did not right himself where he lay, twisted uncomfortably. Gerard guessed that he'd been knocked unconscious.

Grunting from the effort, Adrianna pulled what had survived of the battered chair into a tall arch over her head, crashing the wood into the floor beneath her as the remaining hunter across from her stood still, awaiting her next move.

The chair shattered and fractured, and only the armrest remained attached to Adrianna's arm. She bared her teeth like an animal, releasing a snarling screech that echoed off the walls and rung in Gerard's ears.

He realized, too late, that he'd underestimated her greatly, but there was still time to correct his miscalculation. His plan could still work so long as he could regain control over his granddaughter.

Standing with great effort, Gerard leaned heavily against the wall behind him to steady his trembling knees. He felt older than he had in years. It gave him the angry determination he needed to unleash his own monster.

As Adrianna kicked the dark skinned hunter that opposed her, stepping inside her attackers defenses and proceeding to release a volley of under-handed punches, Gerard surged forth, nearly tipping forward and falling as he did so, and grasped the syringe tightly in his hand.

She didn't have time to turn as Gerard met eyes with the hunter she was practically riddling with holes, silently communicating his intentions, before the dark-skinned man wrapped his arms around her and held her in place as Gerard raised his arm and prepared to stab the syringe into her back.

But Adrianna was faster than he'd given her credit for. She wriggled in her captor's hold, slamming her foot down on the man's toes and managing to turn around so that she faced Gerard as he posed the syringe for the killing strike.

There was a split second where Gerard was at war with himself. Adrianna, so beautiful and young—a spitting image of her mother when she'd been sixteen and nearly graduated from her training—was not the half-breed scum he'd convinced himself she was.

Without a doubt, she was his family, his blood. Adrianna Argent was his granddaughter and the direct offspring of death himself. How can I destroy something so wonderful? How can I throw away all those years of training? He asked himself.

Adrianna stared at him, angry acceptance clouding her gaze as her forehead pinched. She understood that her fate was in Gerard's hands, as did he. He alone would decide if the syringe fell into her chest and poisoned every pore and every cell in her body. He alone would decide if she lived or died.

But then, the moment passed.

Gerard made his decision without even blinking.

The syringe slammed into her chest, boring through her flesh and grating against her rib cage, and Gerard depressed the plunger, releasing the entire vial of wolf'sbane into her body.

Neither of them looked at the syringe as the purple poison rapidly evacuated the glass tube and filled her up instead. They were too busy staring at each other.

Betrayal sang in her eyes, loud and clear.

Victory, Gerard was certain, glittered in his.

As the syringe emptied, Adrianna gasped hollowly, as though her chest was caving in on itself, and her captor's hold slackened as she collapsed to the floor. Black tar leaked out of her eyes in haunting tears as she convulsed, her hands clenching and unclenching spastically.

Gerard looked down at her, straightening his shirt and adjusting his cuffs. "You chose the wrong side, Adrianna." He said, a business-like air to his words. "The wolf'sbane currently battling with your cells and suffusing your organs was my only method of persuading you to rejoin me in my quest to avenge Kate's death."

"Don't fight it, my young protege." Gerard leaned down and grabbed hold of her arm so that he was closer to her, so that he could look her in the eye and smell her rage. "Soon enough, you will be back where you belong, at my side."

What remained of her strength slowly began to transfer over to him as Adrianna closed her eyes weakly, the sticky pitch nearly gluing them shut when she struggled to reopen them. "I'll never join you." She rasped stubbornly even as she began to choke, her lungs filling with liquid and slowly drowning her from the inside. "I'd rather die."

"And you certainly will, if the wolf'sbane doesn't work as it should." He stipulated, eyes widening gleefully as Adrianna's confusion became apparent. "You didn't think the poison was meant to kill you, Adrianna?" Gerard wondered, his words clipped and condescending.

Twirling a strand of her brownish blonde hair around his finger, which now held steady thanks to the youth he was siphoning away, Gerard pulled away, standing up as he memorized her features.

"It was meant to control you, although the small amounts I gave you didn't seem to be doing a very efficient job of it." He gloated, smiling as Adrianna released an agonized groan. Whether it was because of his words, or the fire in her blood, he wasn't certain. "This large dose should account for your rebellious tendencies." Gerard assured her, unlatching the door and stepping out.

"And if it doesn't?" She croaked, causing him to stop in his tracks and look at her over his shoulder.

Gerard felt a deep sadness take hold of him as wracking coughs afflicted Adrianna, black tar spewing out of her lips. He remembered what she'd been like as a child. She'd been the perfect soldier. All he'd ever wanted was to bring that side of her back and stomp out the insurgency that had rapidly blossomed within her since her mother's death.

"Then, my hapless granddaughter," He quietly uttered, allowing some of his regret to shine through. "It will kill you."

He left her without another word, to make her choice.

A part of him hoped that she died, even though she was a necessary part of his plan.

Gerard didn't want to know what could happen if he ever lost control over her again; what she would do to him; how bloody and sweet her revenge would be.

Sometimes, something that dangerous, was better off dead.

#-#-#-#-#

There wasn't a bone in his body that didn't hurt. Not even his pinkie finger had been spared.

Ever since Stiles had stumbled into his home and somehow convinced his father not to rain down his terrible wrath on the so-called 'lacrosse players' from the losing team which had been responsible for beating Stiles up so badly, there was a hand-shaking, breath-shortening terror that refused to abate inside of him.

He didn't even want to think about what Gerard had done to Adrianna, because he'd done something, Stiles was at least sure of that much.

The knock on his door, loud and jarring, grated against Stiles' last, severely frayed nerve. "Dad," He found himself shouting, and he had to bite down on his trembling fist to quiet his voice and steady his thoughts. "I said I'm fine."

There was no reply from the other side of the door. Stiles rolled his eyes, trying his best to remain his usual sarcastic, witty, overly-annoying self, but finding that the act was even harder than battling the darkness that was threatening to consume him in a world of fear.

"It's alright, Dad." He muttered despondently as his hand struggled to twist the doorknob. "I mean it, I'm fine."

But instead of the tall sheriff uniform, greyish blonde hair, stern expression and concerned eyes of his father, Stiles saw red and dazzling hazel and pale porcelain; Lydia Martin.

"Hi." She began cautiously, ducking her head as she looked up at him from the corner of her multi-coloured eyes. Stiles hadn't realized how many colors swam within the depths of them. There was green and brown and even a few tones that seemed purple.

"Hi." He dumbly replied, jaw slack as his mind caught up with what he was seeing. Lydia Martin, the girl of his dreams, was actually standing outside his bedroom, waiting to come inside, and she'd talked to him—talked to him.

The pain that ached in his shoulders and stabbed at his knees suddenly didn't feel so overwhelming anymore.

"Your father let me in." Lydia awkwardly pointed out, shifting her weight from one heeled foot to the next.

"He did?" Stiles wondered, confused for a moment before he remembered that nearly everyone but Lydia knew how he felt about her. "Yeah, of course he did."

"What happened to your—uh," She pointed at his left eye, which Stiles would have known to be badly bruised, even if he didn't count the terrible pounding he felt in the area.

"Oh," Stiles stuttered, idly tracing his fingers over the damage. "Uh—yeah, no, it's nothing. Don't worry. I'm fine." And, rather abruptly, Stiles realized that she was still standing outside and he hadn't invited her in yet.

"Do you want to come in?" He asked, hurriedly stepping aside and allowing Lydia to walk inside his room. "How are you doing?" Stiles wondered as he sat down on his wrinkled bed, smoothing down the sheet underneath himself to give his nervous hands something to do.

Lydia's eyes studied every square inch of his room, down to the pins he'd used to hang up posters of bands he no longer liked. Embarrassment surged through him as he bit his lips, his cheeks tinging red. Stiles had nearly forgotten how disorganized his room was, old clothes and crumpled homework pages scattered all over the floor. He hoped she wouldn't notice, even though he knew she already had.

"They won't let me see him." Lydia's voice was cracked and shrill, like she'd spent hours crying. Stiles didn't know how he'd missed it before. "I'm supposed to give him something." She went on to say, her hands folding in front of her chest as her fingertips briefly touched one of the chains adorning her neck.

"He kept asking for it back." She nearly sobbed, her chest shaking as the tears pooling in her eyes finally fell, dragging mascara across her cheeks. "I gave it to him that day we went to Scott's house to study, when Derek showed up outside."

Lydia was heaving, hardly managing to speak properly. Stiles stood and uncertainly wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders. He guided her to the bed and sat her down. Stiles thought he should have said something comforting, but his mind came up blank.

"But then, he turned into something different; his skin was scaled and his eyes were slitted; almost like a reptile." Lydia shook her head, sniffling, her red hair falling like a curtain over most of her face. "And he dropped it and I didn't give it back." She mournfully cried, her head falling into her hands as her body shook and she leaned against Stiles' chest.

Hesitantly, Stiles reached up his hand, which was uncomfortably curled around Lydia's shoulder, and began to stroke her strawberry blonde head. "It's okay, Lydia." He found himself saying. "Don't worry. Everything will work out in the end."

But, as the shiny glimmer of a key hanging off the end of one of Lydia's necklaces caught his eye, Stiles couldn't bring himself to believe what he was saying to be true.

He had a bad feeling that they were totally unprepared for what was about to hit them. Everything wasn't going to work out, at all. In fact, things had already started falling apart.

Erica, Boyd, and probably Adrianna were all being tortured by Gerard to try and find Derek. Stiles had been beaten up, Jackson was dead, Lydia was unraveling all of their secrets and having a mental breakdown as she did so, and Scott was the only one that seemed to want to fix things anymore.

Stiles dreaded what a turn for the worse would look like. He wished that he'd never gotten involved in the mess he found himself entangled in. Maybe then, he could have had a chance at a normal life.

Maybe then, he wouldn't have to be afraid about not seeing tomorrow.

#-#-#-#-#

Melissa bit her lip as Scott leaned over Jackson Whittemore's body, his expression one of total perplexion with a tiny amount of barely hidden fear. She glanced over at Isaac Lahey, who'd arrived alongside her son, to gauge his reaction to the jelly casing engulfing Jackson's carcass and dripping down the body bag in tiny splatters, but found that he was just as worried—if not more worried—than Scott was.

"What's happening to him?" Scott questioned as he returned to her side, lowering himself down from his tip-toes.

Melissa felt her brows rise, nearly disappearing into her hairline as she frowned in disbelief and anxiety. "I thought you were gonna tell me." She informed her son, trying her best not to seem as though she was dumping all of the responsibility onto him, when in reality, she was doing just that. "Is it bad?" Melissa wondered, tucking a chunk of her frizzy curls behind her ear.

Scott licked his lips, pressing them tightly together the way his father always did when he was in over his head and trying not to show it. "It doesn't look good." He agreed rather vaguely, his gaze moving over to Isaac as they shared a meaningful look.

"Adrianna would know." Isaac voiced what the two of them had apparently been silently debating. "She always knows. And if she doesn't, she'll be able to read the bestiary and find out."

"Yeah," Scott idly considered, turning back to stare at Jackson's jellified body. "But she's not here." Jackson's claws were darker than Melissa remembered Scott's being, and there were greenish scales pulsing over his skin in waves.

"Well, maybe we can find her." Isaac suggested, scratching at his temple nervously. "She can't have gone far. I mean, you saw how weak she was at the game."

Melissa reached out to touch the transparent goo encasing Jackson's body. It was quivering, almost like someone was shaking a bowl of jell-o, and despite how disgusting and absolutely terrified Melissa knew the clear substance would make her feel, she needed to find out more. The world she found herself in now was a strange one. A world where she was at the bottom of the food chain.

"No, I don't think so." Melissa dimly recognized Scott arguing. "We don't really know her, remember? She could be anywhere by now."

Narrowing her eyes, Melissa's brow furrowed as she saw Jackson's hand twitch. An instant later, it was as though the movement hadn't happened at all. She adjusted her grip over the pen she'd first used to touch the goo and slowly came towards the body, intent on touching the casing.

"You don't think she's—" Isaac swallowed before continuing, his words washing over Melissa like background noise. "She can't be dead."

"We don't know that for sure." Scott reminded his friend as Melissa's pen came within millimeters of the shivering gel.

A rush of courage possessed her as Melissa stabbed the casing, dipping the pen through the thick mucus and coming back with goo coating the end of the pen. She held it up close to her face and skimmed her index and fore-finger over the gel. Rubbing it across her fingers, Melissa wondered what it was made of. Probably some kind of chemical compound, maybe enriched with proteins or enzymes.

"Mom, what are you doing?" Scott's loud voice interrupted her train of thought. Melissa dropped the pen she was holding, startled as her heart nearly shot out of her chest. "Don't touch that, it's dangerous." He reprimanded her more lightly as he watched her place a hand against her rib-cage to steady her heartbeat.

"Sorry," Melissa apologized self-consciously. "I was just curious."

Scott narrowed his eyes, nodding, although he didn't appear convinced. "Jackson can create a paralytic toxin. We don't know if this is that." He informed her helpfully. "Just, make sure you don't touch it again."

Melissa smiled even though she felt awful. Her own son was telling her not to touch the dangerous material. It was like a role reversal. All those years she'd spent yelling at him not to swallow flies, touch fire, eat dirt, or run with scissors and now, it was her turn.

Despite everything Adrianna's insight had taught her, Melissa wasn't sure she was ready for that.

"Whoa," Isaac suddenly gasped, pointing at Jackson's corpse, nearly rendered speechless. "What the hell is going on? I thought he was dead?"

Turning to see what exactly Isaac was looking at, Melissa felt her heavy heart plummet to the bottom of her stomach because, sure enough, Jackson—who was supposed to be dead, who had no pulse and who'd shredded his own internal organs and bled to death—was lifting his arm above his head, out of the gel casing.

"Oh my god." Scott breathed beside her, stepping back a few feet to where Isaac had retreated and taking Melissa along with him. "This has got to be a bad sign." He muttered as Jackson's arm slowly lowered back to his side.

"What do we do?" Melissa whispered, feeling as though speaking too loudly could force the lizard-creature she couldn't remember the name of, which was Jackson, to wake up.

Scott's gaze slid over to Isaac again and they shared the same sort of wordless communication that Melissa was beginning to envy. There had been a time when Scott had relied on her for guidance. Now, he looked to his friends. And yet, there was a part of Melissa that knew it wasn't like that, that knew she had no reason to feel jealous. If anything, Isaac was looking to Scott for a decision, for leadership, and not the other way around.

"We've got to zip him back up." Scott concluded resolutely, a serious expression marring the ordinarily youthful, inexperienced features on his face. If Melissa hadn't known better, she would have said that he was closer to twenty-five than he was seventeen.

"Okay," Melissa eagerly volunteered, feeling undermined by her son's unexpected bravery. "I'll do it."

Both boys stared at her incredulously. They didn't seem to believe what they were hearing, that Melissa, who was currently freaking out and hiding it very badly, wanted to get up close and personal with Jackson the lizard-man.

She didn't. Of course, she didn't. But Scott and Isaac didn't need to know that.

"Are you sure, mom?" Scott delicately pressed, his tongue darting out to moisten his chapped lips as his eyes briefly flickered over to the half-open body bag. "He could hurt you." Scott reminded her, concern crinkling the bridge of his nose.

Melissa followed his gaze and her spine was struck rigid as she saw Jackson's hand lifting out again, claws dripping clear, viscous goo. "Yeah," She weakly affirmed, gulping. "I'm sure."

Her feet shuffled on the floor as she forced herself to move towards the threat, instead of farther away, like she so desperately wanted. When she was right next to the body bag, so close she could smell the Plasticine-like chemicals wafting into the air, presumably originating from the goo, Melissa hesitantly grabbed hold of the cold, slimy zipper several feet down the bag.

Melissa didn't dare look back at Scott and Isaac. She knew she'd lose her nerve. It was now, or never. With a deep breath, Melissa began to pull the slider across the two strips of metal teeth, linking them together as she went.

"Hey," Melissa sighed as she reached Jackson's chest, nearing his chin. "This isn't so bad."

Of course, it was in that moment that the zipper chose to jam. The nervous smile that had once adorned her lips slid off in a moment as she struggled with the stuck slider, Jackson's razor sharp teeth only inches from her trembling hands.

"Mom, zip." Scott's panicked voice cut through the haze in her mind. "Zip, mom, zip!" He encouraged her as Melissa felt the body beneath her begin to move, almost like a snake uncoiling itself from within the bag.

"Okay, okay." She told herself, taking hold of the terror in her heart and suppressing it as best she could. "Okay, here we go." Melissa finally freed the zipper, pulling it along as quick as she dared over the boy's head and all the way to the end of the bad.

As soon as the job was done, Melissa stumbled a good meter away from the medical table, unstable on her feet and colliding with Scott's chest. "Oh my god," She sighed, tears pricking her eyes. "That was terrible. I've never been so afraid in my life." She shared, happy that Scott didn't pull away.

"You did great, mom." Scott congratulated her, his crooked grin nearly wiping away the ordeal from Melissa's mind. "You did really great."

Laughing under her breath, Melissa stepped aside before things could get embarrassing for Scott. "You really think so?" She asked shyly, her heart still pounding loudly in her ears.

"Yeah," Isaac piped up from a few feet away, a wistful look in his eyes. "You were amazing."

Melissa smiled, crossing her arms in front of herself, rubbing the cold appendages in the hopes of soothing the goosebumps on her skin. "Thanks." She said, staring into Isaac's down-turned eyes and finding the kind of longing that Melissa had only ever seen in men twice his age who'd lost everything.

It was then that she remembered Isaac Lahey was an orphan—Just like Adrianna.

Another lost soul her son was trying to save. Another testament to her son's humanity. Another reason that assured Melissa she'd made the right choice in supporting Scott, even if he was a werewolf.

#-#-#-#-#

Her arms were beginning to go numb, almost like the blood supply had been cut off by gravity, as she hung from the ceiling rafters in the Argent's basement. Beside her, Boyd didn't seem to be having the same problem as he towered over her, at least a foot taller. It allowed him to bend his elbows whenever he wanted.

Right then, there would have been nothing sweeter.

Erica's keen hearing picked up the footsteps before Boyd's did. She'd always been a better listener; probably an after-effect of her time spent alone, outcast by society because of her epilepsy.

"Shhhh," Erica managed to mumble through the tape stuck across her lips in a wad that had caused sweat to collect on her upper-lip. With her eyes, Erica looked towards the staircase and then back to Boyd, attempting to communicate the threat as clearly as she could.

Someone was coming to disturb the slight amount of peace they'd found after all of the hunters had cleared out, leaving them alone.

Boyd nodded, seemingly understanding her meaning. He widened his stance, almost like he was preparing for a football tackle, but then winced as the electrical wires holding them steady, wrapped in duct tape, pinched and released a jolt through his body.

Erica felt it an instant later, buzzing all the way to her bones and making her frizzy blonde curls stand on end. She groaned, although she didn't have the strength to scream, before the footsteps stopped just outside the basement entrance.

Not more than a moment's pause occurred before the doorknob turned and Chris Argent walked down the steps, into the basement, not stopping until he stood in front of them, beside the desk holding various torture equipment Erica didn't know half of the functions for.

"You know," He began calmly, his stare intense as he looked each of them in the eye. "My family's done this for a long time. Long enough to learn things like how a certain level of electrical current can keep you from transforming." Chris shared.

One of his hands reached out and lightly traced around the dial of the generator Gerard had strapped to the wiring. Somehow, it controlled the voltage surging through their bodies. Erica knew because Gerard had tested it out—many times—on them.

"At another level, you can't heal." He went on to explain, ghosting his fingers around the dial, demonstrating a higher voltage. "A few amps higher, and no heightened strength."

Erica released a whimper as her toes faltered, causing her shoulder to pop. For the millionth time, she wished the bite had also given her a few more inches of height. She could really use them, right now.

"That kind of scientific accuracy—" Chris pronounced, an emotion Erica wasn't familiar with shining in the depths of his eyes. "It makes you wonder where the line between the natural and the supernatural really exists."

She turned her head, as far as her stiff muscles allowed her, and traded a confused glance with Boyd. So far, Chris hadn't tortured them at all, unless you could count him talking as a form of torture, which Erica wasn't willing to rule out yet. It made her wonder why he was down there, sharing his family's history and techniques, when they were supposed to be his enemy.

"It's when lines like that blur," He told them, staring directly into Erica's frightened, suspicious, golden-brown eyes with conviction and compassion. "You sometimes find yourself surprised by which side you end up on."

The familiar click, tick, tack of the dial turning on the generator amp forced a shudder to run up Erica's spine. It was so similar to the sensation of an electrical current tingling through her veins and sparking fires all over her skin, that for a moment, Erica was convinced that Chris had set the level at it's highest and was intent on frying them both to death.

Only, as her shoulders rose in an effort to protect herself, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, Erica didn't feel any of the needle-like pinpricks of electricity she knew would come next.

As she cracked open her eyes, finding that Chris was still there, still watching them, she and Boyd looked at each other as they realized that the hunter had set them free.

She didn't smile. Not yet. It didn't feel real to her.

Not until Chris had walked away, the generator silent and as foreboding as ever, and no one came charging in to recapture them, did Erica allow herself a moment of joy.

Boyd regained his strength first, fingernails rapidly extending into claws and tearing through the tape and flimsy wire holding him upright. He cut through her restraints for her, even though Erica's own nails had begun to grow, the strength she'd taken for granted, flowing back through her body.

She nearly collapsed in a heap, so unused to holding her own weight. Erica had to lean on Boyd for support but eventually, she was able to stand by herself. It was then that they understood what had to be done next.

The window hidden behind the furnace in the corner of the room, small and clouded as it was, would be their best chance at escaping undetected. The only problem was that it was locked.

"Do you think you can break it?" Erica whispered to Boyd as he studied the heavy looking bolt. There was a slot in the middle of the lock meant for a key to fit inside. If all else failed, Erica supposed they could try and find the key.

Frowning in concentration, Boyd took a long moment to answer her, trying to pull the lock apart with only his hands. "I think so." He grunted, straining his already tired body.

Boyd huffed and growled as he continued to pull the lock apart. After a few moments, Erica saw the metal begin to bend, tearing in places until it finally snapped in two.

Smiling, Erica found herself on the brink of hysteric giggling, but she forced her lips to remain shut. "Great." Erica applauded Boyd, her hand reaching out to lay flat across his broad shoulder. "Let's get out of here before anyone notices."

Excitement spiked in her heart, pleasantly replacing the pains and aches that were beginning to fade throughout her body. Her leg in particular, hurt. The injury Allison had inflicted on her still as fresh as ever.

Boyd hiked his foot up on the furnace, pulling himself onto the window ledge and carefully pushing the rusted hinges apart so that the glass gave way to a fresh breeze.

Erica closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She couldn't wait to run, to leave Beacon Hills in the dust. She'd always hated this town, now was her chance to move onto somewhere better. But just as Boyd had gotten one foot outside the window, Erica heard a loud gasp, followed by a painful moan and fluttering heartbeat.

She turned in the direction of the noises, biting her lip indecisively as she realized that Adrianna Argent, who they'd watched Gerard leave behind for dead, was still alive. She was crawling on her chest, using her hands to pull herself along the floor, out of the room she'd been dumped in and into the open.

"Boyd, stop." Erica said, not daring to take her eyes off the girl that had helped to save her life before the bite, on the climbing wall. She'd never forgotten the debt. Now she might have a chance to repay it.

Sighing heavily, Boyd did as she asked, pausing where he was awkwardly sprawled between the window and the furnace to look over at her questioningly. "What is it?" He asked with more patience than Erica thought he'd have.

Finally tearing her gaze away, Erica bit her lip as she frowned at Boyd in distress. "We can't just leave her." She pleaded, turning back around as Adrianna barely smothered a screech as she collapsed a few feet away, streaks of blackish blood staining the floor in her wake.

"You saw what they did to her." She reminded Boyd as his expression softened just as much as Erica's had. "She's just as much their enemy as we are. If we leave her, she dies."

Boyd appeared torn for a moment, his eyes flickering between Erica and Adrianna, over to the window and their certain freedom. After a moment, he nodded, jumping down from his place and joining Erica's side. "You're right." He agreed grimly. "She's done it for us."

Silently, Erica added that Isaac would never forgive them.

Together, they approached the fallen huntress. Without another word, Eric took hold of Adrianna's right arm while Boyd took the left. They heaved her to her feet, holding most of her weight, and moved back over to the window.

Adrianna's head lolled to the side. She didn't appear to have enough strength to right it herself. Her eyes were sharp and clear, so unlike the rest of her unresponsive body, and she stared at Erica as though she was looking into her soul.

The message was clear even though Adrianna's slurred words were not, barely louder than the sound of a raindrop splattering on the pavement.

"Thank you."

It wasn't something Erica thought the huntress was accustomed to saying, which made it all the more sincere.

As the three of them climbed out of the basement, hobbling down the street as fast as they dared, following Adrianna's confusing, incoherent directions, Erica felt as though there was still hope to be had for them all.

They ended up dropping her on the front steps of a home that Erica remembered belonged to Scott McCall. Even as Boyd and she ran through the forest, freedom pumping through her veins, Erica could feel the huntresses' eyes on her.

Unlike the first few times they'd met, there was nothing but admiration and gratitude in Adrianna Argent's jade green eyes.

Erica ran faster, the ever-present weight on her chest diminishing as she understood that her debt had been payed. She would have two fewer Argents to worry about in the long days to come before her death.

#-#-#-#-#

Peter's fingers typed slowly over the keyboard, unfamiliar with the technology after his fairly long time being, well, dead. He could hear Derek sighing through his nostrils, his frustration as pungent as a bottle of formaldehyde. It made Peter's lips quirk in a partly nostalgic grin. Derek had always had a temper problem. It was what made him easier to manipulate.

"What is it?" He grumbled as Derek began to pace, not out of concern, but because the constant footsteps and the terrible smell where beginning to make Peter frustrated. Something no one, not even he, wanted to see.

Turning the swivel chair he'd recovered from a nearby dumpster so that he could see his nephew rolling his eyes, Peter crossed his arms in front of himself seriously. "Come on," He encouraged rather roughly. "Spit it out."

Lips rising in what seemed to be the beginnings of a snarl, Derek shook his head slightly as he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't like this." He admitted, finally standing still. "I don't like this at all."

Peter ran the words through his mind feeling slightly offended. "Well, what's there to like about it?" He factually stated. "The Argents are hunting us down, your teenage heroes have been scattered,—what remains of them are either confused as hell or scared out of their minds, both rather useless traits—we haven't located Lydia or Stiles, and Jackson's turning into that...thing." He pointed to the screen behind him. The truth neither of them wanted to accept.

"Thanks." Derek sarcastically smiled, the expression wearing away in a moment as he continued to stare at the scaly winged creature which, according to Peter's research, was the Kanima's alpha form.

Sitting back in the chair, Peter watched as Derek continued to pace, crossing and them uncrossing his arms, entirely uncertain of what he wanted to do. And then, Peter could see the choice being made as Derek came to a stop, his eyebrows creased together.

"No," Peter held up his hands, waving them in the air to attract his nephew's attention. "Don't do what you're thinking of doing. Trust me, it won't work." He assured, hoping beyond hope that Derek listened to him for the first time in years.

The slight shake of his head and firm set of his jaw told Peter otherwise. "Derek, we need Lydia." He reminded him, standing up to follow behind his nephew as he stomped out of their once grandiose home.

A whiff of anger caught in Peter's nostrils as his nephew whirled around to face him, his hands clenched into tight fists. "There's no time for that!" He shouted, sounding much younger than he looked.

His lips turned upwards in condescension. "That's the problem." Peter tried to explain, a frustrated laugh catching in his throat. "We're rushing. We're moving too fast. And while everybody knows that a moving target is harder to hit, here we are, racing right into Gerard's cross-hairs."

Derek was still battling with himself as Peter's words washed over him. He knew from experience that his nephew was considering unleashing the wolf within him, the monster, as he tried to deal with a new and terrifying threat that none of them were prepared for. There was only a slight chance that Peter could get through to him with just words, but something small was better than nothing.

And he really wasn't up for another round as a punching bag.

"If I get the chance to kill Jackson," Derek told him, a grim mood overtaking his words and sealing his doom. "I'm taking it."

Peter supposed that he should have been happy as his nephew walked out of the room, intent on discovering his true powers as an alpha, but he wasn't. He was worried, as unusual as the sensation made him feel, that Derek would lose himself before he could have a prospect at redemption.

And Peter knew all about being lost.

It wasn't as fun as he'd made it out to be.

#-#-#-#-#

The sun was yet to make it's appearance in the night sky, and although Chris knew there wouldn't be daylight for some time, he hoped that some light could be shed on his dire situation. Leaving behind his training, his family—or what remained of it—had been harder than he'd thought it would be.

Streetlights shone down on the pavement, guiding Chris down the long, winding roads towards his destination. He knew where he was going and he knew why he was going there, but that didn't mean that he fully understood the motions he'd been forced to take.

Betraying the code felt like insulting everything he'd ever held in high respect. It felt like he was rebelling from his parents or running away from his life like some unstable teenager.

Chris had to remind himself of the truth. He was doing this for the kids, for Allison and Adrianna. He had to save them, to stop the madness his father was stirring up, before it was too late. Before another member of his family died.

Pulling up into the hospital's parking lot, which was deserted save for a few staff vehicles, Chris stopped the car as his headlights bathed over two figures carrying a large, black bag. He found his lips pulling upward, just a fraction, as he stepped out of the car to regard Scott and Isaac.

They appeared frightened; the bag—which couldn't have held anything other than a dead body inside it—sliding to the floor as both betas looked between each other, wide-eyed, before staring back at him.

"You're alone." Scott was the first to speak, his observation reminding Chris of which side he had chosen and what it meant for him.

He nodded, the nearly self-deprecating smile vanishing from his lips as he made his way to the front of the car. "More than you know." He agreed somberly.

Walking away from the body bag, Isaac following dutifully, Scott frowned as he neared Chris, holding up a hand to block his eyes as the car's lights shone brightly over them both.

"Where's Adrianna?" Isaac interrupted the words sitting on the tip of Scott's tongue, leaning down to get a better look at the inside of Chris' car, which was empty.

Chris felt a dagger of fear stab his heart as he shook his head, confused. "She's not here." He told them. "I thought she was with you."

Scott's brows rose in surprise as he turned to Isaac, who appeared to be even more troubled than before. "That's not good." The curly haired beta mumbled despondently as he worried at his lip.

"If you're not here for her," Scott wondered as he returned his sight to Chris. "Who are you here for? What do you want?" Scott was already learning to get down to the hard questions, first.

Beneath the panic in his blood, Chris found that his respect for Scott was rapidly growing. He was the young, naive child, floundering in a world of killers and monsters, no longer. Now, he seemed to accept the danger. He looked like he might just be prepared for what Gerard probably had planned.

Setting aside the problem with Adrianna for the time being, knowing that the young woman could very easily take care of herself without their help—and that she often preferred it that way—Chris drew himself up taller and tried to figure out a way to tell the two beta's the reason behind his appearance.

"We don't have much in common, Scott." Chris began. Loosening his hands by his sides so that they didn't clench into fists, Chris felt a cold, poisonous hatred for his father and what he'd done, sliding through his veins. "But at the moment, we have a common enemy." He finished, his voice feeling strained.

Scott turned slightly to glance over his right shoulder, staring at his friend and then looking back at the body bag they'd left a few few feet away for a moment before he faced Chris again. "That's why I'm trying to get him out of here." He shared.

Chris shook his head, breathing deeply as he finished making an irreversible choice he'd been leaning towards for weeks, now. "I didn't mean Jackson." He stated icily, and by the way Scott's head tilted to the side, he seemed to know what Chris was hinting at.

Strengthening his resolve, Allison's face clear in his mind, Chris voiced his thoughts out loud for the first time since his wife's death. "Gerard has twisted his way into Allison's head," He began steadily, clearing his throat as he continued. "The same way he did with Kate."

His sister's name stirred up all kinds of emotional bruises within him, but he carried on despite the constriction in his chest. For Allison. For Adrianna. For Victoria. For Kate. He chanted to himself, gathering the strength he needed to admit his failure.

"I'm losing her." Chris' voice nearly cracked but he held it steady as he met eyes with Scott, finding the same amounts of despair and love for his daughter as he felt himself. "And I know you're losing her, too." He added, blinking heavily as water collected in his eyes.

Scott was silent as he stared at Chris. His shoulders were widely set, his feet firmly planted in the ground. There was a chance that Chris had misjudged him, but he knew for certain that his daughter had not. There was a reason she'd fallen in love with him, and stayed in love, even after discovering what he was.

Deep down in his heart, Scott McCall was an entirely good person. It was the reason Chris had been so frightened when Allison had begun dating him in secret.

"You're right." Scott eventually told him, his words strong and filled with meaning. "So can you trust me to fix this?" He asked Chris, gesturing behind him, at Jackson Whittemore's dead body.

Chris found that his throat was too tight to allow him to speak, so he simply nodded. He could only remember one other time that he'd been rendered speechless for something that was good. The day his daughter had been born.

"Then can you let us go?" Scott hopefully wondered, although there was doubt wavering in his tone.

"No." Chris informed him resolutely, stepping back so that he was nearly leaning against the hood of his SUV. "My car is faster."

Scott grinned, some of his good-hearted innocence shining through again as he and Isaac picked up the body bag and lugged it to the back of Chris' car. When he drove away, two werewolves and a dead Kanima in his car, Chris realized that he'd past the point of no return.

Now, he could only pray that he'd done the right thing; that Allison wasn't beyond his help and Adrianna wasn't dead.

#-#-#-#-#

The ball of used toilet paper, which Stiles had rushed to give her after discovering he had no tissues, was wadded up in Lydia's fist as she carelessly wiped beneath her eyes, smudging the hard work that had gone into crafting her flawless mask with barely a thought.

Lydia didn't care.

The only thing on her mind, constant and as haunting as it was guilt-riddling, was Jackson's body lying on the lacrosse field as he took his last breath. She'd had his head cradled in her lap, so Lydia had known the moment his eyes stopped rolling beneath the lashes, that he was gone.

She couldn't forget the things she'd said to him, only minutes before his death. Her words had been barbed, meant to hurt him, to inflict all the damage he'd dished out to her over the past few months; to punish him for Peter Hale's actions.

"How much do you know about this stuff?" She distantly heard Stiles asking her, his hands folded uncomfortably in his lap as he looked anywhere but at her. He'd been doing that; avoiding her since she'd told him she wanted to help.

Lydia sniffled, pulling herself together despite how badly she wanted to fall apart. Now was not the time to dwell on things she couldn't change, no matter how much she wished that she could somehow apologize to Jackson.

"Pieces." She admitted, her brows crinkling together as she recalled the lie she'd spouted effortlessly to the boy she loved. "Half of it's like a dream." Lydia was ashamed to remember how proud she'd been, blinded by her determination to appear superior, claiming that she'd uncovered everything in the frightening world Peter had thrust her into, when the truth was far less impressive.

"Yeah, well, guess what?" Stiles suddenly became aggravated, standing up as his arms spread out by his sides. "The other half is like a freaking nightmare."

Lydia shook her head, numbness spreading over the ache in her heart. "I don't care." She allowed her thoughts to run, unchecked, for once. "I can help him."

Somehow, Lydia knew she could save Jackson. Even though his heart had stopped beating, even though she'd seen with her own eyes, the way his chest had suddenly gone still, she knew as surely as the sun shone in the day and the moon in the night, that Jackson was not dead.

He couldn't be. At least, not in the way people normally died.

"See, that's the problem." Stiles frustratingly went on, his voice taking on a strange sort of grit. "You—you don't care about getting hurt. But you know how I'll feel?" He shrilly demanded. "I'll be devastated."

"And if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind." He told her, and that was the moment that Lydia saw it, just a brief flicker, as Stiles' eyes filled with tears and the veins on his neck grew taut with his passion.

He cared about her.

It wasn't just the high-school crush every boy got when they saw a pretty girl that was as hard to get as she was. No, it was more than that. He was invested in her, every single aspect of her existence, even the parts she tried desperately to hide. And somehow, he still liked her; maybe more than liked her.

"You see, death doesn't happen to you, Lydia." Stiles ground out, his voice straining the higher it pitched until he was forced to near a whisper. "It happens to everyone around you, okay? To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives now, without you in it."

Lydia felt her terribly battered heart squeezing, tearing apart as Stiles' words dug beneath her flesh. She'd never taken him seriously, before. She'd always thought he was another selfish boy who was interested in her just because of the way she looked.

How wrong she'd been.

"Yeah, and look at my face." He pointed, gesticulations becoming wilder and less controlled the longer Lydia stared at him with tears blurring her vision and a knife stabbing her lungs, stealing away her breath. "Come on, do you actually think this was meant to hurt me?"

He advanced on her, grabbing at her arms and shaking, like he was trying to physically push his words into her brain. Lydia stood up, but he didn't stop. She felt her hands beginning to tremble and her knees wobbled as she backed away. A frightened shriek slipped past her lips, sounding more like a choked sob.

As though the noise had slapped him across the face, Stiles staggered back, his eyes wide and horror-struck as he seemed to realize what he'd been doing. "Um," He struggled to say, licking his lips nervously as Lydia found it impossible to stare at anything but her feet. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." Lydia replied, mainly out of habit.

She was so tired of pretending to be this weak, stupid loser persona she'd crafted to try to fit in better. Jackson had been the first to see through the mirage and perhaps he hadn't even realized it, but his acceptance of those brief moments made Lydia feel more confident about her true self.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia summoned the courage to lift her chin, staring into Stiles' warm, brown eyes which seeped his sorrow and guilt. Her teeth clenched together as her hands clenched into fists.

Instead of giving up and walking away, like the pathetic false Lydia would have, the real Lydia—the gritty, unpolished mess that she'd always hidden with great diligence—stood tall against the challenge.

Glossy lips straightening into a thin line, the muscles unaccustomed to the expression, Lydia set aside her disarrayed state to save her first love from whatever fate awaited him. "I'll find him myself." She promised Stiles, turning on her heel and marching away, her steps holding more purpose than they had in a long time.

"Lydia, hold on!" She heard Stiles calling out from behind her. "Wait!"

But Lydia had been waiting her whole life just to step one inch out from under the cover of her cleverly crafted disguise, which had quickly turned into a gilded prison.

She was tired of waiting and done hiding herself away.

I'm going to save Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin vowed as her fingers found the frigid key dangling down her shirt and clenched tightly around the metal, so hard it hurt, until she could feel her pulse in her palm.

Because love, in all it's various forms, was messy and cruel and not at all convenient, but Lydia was going to fight tooth and nail to keep hers alive...

Even if it's the last thing I do.

#-#-#-#-#

The poison spread through her blood like a wildfire, devouring and scorching everything it touched until it felt like there was nothing but ashes left behind. Her vision, which had started out crystal clear, was beginning to fog as her body started to reject the wolf'sbane Gerard had injected her with.

She groaned on the concrete steps leading up to Scott McCall's house. Erica and Boyd had left only a moment before, but already, it felt like decades since they'd done her the extra favor of knocking on the door she didn't have a hope of reaching on her own.

Adrianna closed her eyes, sealing her lips tightly shut despite the intense urge that wracked her trembling spine to simply scream as long and as loud as her lungs would allow. She knew, somewhere in the recesses of her jumbled mind, that she'd only have to wait a few more moments before someone came out to answer the door.

Those moments felt like a lifetime.

But eventually, as Adrianna felt her muscles twitching in complaint and her bones grating on every nerve, her savior appeared.

"Adrianna?" Scott's mom asked, her expression one of surprise as the light shining past her from inside the house played tricks with Adrianna's distorted vision. "What are you doing here?" She wondered.

Smiling in relief, Adrianna tipped her head back, sweat collecting at the base of her neck and the top of her forehead as she tried to focus on Melissa. "It's, um—" Adrianna had trouble connecting her words together into a cohesive sentence. "It's a bit of a long story."

Tilting her head to the side, Melissa McCall placed one hand on her hip as she seemed to assess Adrianna's state. Dully, Adrianna noticed that she was dressed in the same clothes she'd worn to the lacrosse championship game. She only had a moment to feel sorry about ruining what was probably the first chance Melissa had had to relax that night, before she felt a hot ache burn her throat as black bile spewed past her lips, cascading onto the ground in a splashing torrent.

"Oh my god," Adrianna could hear Melissa utter in a panic as the older woman rushed to her side, a supporting hand clenching around Adrianna's trembling arm. "Are you alright? Oh my god. What's happening to you?" She screeched as the dark pitch continued to leak out of Adrianna's nostrils and eyes, despite the cessation of vomit.

Shaking her head, Adrianna groaned as her blood burned against her skin. She used the back of her hand to wipe away much of the poison her nose had expelled, but found that in a second, it had been replaced by the ever-flowing stream.

"Inside." Adrianna hardly managed to spit out as she felt blood pooling in the back of her throat, demanding to be released again. "Get—inside." She fracturedly stated, no longer able to hold back the tidal wave as she pitched forward and divulged more of her own sickly blood in choking heaves.

"Okay," Melissa breathed, her hold over both of Adrianna's arms tightening as she pulled her to her unsteady feet. "I can do this. Let's do this." Melissa chanted as they stumbled into the house.

The walls bent and shuddered, or perhaps it was just Adrianna's mind that did so, as they trekked through the large entrance. Looking down at her feet as they slowly moved, Adrianna frowned as her depth perception warped the floor so that it seemed she was stepping at least three meters down.

Her heart felt as though it was perpetually stuck in her throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe. As the sensation of Melissa's arm wrapped around her burning shoulder became tingly—nearing the threshold of real pain—Adrianna lost her footing, uncontrollable coughs tearing at her vocal chords.

"No, hang in there." Melissa pleaded as they tilted to the left, the floor dipping towards them as she held up Adrianna's entire weight, alone. "Come on girl, I can't carry you by myself."

In that instant, Adrianna wanted to give up. She wanted to forget about the false bravado she'd had everyone believe to be her natural state. She wanted to damn the code and leave Jackson to fend for himself against her grandfather. Adrianna wanted, more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life, to be weak.

But she hadn't been raised that way.

She'd learned a long time ago, that weakness was just as dangerous as too much strength. Adrianna couldn't afford to go from one extreme, to the next.

With a heavy heart, Adrianna grit her teeth and welded her knees straight, so that the overpowering force of gravity which twisted her legs into useless, rubber limbs, no longer held such a devastating effect on her.

As Melissa sighed in her ear—either from the strain or out of relief, Adrianna didn't know—a familiar ache lit in her throat, causing her ear drums to buzz unpleasantly.

"Shhhh, it's okay." Melissa suddenly spoke, her fingertips massaging Adrianna's shoulder as much as their awkward position allowed. "I know it hurts. I know." And it was then that Adrianna realized the noise humming at the base of her hearing wasn't her eardrums shattering. It was a long, drawn out moan of pure, undiluted misery.

As hard as it was to stand, let alone walk, Adrianna found that it was impossible to shut her mouth and stop the childish bleating which somehow served to relieve some of her pain. Tears which rolled across her cheeks slowly, feeling sticky and hot, impeded her dismal vision and tasted acrid when they caught on her lips.

She gasped, her hand reaching out to trace the wall across from her as Melissa continued to steady her on her other side. The kitchen was in sight, only a few feet away now, but something bubbling in Adrianna's gut told her she'd never make it in time.

And, as Adrianna's feet tangled together, skewing her balance and collapsing her body, a scream ripping past her lips when her fragile tailbone collided with the floor, Adrianna realized that she absolutely hated it when she was right. Especially when it was bad news that she was right about, which, it almost always was.

"Oh no," Melissa gasped, kneeling down by her side, her hands hovering inches away from Adrianna's skin, almost as though she was afraid of doing more harm than good. "Are you okay? Did you break something?"

Thought there was hardly any strength left in her, Adrianna managed to twist her head and raise one brow as she stared at Melissa incredulously. "Yeah, okay." Scott's mother conceded, appearing more relaxed as she laughed, sounding only slightly hysterical. "That was a stupid question."

Before the corners of Adrianna's lips could tilt upwards in the beginnings of a smile, heat flared from her toes to the bottom of her spine. It stayed in her mid-section for a minute as Adrianna winced, before crawling slowly upwards.

"Shit," Adrianna cursed, her hands turning to fists as she bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Something's happening to you, isn't it?" Melissa curiously demanded, the worry and fear returning to her pinched expression although there was a new calmness in her voice. "I'm no doctor but I've seen enough OD's run through the ER to know that you're body's rejecting foreign material—which I'm guessing is whatever this black stuff is."

Her chest buckling without her consent, Adrianna barely managed to nod as she attempted to strangle her muscles into submission. "Okay, okay. Um, let me think." Melissa frantically stuttered, reaching out to help Adrianna in her efforts to fight off the convulsions which threatened to overtake her, again.

"In an overdose, the only way to save the patient is to find a way to counter-act the drug responsible." Melissa sounded as though she was talking to herself, slipping into a mode Adrianna assumed had something to do with her job as a nurse, but which was eerily similar to the focus of a trained hunter. "Unfortunately, I think it's safe to say this isn't any ordinary overdose. I don't have any of the right medical tools here with me, so even if I knew what I was dealing with, I wouldn't be able to administer a treatment."

There was a long stretch of silence as Melissa's eyes darkened with understanding. In that moment, Adrianna felt her grasp on reality slipping. Every time she blinked, kneeling over her—instead of the kind but terrified face of Melissa McCall—was her mother's stormy expression.

"Mom?" Adrianna couldn't help asking, her voice splintering with emotion. "Mom, is that you?"

Adrianna felt real tears pool in her eyes, leaking past her lashes and washing away some of the tar coating her face. She shook her head in an attempt to push away what her mind distantly knew to be a hallucination, but it was no use.

Kate Argent remained where she was, her hollow green eyes staring deep into Adrianna's, four long, bloody gashes cutting through the skin of her neck. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as her matted blonde hair swept forward to cover the wounds.

"Why did you come here?" Her mother questioned, eyes narrowed hatefully. "There's nothing here for you, nothing that can save you. Why did you come?" Kate's hands took hold of Adrianna's paralyzed shoulders, shaking harshly as mania stuck to her words. "Tell me! Why did you choose this place? Why here?"

Fear stabbed Adrianna's heart like a million sharpened icicles. She pulled back, swatting away Kate's hands as she began to hyperventilate. "I came because of you," She croaked heavily, acidic bile rising in her constricting throat. "To save you. To avenge you. To make you proud. That's all I ever wanted."

Kate pulled back, her brows furrowing in confusion, and Adrianna used the distance to pull her knees up to her chest, curling up like she'd done as a frightened child those first few years of her existence, shutting out the frightening madness that was on the verge of consuming her.

Her hands trembled and her entire body ached fiercely as Adrianna did the only thing that made sense and began to weep like she'd never before allowed herself to. Her chest shook and despite the terrible agony her broken ribs dealt out, Adrianna found that she couldn't stop.

Her eyes were tightly shut as she pressed her hands over the lids until she thought the orbs were going to disappear in their sockets. She craved the pain, now. It anchored her to reality and reminded her of who she was.

Slowly, like mist evaporating on contact with the sun's rays, her mother vanished from Adrianna's mind, the angry words of Kate Argent being replaced by a soothing, yet equally insistent voice which Adrianna recognized as Melissa McCall.

"Sweetie, I'm not your mother." Melissa hesitantly told her, one hand clutching at Adrianna's shoulder as the other pulled back the curtain of dark, curly hair which was half-hanging in her face. "Are you with me?" She gently asked Adrianna. "Because whatever's happening to you, it's getting worse."

"I'm dying." Adrianna said in a voice far too dry and vulnerable for her comfort. "That's what's happening to me. I'm dying." As she spoke the words out loud, admitting her fate, Adrianna felt a longing spark to life within her.

"I don't want to die," She complained shrilly, suddenly more afraid than she'd ever been. "Not yet. Not like this." All those close-calls she'd had with death over the years, all those times she'd been stupidly reckless, risking her life for a cause she didn't even believe in, and she'd done it all for one simple reason.

Because, for most of her cursed life, Adrianna Argent had had nothing to live for.

Now, things were different. She had people depending on her; innocent people that hadn't been prepared to defend themselves against the world they'd stumbled into. And it wasn't just the people she had to protect, that made her yearn for another chance at life. She had allies now, friends.

Isaac Lahey still didn't know how much she cared about him. She couldn't die with that on her chest, never having been said out loud.

Jackson Whittemore was in way over his head, trapped within the Kanima—a creature born out of the trauma his parent's deaths had inflicted upon him. She couldn't die without saving him, without giving him the second chance she'd been denied.

Scott McCall was far too innocent to survive among the beasts and monsters. Without Adrianna's help, he wouldn't be able to avoid the traps and snares laid out on his path that only another monster would think to look for.

Stiles was human. As far as Adrianna was concerned, he needed all the help he could get.

Lydia would be fine on her own—probably. She was smart and resilient. And yet, Adrianna knew that the years of confusion to come for her would be greatly lessened if the two of them could work together, unraveling the mystery of death together.

She still had to apologize to Derek, she still had to prove that she was better than Kate. As much as it pained her to even think about, Adrianna owed him the truth; the real reason her mother had murdered his family.

And Allison, she couldn't forget Allison. Her dear cousin had fallen for the same ploy that had kept Adrianna loyal to Gerard for years. If she died, the twisted snake implanted in Allison's mind would never be killed, and if she wasn't stopped in time, Allison would regret her actions for the rest of her life.

Lastly, there was Adrianna herself.

She couldn't die without ever having lived. It wasn't fair.

"Then tell me how to save you." Melissa urged, her tightened jaw and desperate eyes telling Adrianna that there wasn't a moment to spare even as Adrianna's mind struggled to catch up to the here and now. "Tell me why you came here, of all places. There must have been a reason. You must have had some sort of plan."

And then, with great effort, the cobwebs shook off her brain, releasing her thoughts as it all came back to her. She did have a plan; she and Scott. They were going to outsmart Gerard and beat him at his own game.

"Yes," She nodded, regaining some clarity in her tone, although the ever-present pain nibbling away at her soul felt as though it had increased ten-fold. "I had a plan. I knew this would happen."

"Okay," Melissa eagerly listened, an uncertain smile painting her lips. "What was it?"

Before Adrianna could think of a way to explain herself, a heavy, ominous darkness exploded from within her chest, chewing up her insides and spitting them back out again, mangled and malformed.

She gasped, contorting awkwardly as her upper body slid to the floor along with her legs and lower torso. "No!" Adrianna shouted through clenched teeth as she fought against the violent shakes spasming along her body. "It can't happen now. I don't have time."

Wrestling against herself, Adrianna felt cold ice seep into her heart, spreading to her veins and then her muscles, eventually reaching the skin over top and forcing the tiny hairs all over her body to stand on end. Without her consent, her powers fired up and the tiles beneath her hands began to disintegrate.

"Uh, what's going on? I thought you were human?" Melissa stood back, shocked as Adrianna's fingers began to sink through the once solid floor. "Is this normal? It doesn't look normal." She observed, rocking back on her ankles nervously.

Adrianna's breathing became laboured as the liquid sloshing in her lungs began to fill up once more, what had been painfully drained in vomit and tears, returning as her own body worked against her.

"The table at the front entrance." She rasped, feeling as though she were lying on pins and needles, the feeling rapidly fading from her extremities as the wolf'sbane began to eat away her nerve-endings, stealing away the pain she'd been using as an anchor. "There's a syringe, yellow liquid inside. Get it, bring it here." Adrianna instructed, her back arching as she tried to steal a full breath of air, but finding that it didn't help at all.

The battle she fought, the tar which drowned her, was on the inside. Adrianna couldn't escape it unless she could get her hands on the precious syringe she'd stored away in Scott's house in case this very situation befell her.

"The table?" Melissa frowned as she stood up. "There's no syringe in my table."

"Trust me," Adrianna laughed shrilly. "It's there."

Melissa knew just as well as Adrianna did, that there was no time to explain; she was seconds away from succumbing to the poison. Nodding, Melissa hurried away. She glanced over her shoulder once before disappearing through the corridor they'd come.

As the seconds ticked by, Adrianna cursed herself for allowing the gradual poisoning Gerard had inflicted upon her to go on for so long. Perhaps if she'd found out a few weeks earlier, she would have been able to fight off the coldness sinking in her veins and the alluring echoes of death as her heart began to slow.

Even so, Adrianna knew that the fairy-tale playing out in her disabled mind would have never had a chance against the conniving genius of her grandfather. Her death had been a long time coming. The large dose of wolf'sbane Gerard had given her only a few minutes ago had only been the catalyst of her dismal fate.

"Who am I kidding?" She laughed, a gurgle bubbling in her throat. "He's always wanted me dead. It was only a matter of time before he found out a way to do it without getting his hands dirty."

Adrianna relished in the fact that, despite his best efforts, Gerard had been forced to kill her himself—with his own two hands—so close, she'd been able to see the way his eyes narrowed with hatred and contempt.

When Melissa returned, the six inch syringe in hand, Adrianna was on the verge of falling into the deep blackness pressing down on her from all sides. The scalding pain was gone, replaced only by a lightheaded dizziness that was much more frightening.

"Okay, what do I do now?" Melissa sought out instructions as Adrianna blinked up at her, blearily. "What's this thing for? Where do I put it?"

Lifting her arm was as easy as breathing normally was—when she wasn't choking on her own blood—and as hard as battling a Nemean Lion with no weapons, but with a pace so slow time seemed to stand still, Adrianna managed to place her hand against the center of her chest, drawing a shaky 'X' with her finger.

"Here." She told Melissa, and that one word stole all the air she'd worked so hard to keep inside her useless lungs.

"There?" Melissa replied, her brows rising as she looked between the very long pointed tip of the syringe and back at the point on Adrianna's chest that her hand covered. "Are you sure?" She pressed, her lips rolling together.

"Here." Adrianna affirmed in a throaty growl. If she'd had more air, she probably would have screamed out in frustration as black spots colored her vision. She was not going to die because of a communication issue. Adrianna wouldn't allow it.

Pointing with as much fervor as she could collect, her finger jamming into her ribs and inducing the first amount of pain she'd felt since the wolf'sbane had migrated to her lungs, suffusing her spine and paralyzing her where she lay, Adrianna's lips formed each word carefully.

If they were to be her last, she had to make sure Melissa could understand them.

"In my heart."

There was just enough time for Adrianna to see Melissa's chin nodding along to her message, the needle steadily descending over her chest, before the cold, unfeeling arms of oblivion granted her a wish she no longer cared for.

On the other side, her father waited for her.

Her mother was not where she should have been, by his side.

Peter Hale was not where he should have been, in the fields of punishment.

Nothing was as it should have been—as Adrianna had expected it to be—as she felt an immense throbbing, aching torment blossom inside her heart, forcing the immobile organ into wonderful, beating movement.

And as she felt herself waking up, the godly nectar that had been inside the syringe filling up each of her cells and burning with the heat of a supernova, Adrianna felt her father's hands reach out and cover her eyes.

Thanatos blinded her, the truth of her world and the visions of death vanishing as though they'd never been there in the first place. As though she'd never learned of her mother's true fate, at all.

#-#-#-#-#

The longer Lydia was gone, the larger Stiles felt the hole in his chest becoming. He should never have yelled at her. More than that, he should never have denied her the truth.

Scott had been right. Trust was the real issue beneath the divide separating them all—hunters and werewolves.

If he'd only trusted Lydia to handle herself, as she'd obviously been doing—unbeknownst to him—since Peter's bite at the winter formal, maybe Lydia would still be there, safe. Maybe he'd still have a chance.

But Stiles knew, possibly better than anyone, that the clock could not be turned back. Mistakes could not me unmade. Tragedies could not be avoided. It didn't matter how much he thought about it and cursed himself out for his stupidity, nothing could bring Lydia back to where she'd been, asking for help from him, of all people.

"She left, huh?" His father asked, peeking his head in through the half-open door to Stiles' bedroom. Lydia must have left it open when she left. He hadn't even realized that he'd forgotten to close it.

"Yeah." He ran his hand over his short hair, feeling each follicle with the tips of his fingers. Maybe he'd let it grow out. It was about time he stopped looking like the buzz-cut, nerdy, overly-talkative, third wheel that he was.

"So," His father uncomfortably continued, sensing Stiles' sour mood from a mile away, but choosing to enter into the room anyway. "Is there, uh, anything there?"

Stiles didn't feel the need to sugar-coat the truth. Not when he felt this awful. "No." He bluntly admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose as his father sat down across from him. "No, she's in love with someone else."

"Ah," His dad mumbled, understanding coloring his tone in a more delicate light than it usual was. "Listen—I know that getting beaten up, and with what happened to Jackson, has got you pretty shaken—but be happy about one thing." He told him, leaving the sentence to hang so that Stiles was forced to open his eyes and look at his father.

"The game." His father grinned, clapping Stiles' shoulder supportively. "You were amazing." He praised, but the words felt empty to Stiles. Maybe he wanted them to be. He didn't deserve to be commended for his role as a pawn.

Even as he thought so, Stiles forced a smile to his lips. "Thanks, dad." He dutifully replied, trying to brush away the compliment as subtly as he could.

"No, I mean it." His father insisted, proving once more that Stiles didn't deserve to have such a kind, forgiving, understanding dad. Not when he'd failed when it counted most.

"Look, it was pretty much over. And then you got the ball, and you started running." Stiles' dad explained, his hands spreading wide with emotion. "You scored, and the tide just turned. And you scored again and again." He laughed, leaning forward so that Stiles was forced to acknowledge his words. "You weren't just MVP of the game. You were a hero."

Stiles licked his lips and sat back in his chair. "No," He denied, thinking about Scott and Isaac, who were still out there trying to fix a problem way bigger than them. He remembered Lydia, who barely knew what she was getting into; nonetheless, she charged into the middle of the fray to save the boy she loved, not a care given to her own well-being. Even Adrianna and Derek—as misguided as they could be—were probably still doing more than him. "I'm not a hero, dad."

His father considered his words, going silent for a moment as he stood up, drawing Stiles' attention over to him. "You were last night." He reminded him, staring deep into his eyes so that Stiles could see just how convinced he was of the fact.

Shaking his head, the backs of his eyes stinging badly, Stiles curled his hands into fists beneath the desk. "I'm not a hero." He repeated stubbornly after his father had left.

But the sliver of hope had been chipped away inside him. What was a hero, other than a person brave enough to defy all odds, for what they believed? The outside didn't matter, when it came down to it. A hero didn't have to be strong, smart, popular, or super-human.

A hero could be anyone.

Even Stiles could be a hero, if he had the courage to trust himself just long enough to find out what kind of stuff he was made of, on the inside.

#-#-#-#-#

It was scary enough that Adrianna had literally started to glow, her skin reaching oven-like temperature, moments after Melissa had injected the entire syringe's contents into her heart. The fact that she was now on her feet, moving around the house like she'd drank twenty cups of coffee and then broken into the secret stash of candy bars Melissa kept above the fridge, was just plain disturbing.

"What are you looking for?" Melissa asked for what felt like the millionth time as the hyperactive girl slammed another drawer closed, the once carefully stacked papers and receipts crumpled into a bunch.

"It's important. Seriously, like, really important." Adrianna didn't turn as she blurted the words at impressive speed, her pronunciation only slightly slurred. "The Physiologus is the key to understanding Jackson's predicament. Without it, we're all flying blind."

Melissa didn't even have time to wonder how Adrianna knew about what was happening to Jackson, without being present during or after his death, before the young girl slammed another drawer closed in Melissa's once organized filing cabinet, moving onto the night tables.

"Wait, just a second." She tried to intercede, stepping in front of Adrianna's rapid trajectory, only for the girl to side-step out of her way, continuing like nothing had happened. "Come on, let's just talk like normal people for once. Tell me what you're looking for. Maybe I can help." Melissa negotiated.

Waving a hand behind her dismissively, Adrianna didn't face Melissa as she scanned through the stack of medical papers that Melissa often kept by her bedside, in case she couldn't sleep. "It would take too long to explain it. I've only got a few more hours before my grandfather enacts the final phase of his plan." Adrianna informed her, throwing a fashion magazine across the room haphazardly. "If I haven't figured out the exact threat Jackson poses to us by then, it's safe to say that whatever superiority Scott and I have gained through working together, will be insignificant in comparison to how unprepared we'll be."

"Okay, hang on a minute." Melissa raised her hand, her curly hair puffing outwards from her head as she stiffly shook her chin in dismay. "You're working—and have been working—together with Scott?" She demanded, her eyes widening as Adrianna merely shrugged, her back still turned. "And you didn't think it would be a good idea to let me in on this information, why?"

"The more you knew, the more danger you'd be in." Adrianna had the sense to face Melissa, a stoicism in her gaze that translated more wisdom than any sixteen-year-old should have had. "Scott and I agreed that it would be in your best interest, in everyone's best interests, if the knowledge of our alliance was kept hidden."

"So you're telling me that no one knows." Melissa muttered to herself, a sudden respect tinging in the soup of disbelief and slight betrayal that she was feeling.

Adrianna looked away from Melissa for a moment, something dark filling her expressive eyes, before she smiled unfeelingly and raised her brows in a placating gesture. "Basically." She agreed, abandoning her perusal of the night tables in favor of marching past Melissa to the long dresser, which had a mirror balancing over top.

The reality of Adrianna's situation took a moment to sink into Melissa's mind. She'd known the girl had been independent, but finding out that she had literally been on her own against the deadly mayhem going around Beacon Hills—save for whatever help Scott had been able to give her—brought a new perspective to the girl's often standoffish attitude.

"I didn't realize." Melissa whispered under her breath, her arms crossed over her chest as her heart ached for the girl with no mother. "Have you always worked like this?" She couldn't help wondering, thinking of the dangers Adrianna could have faced in order to gain the knowledge she had now. What kind of monsters had she fought in her lifetime? How had she done it alone?

It wasn't until Adrianna's spine grew rigid, her movements ceasing entirely, that Melissa knew the girl had heard her. "Yes." She replied stiffly, a sudden chill in her tone as she set back the jewelry box she'd been examining.

There was no explanation, no detailed story of how she'd become so distant, or a terrible montage of her life's hardships. Adrianna wasn't that kind of girl, Melissa could tell. She kept to herself, ducking down her head until her goal was reached; whatever that goal happened to be. In a way, Adrianna reminded Melissa of herself when she'd had to shoulder the burden of becoming a single mother to Scott.

Clearing her throat, Melissa rolled her shoulders uncomfortably as she approached the silent girl. Obviously, her line of questioning had struck a nerve, despite her best attempts at being subtle.

"You know, I can understand why you'd like doing things on your own." Melissa began hesitantly, making certain that she didn't repeat her earlier mistake. "When my husband and I divorced, I had to learn how to provide for Scott all on my own. I had to take out loans and go back to school." She smiled, remembering how long it had taken to adjust to the absence of Scott's father.

"At first, it was hard. Really hard." Melissa shared, her hip bumping against the dresser's edge. "But eventually, we adapted. And after I got out of school and started work, I think I even liked it."

This time, when Adrianna's eyes met hers, they were closed off and guarded. Melissa felt a shiver rush up her spine as she realized how easily Adrianna had tucked away every ounce of her emotion. "What's your point?" She spat rather rudely.

If Melissa hadn't raised a teenage boy on her own, she wouldn't have been able to differentiate Adrianna's anger for the pain that it really was. Deep down, it seemed that Adrianna was just as torn-up and misguided as any teenager was, layering juxtaposing emotions over each other in the hopes that no one could decode the truth.

"My point," She pronounced, her gaze never wavering as cracks began to shine through Adrianna's defenses. "Is that no matter how accustomed you become to not needing other people's help, sometimes, you've just got to suck up your pride and realize that you can only go on for so long, depending on yourself. It's only a matter of time before something snaps and your whole world—everything you've worked so hard to reach—slips through your fingers."

Adrianna's throat bobbed as her forehead pinched. "I know that." She told Melissa, sandpaper grating in her voice. "That's why I trusted Scott. That's why I came here and placed my life in your hands."

"Oh, but sweetie, that doesn't count." Melissa reached out and placed an uncertain hand over the girl's shoulder as Adrianna's eyes sharpened, nearing offense. When she didn't entirely pull away, instead shifting her shoulder slightly, as though uncomfortable, Melissa continued as delicately as she could. "On both counts, you had no choice. You had to trust me, or you'd die. And with Scott—although I don't know a whole lot about what's been going on—I'm guessing that you needed his strength and connections just as much as he needed your help."

"When you work together with someone, when you trust someone with a burden that you can't carry," She pressed further as Adrianna's lips puckered in concentration. "It has to be implicit. It has to be a decision made in your heart," Melissa's hand hovered over Adrianna's chest, near the sight that the syringe had once been plunged through. "Otherwise you didn't choose at all."

There were no tears blurring her eyes, no sniffles or wet smiles traded between them. Adrianna was calculative, cold as a marble statue, her pinched brows the only sign that she was giving Melissa's words any thought whatsoever.

"You're wrong." She whispered after a long, tense silence. Her hair, which was still matted with the black, tar-like blood that had once leaked out of Adrianna's every pore, hung limply around her face, framing the pale skin and creating a ghost-like effect. "There's always a choice." Adrianna insisted quietly, her stare becoming distant as she seemed to remember something.

Melissa stepped back, licking her lips as Adrianna's gaze returned to normal, piercing and predatory as ever. Most of the time, one of those glances could intimidate the hell out of Melissa. Now, was definitely one of those times.

"Okay, now that that's been covered—" She cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the fear stuck in her trachea. "Why don't you tell me about what it is you're looking for. You never know, maybe I'll surprise you."

The depth of their conversation fluttered away in an instant. Adrianna didn't seem to mind, in fact, she appeared relieved by the sudden topic change. "I'll try my best." Adrianna assured her, stepping away from the long dresser so that she stood in the middle of Melissa's master bedroom. "The Physiologus is a catalog of my family's knowledge concerning the supernatural, collected over the centuries. In detail, it describes the various types of creatures the Argents have encountered face to face; their weaknesses and strengths, typical behavior, and the threat level they pose to humans and hunters alike."

"Uh," Melissa smiled, a breath of air slipping past her lips as she attempted to make sense of Adrianna's explanation. Most of it was far over her head, but what she did grasp, made her wonder if she even wanted to learn any more. "It's a catalog." Melissa repeated, pressing her lips together as she debated telling Adrianna the truth.

"That's it, isn't it?" Adrianna said, surprising Melissa as there was not a drop of condescension in her tone, only a sense of tired expectance. "That's all you understood."

"Well, not just that." Melissa tried to excuse. "It's a monster catalog." She simplified sheepishly, earning a grin from the suddenly weary Adrianna.

"Yeah, that about sums it up." Adrianna agreed, smiling. They both knew that there was more to it, that the vestiges of their brief conversation still rippled beneath the surface of their calm exteriors, but neither of them thought it necessary to bring that up.

As Melissa thought more and more about the book Adrianna was looking for, she remembered something that she'd once overheard Scott talking about to Stiles. They'd mentioned a record similar to the one Adrianna had tried to explain, but at the time, Melissa had assumed they'd been chatting about video games or something equally as nerdy. Now, she knew better.

"A monster catalog." Melissa nodded to herself, tearing Adrianna's attention away from the pile of clothing she was sifting through in Melissa's closet. "I think I know what you're talking about."

"Really?" Adrianna questioned, her head peeking out from between the sliding doors, yellow light from inside the closet illuminating her pale complexion eerily. "Have you seen it somewhere? Do you know who has it?"

"Better," Melissa replied, her feet already carrying her out of her now messy room, down the hall, and inside Scott's bedroom. "I know where you can find it." She finished as Adrianna stopped just behind her, following Melissa's stare towards the paper-strewn desk jammed to the side of Scott's room, nearly hidden behind the door.

They glanced at each other, cautious optimism rushing through their blood as they approached the disarray in the hopes of sifting through the mess to find one single USB with the catalog Melissa remembered Scott referring to as the Bestiary, held within.

If Adrianna was right, it would be their only chance at stopping Gerard Argent from going through with whatever fiendish scheme he'd come up with. If he was responsible for controlling the monster Jackson had become, Melissa figured that he was far more threatening than his age implied.

Especially after she'd seen the way he treated Adrianna. How he'd tried to kill her unsympathetically, twice. And that was just what Melissa knew...

She shuddered to think about what he could have done over the seventy-something years of his life; of how much pain and loss he'd inflicted upon the broken, closed-off girl that was Adrianna Argent, who'd been forced to grow up long before her time.

#-#-#-#-#

Isaac felt more than slightly uncomfortable as he stood beside Scott and Chris, across from Derek. The distance between them was palpable as Derek righted himself out of the crouch he'd somersaulted into. The message was clear and blunt. He'd chosen a new alpha, a new pack. And it wasn't with Derek.

"I'm here for Jackson." Chris reminded the stony-eyed alpha, who somehow seemed even more angry and disgruntled than usual. "Not you."

Derek smiled, the action so foreign and potently sarcastic on his face that it looked garish. "Somehow," He began, speaking for the first time since his grand entrance. "I don't find that very comforting."

He glanced behind him, like he was waiting for someone else to join him, before he quickly turned back around, urgency in his tone as he commanded them, staring at the black body bag sitting by their feet which had finally gone still, "Get him inside."

Isaac felt vulnerable as he kneeled down and lifted his end of the body bag, Scott carrying the opposite end. It wasn't because of Derek, or even due to the bubbling nerves in his stomach that told him things weren't going to end well. Isaac thought it might have been caused by the emptiness at his side, where a huntress in black should have been, but made sure not to dwell on that thought.

If he let himself, Isaac was sure that he'd become consumed in worry for Adrianna's safety. Not thinking about her seemed to work best to stave off the mind-numbing, heart-pounding concern he otherwise couldn't seem to push away.

"Where are they?" Scott asked once they'd entered the large warehouse that Derek had been using to train Isaac and the rest of his betas for the past few months, his words echoing off the tall, tin walls.

Without Isaac realizing it, Derek had moved forward so that he was leaning over Jackson's sealed body. His hand was inches away from the zipper which would open-up the body bag, before he registered Scott's question.

Frowning, Derek turned slightly so that only his upper body faced Scott. "Who?" He questioned, confused.

The cold dread in his stomach doubled as Isaac wondered what Derek was playing at. They'd made a plan—it wasn't the best of plans, but it wasn't the worst, either—and all of them had agreed to follow it. So why was Derek acting as though the plan didn't exist?

"Peter and Lydia." Scott answered, his pinched expression telling Isaac that he was equally as suspicious about Derek's actions as Isaac was. "We talked about this, remember?" He tried to back-track.

Derek turned away, his fingers enclosing around the zipper beneath him. Isaac took a deep breath, catching a pungent smell that reminded him of salt and sweat. He had just enough time to realize that it was guilt, before the body bag came undone and Derek raised his clawed hand high in the air, ready to strike.

"Whoa, hold on a second." Scott interjected, his voice rising with panic as he shuffled forward a few feet. "You said you knew how to save him." He recalled, the sentence hanging in an unvoiced question.

Isaac looked to his left, his eyes finding Chris Argent, who stood tall and steady. The older man's hand was the only thing that betrayed his wariness, twitching by his side in a way Adrianna's own fingers always did whenever she was about to draw her knives. The comparison stabbed Isaac's heart with crippling anxiety.

Where is she? He asked himself. Adrianna had always been there when it counted, fighting through the thickest situations, undaunted. Now, she was nowhere to be found. A brief flash of doubt crossed his mind as the unthinkable option he'd been so afraid of giving a name sprouted through his tangled thoughts.

What if she'd left?

What if she'd abandoned them?

What if she'd abandoned him?

Derek's resonating voice shook Isaac from his internal conflict. "We're past that." He said in response to Scott's attempts to bring the alpha back to reason.

Slowly, as though he really didn't want to do it, Derek's hand lowered to Jackson's neck. His feet were planted on either side of the body bag so there was no chance his balance would falter, even if his resolve did.

Despite the fact that there was only a slight chance he could get through to Derek, Isaac knew right then that he had to try.

"Come on, Derek." Isaac found himself saying as the pressing ache on his throat demanded to be released. "You know this isn't right. Can't you feel it? Killing Jackson isn't the answer."

Beside him, Scott latched onto the momentum Isaac had started, a brief flicker of uncertainty tearing across Derek's stormy blue eyes. "Isaac's right. We can still save him." He pressed, an urgent quiver to his tone. "What about—" He began to think, only to be cut off mid-sentence by Derek.

"Think about it, Scott." The alpha growled, whatever small amount of doubt that Isaac had been able to plant, withering away under the layer of intense, burning rage. "Gerard controls him now."

"He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog." Derek pointed out brashly, no apparent remorse or pity in his tone. "And he set all of this in motion so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful."

Isaac didn't know what to believe. On one hand, he knew what Gerard was capable of—had felt the stinging end of the man's wrath on his own flesh—but on the other was a human life, as arrogant and nasty as Jackson's life had been, that depended on their judgment to survive.

It wasn't right to make a decision like that based on what could happen. Not when Isaac didn't know all the facts that Derek seemed to have discovered. Apparently, Peter's version of the Argent bestiary had helped more than anyone could have imagined.

"No," Chris spoke up for the first time since they'd stepped foot in the warehouse, his words clipped and his eyes narrowed. "No, he wouldn't do that." Shaking his head, Isaac wondered if Chris had known Gerard as well as the rest of them had come to; if he could still predict Gerard's actions or if he was clinging to the shattered remains of a man that no longer existed.

"If Jackson's a dog," Chris continued, using Derek's own metaphor to further his point. "He's turning rabid, and my father wouldn't let a rabid dog live." He convincingly told them.

"Of course not." A voice boomed from the other end of the warehouse, interrupting the silent deliberation that had fallen upon them. "Anything that out of control, is better off dead."

Striding through the plastic curtain separating the side room—which Isaac remembered held heavy machinery—and the main warehouse, Gerard Argent grinned as he regarded the four of them, his gaze lingering over Chris for a moment before sliding down to the open body bag which Jackson's upper body stuck out of.

"But," The elder hunter smiled, holding himself upright so that he appeared much younger than he had before, as the gel casing around Jackson's half-transformed body began to melt away. "Under the right circumstances," He told them, greed and blood-lust shining in his eyes.

"Exceptions can be made."

#-#-#-#-#

"Found it!" Melissa cried triumphantly, a black computer storage chip held high between her her fingers as she shuffled forward across the stacks of crumpled paper and never before seen homework that Adrianna and she had been combing through for the past half hour.

"Thank goodness," Adrianna sighed, pushing away a manila folder of failed grades she'd found hidden on the underside of Scott's desk. "Another minute of reading Scott's seventh grade history projects and I think I might just go blind."

Melissa nodded her head as she reached over to the side, pulling down the laptop they'd pushed onto Scott's bed and situating the sleek computer onto her lap. "I can't say that I blame you." Melissa agreed as she pushed open the lid and slotted the hard drive into a hole on the side of the computer.

A file popped up on the screen which Melissa clicked on, opening an expanded view of the digital Physiologus. Adrianna leaned forward to get a better look at the familiar layout and introduction of the book. Once, it had been a real, hardcover book that Adrianna could read without the uneasy trepidation of possibly attracting monster activity, bubbling in her gut.

"What is this?" Melissa wondered, scrolling down page after page of the archaic Latin script. "How is this helpful? It's not even in English."

"It'll help, don't worry." Adrianna assured her, narrowing her eyes as the alphabetized records flashed past, some of the illustrations depicting creatures that Adrianna had faced in person. "Keep going until you reach 'K'." She told Melissa distractedly as a particularly long segment on a monster referred to only as The Beast, sped past.

"Okay, I can do that." Melissa breathed, the pages blurring past at a steady pace. "Just as long as you know how to read this thing, I can do that." She added, glancing over her shoulder at Adrianna doubtfully.

"Trust me," Adrianna felt one of her signature smirks pulling the corner of her pale lips upwards. "If there's one thing I actually can read, it's Latin."

Melissa frowned in confusion but didn't ask any more questions as Adrianna continued to stare at the screen over her shoulder. "Dyslexic." Adrianna felt the need to explain a moment later, even though the topic had long since been dropped. "I'm dyslexic."

"Really?" Melissa commented, a note of caution in her words. "Well, you had me fooled."

For some reason, there was a pressing desire in Adrianna's chest to blurt out that she was ADHD as well, and that she was actually much smarter than her dismal grades suggested. It was like she wanted to atone for the argument they'd had; to prove that her life hadn't been an entirely autonomous journey. Licking her chapped lips, Adrianna pushed away the feeling as she concentrated on the Physiologus.

"There, stop there." Adrianna lurched forward, her finger jamming into the screen directly beneath the title which read, 'Kanima: Majorum et Inferioris', with an illustration directly beneath it portraying the scaled creature she'd seen Jackson transform into. "That's it. That's the one."

"Yeah, you're right." Melissa muttered, her head bobbing along to Adrianna's words. "Whatever that thing is, it is definitely the same lizard-creature that Gerard used to intimidate Scott."

"Mhmm," Adrianna non-committedly mumbled, her eyes scanning across the page, absorbing the valuable information. "The Kanima's a weapon of vengeance." She read out loud, skimming past the sections that she already knew. "It seeks a master but only kills murderers."

"Scroll down." She instructed Melissa, who was watching in fascination as Adrianna read.

Somehow, the facts weren't adding up. The Physiologus said that the Kanima could only kill people who had already killed, themselves. So why had Matt been able to use the bond between Master and Monster—regardless of how strong it had become—to implement the Kanima's vengeance in a way that contradicted it's very purpose?

It simply wasn't possible.

And yet, Adrianna had seen it with her own eyes. She could still hear it's victims crying out, their screams and useless tears echoing through her mind, haunting her dreams.

It wasn't like the Kanima had been under Matt's total control. The incident with the mother and child had proven that much. Jackson was still inside the Kanima; he'd fought off Matt's commands when they'd conflicted with a deeply ingrained value of his, so that meant that Jackson was also possibly battling against Gerard's plans, in that very moment.

"A Kanima is loyal to it's master until the equilibrium is altered." Adrianna translated, her theories regarding Jackson's non-compliance solidifying as the next page came into view. "If the scales are tipped too far, 'imperium et converso'—which roughly translates to—the roles reverse." Adrianna sat back, blinking harshly as her mind wrapped around the puzzling words.

"What does that mean?" Melissa hesitantly questioned, her brows pinched worriedly as she looked upon Adrianna's frazzled state.

Breathing in deeply, Adrianna bit her bottom lip as she collected her thoughts, before replying. "I think," She began cautiously, threading her fingers together. "It means that the servant becomes the master and the master becomes the servant."

"And that means?" She asked again, still just as confused as she'd been.

"Matt was becoming the Kanima." Adrianna reminded herself, rubbing at her temples in an effort to alleviate the throbbing migraine that was rapidly developing. "He broke the rules and in doing so, tipped the scales beyond recovery."

"Okay," Adrianna heard Melissa whisper as she scooted away to give Adrianna more room. "You've totally lost me."

"That doesn't make sense, though." She complained, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The word 'imperium' isn't just used in reference to a role, it also means a governor or master."

"So," Melissa tilted her head, the cogs whirring in her mind as she attempted to keep up. "That translates to 'the masters reverse'?"

"I guess." Adrianna breathed heavily, unconvinced that it would be so simple. Texts in Latin were often hard to read, not because of the language, but because some words could not be accurately translated to English. Some words simply didn't have an English counter-part, whatsoever.

Melissa shrugged off the mystery, scrolling down the page even as Adrianna wracked her mind for the exact message that the Physiologus was telling her. As she looked up, her eyes burning from the harsh light of the screen, Adrianna's spinning thoughts abruptly came to a halt.

"Not master," Adrianna realized, her gazed fixed on a point near the top of the screen where a second illustration was placed. "Power."

Gradually, Melissa followed Adrianna's stare, a small gasp slipping past her lips as she pointed towards the sketched drawing. "What is that thing?" She hardly dared to speak above a whisper. "That thing—it has wings." Melissa urgently informed her.

Adrianna phrased the title out loud, "Kanima majorum et inferioris."

She's been foolish not to realize right then and there. A foreboding knowledge weighed heavily over her still weakened form as she dared not look away from the medieval like sketch of a dragon-like creature as tall as three men, with horned talons and a wingspan twice it's height.

"Alpha," She pointed towards the imposing image, lightly pressing her fingertip across the computer's control board to scroll upwards until the illustration of the Kanima that looked most like Jackson did, came onto the screen. "Beta." Adrianna finished, labeling the much smaller form as she swallowed thickly, the knowledge she'd stolen from Gerard as compensation for her lost strength, connected with the knowledge she'd gleaned from the Physiologus, so that the mystery unraveled like a sheet of parchment.

There were two forms of the Kanima. The one they'd been dealing with, the form they could hardly manage to fight against and which had still been under human control—for the most part—and the one they had yet to encounter; the form Adrianna knew Gerard planned to unleash.

Only he didn't know one very important thing.

"Master and Servant." Adrianna shut her eyes, a brooding agitation towards her grandfather's cruel stubbornness nearly overwhelming the hidden terror she felt for his well-being.

"He can't control the Alpha form." She pulled at her hair in distress as Adrianna realized what she'd been forced to do. "He thinks he can tell it what to do, just like the Beta form, but it's not the same."

"No one can control the Alpha Kanima." Adrianna cried, tears filling her eyes. "Not even me."

Melissa placed a hand over her shaking shoulder, the lid of the computer snapping shut as she kneeled in front of Adrianna. "It sounds like they're going to need your help." She supplied, her chin dipping slightly so that they were staring into each other's eyes.

Adrianna blinked back the tears that had yet to fall. She felt grateful to Melissa for reminding her of her duty. She could fall apart later, right now, her friends and her family needed her.

"You're right." Adrianna readily agreed, standing up with renewed purpose even as a closed-off portion of her mind realized that later was likely to never come. "They'll need all the help they can get."

#-#-#-#-#

Her heart shuddered in her ears, loud and consistent. It matched the pace of her running as she darted out from behind the wall and fired off a volley of arrows from her recently repaired crossbow.

Allison licked her lips, ducking past the opposite side of the doorway and leaning forward a few inches so that she could see if she'd hit her mark. A grin split her lips as she saw Isaac Lahey groan, falling to his knees, the stubby ends of both her arrows sticking out from his chest and shoulder.

"Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek in an attempt to save him." Allison's grandfather spread his arms wide. A prideful laugh echoed across the walls as he watched Allison's handy work. "You just didn't realize that you were also bringing Derek to me." He goaded.

As the pack of werewolves along with Chris Argent glanced around the warehouse, confused as to how Isaac had been injured, Allison stepped out of hiding so that she was beside and just slightly behind her grandfather, before firing off another arrow.

Her target was Derek, this time.

Waxy, burning hot hatred trailed after the arrow as she let it fly, a snarl curling her pretty face. When Derek easily reached up and caught the projectile about a foot before it could pierce his heart, Allison let out a frustrated screech.

Gerard placed a heavy hand over her arm, pulling her away from him once as a signal for her to leave. Biting her lips, Allison reluctantly did as she was told, slipping back where she'd been as though she'd never left in the first place.

"Allison?" She could hear Scott calling her name, his tone betraying his surprise and concern for her.

Wiping under her darkly rimmed eyes with her thumb and index finger, Allison's heart hardened as she remembered how much she despised being treated like an insignificant opponent. Hadn't she proven her worth? Hadn't she shown them all that she was capable?

Maybe they need another demonstration. The vicious, unapologetic, hungry animal within her growled as an insatiable thirst for power filled her up to the point of bursting.

She hated them all, so much. Allison wanted them to pay for her mother's death. If no one else would make them, she would have to be the one to do so.

"No," The worried voice of Scott McCall shouted out as she charged forward, abandoning her cover. "Allison, don't!" He pleaded, fumbling in the crossfire, unsure who to help and who to fight.

Allison didn't have that problem.

She knew who her enemy was.

Her Chinese ring daggers felt comfortable in her hands despite the ache in her fingers. Two months of training and it had all lead up to this moment. Allison had never felt more prepared in her life as the edge of her blade slashed across Derek Hale's forearm.

The alpha roared at her, teeth baring in a snarl as Allison barely had time to twirl out of his reach, Derek's eyes glowed red as he came after her, Gerard and the Kanima all but forgotten.

Allison smiled. She'd gotten her wish. Now it was just her and him in a battle to the death. She would make sure she got her revenge, even if it killed her.

Ducking beneath Derek's first, clumsy swing at her, his long claws gleaming under the dim, flickering lights of the warehouse, Allison posed one dagger near her body protectively as she struck with the other. Dragging the blade across Derek's rib cage for a moment, Allison's jaw clenched and her lips spread ferociously as she enjoyed every second of his pain.

Slipping away before she could get too caught up in the moment, Allison allowed herself a brief flash of victory as Derek clutched at his side, grumbling curses under his breath.

"I swear to god, Allison," He growled, teeth snapping like a dog. "If Scott wasn't in love with you, I'd have already killed you by now."

Irate, Allison shook her head, forcing her hair out of it's neat braid as her voice became gravelly and thick. "I'd like to see you try." She challenged, tightening her grip over her blades and launching herself towards the alpha werewolf, throwing caution to the wind.

At first, it seemed as though she'd taken Derek by surprise. Her first few slashes and kicks landed heavily and only slightly off-balance, dealing out the maximum level of damage Allison was capable of. But then, as she began to realize that she was far too close to Derek and his hands could easily reach her, the tides rapidly turned on her.

Those claws, jagged and sharper than any knife, pierced her flesh as Derek intercepted her arm mid-swing, the dagger holding steadily a few inches away from his neck. Allison frowned, growling at the base of her throat in frustration as she tried with all her might to push her arm those two inches forward which spelt out the difference between her death and his.

But she wasn't as strong as she'd thought she was.

Allison wasn't ready to fight an alpha, not yet. Contrary to what her grandfather had been assuring her not more than an hour ago, she was no where near prepared enough to kill Derek Hale, but in that moment, Allison couldn't connect the conflicts of interest and how much danger her grandfather had placed her in by lying.

She was fighting for her life, now. And she was losing.

A scream tore past her lips as Derek's ruby colored eyes narrowed, his hold over her strengthening so that her arm bent to the side and the knife clattered out of her grip.

She didn't have time to wonder if any bones had been broken, although it didn't feel that way to Allison. All she could do was act, lifting her other arm high up in her last attempt to end Derek's life.

His breath was hot and angry as he reached out with his other hand and held onto her violently motivated arm, squeezing so tightly that Allison could almost swear all the blood had been evacuated from her hand, until the remaining knife fell past her numbing fingers.

Pulling her up and off her feet by both her hands, the ache from her stretched out limbs becoming nearly intolerable, Derek leaned close to her face, his eyes narrowed hatefully as he held her up effortlessly. Allison matched his fiery gaze with one of equal loathing, her chin sticking out as she stubbornly refused to admit her defeat.

"Wish granted." He spat, his hold over her releasing so suddenly that Allison didn't even have time to gasp as his fist collided with her chest mid-fall, and she was sent rocketing across the room.

Her tailbone was the first to feel the impact, followed shortly by her thighs and shoulders as she skidded over the bumpy, sand paper like surface of the concrete floors. When she finally stopped moving, Allison curled her arms around herself and groaned, permitting the first glimpse of real pain to shine through as she examined the long, red scratches burned into her exposed palms and elbows.

As the blistering pain became more acute, Allison was forced to bite her lip as she held back a whimper. Across from her, Derek regarded her coldly, the downwards turn to his lips the only sign that he felt any remorse for causing her such distress.

Allison was fine with that. She didn't want his pity. She wanted his blood.

Lifting herself to her knees and then standing, careful to avoid bearing down on her hands or elbows, Allison gently rolled the fabric lining wrapped around her arm beneath the leather gauntlets she wore, over top of the burns on her elbows, wincing as the skin pulled and stretched in complaint.

Gunfire jolted her out of her sluggish trance, causing her spine to straighten and her head to turn in the direction of the thunderous booms. Near the back of the warehouse, a few meters away from the separate room Allison had noticed early on—the curtain of plastic sheets swinging in an imaginary breeze—were Isaac and her father.

No, Allison had to remind herself, Chris Argent and the beta wolf.

The wolf she'd injured was leaning heavily on Chris Argent's shoulder, obviously still greatly weakened from the wolf'sbane dipped arrows she'd shot through his chest. Standing steady despite the added weight, Chris held a shiny pistol in his hands, the recoil from each fire jarring his carefully blank expression so that some of his desperation leaked through.

Allison nearly ran to aid them, her feet moving slowly but then picking up their pace as the two were almost overwhelmed by the armies of hunters her grandfather had arranged to aid in the attack.

It wasn't until she realized that Chris was firing at Gerard, who stood in the center of the warehouse, defying the chaos around him, that Allison faltered in her sprint. Her heart stampeded in her chest as the beta wolf slowly detached himself from Chris, his teeth clenched as he pulled slowly, but deliberately on the poisoned arrows.

As the two bloody shafts fell at the beta's feet, his eyes burned amber, focused directly on her grandfather. The man who had become her mentor, who had understood her anger and honed it into finely sharpened steel. The man who had made her strong enough to avenge her mother and aunt.

The decision didn't even have to be considered before Allison had renewed her sprint, barreling directly for the beta wolf whose intention was to injure or kill the only remaining member of her family which understood her.

She breached the distance easily, her injuries dully throbbing at the back of her mind where they couldn't impede her performance, and Allison pulled out a spare set of knives from the sheaths attached to her hips as she clashed with the werewolf who had only been able to progress halfway between Chris and her grandfather.

The impact shook all the way to Allison's skull, blurring her vision for a moment as she attacked. Her slashes and jibes were well placed, digging deep beneath the arms and across the back, but slicing shallowly down the chest and biceps. Allison had learned her lesson fighting with Derek, not to get too close. If those deadly claws and those powerful fists could reach her, Allison's advantage was moot.

Growling, Isaac's face turned to her, his eyes still as bright yellow as ever, hair sprouting from his sideburns and thickening around his eyebrows, a garish twisting occurring through his forehead as he transformed before her eyes.

Teeth elongated and sharpened into wickedly sharp points, Allison couldn't help looking away for a moment, her eyes finding her father, who was surrounding by enemy hunters on all sides, his hands raised high as the empty pistol slipped through his fingers.

A twinge of remorse tickled Allison's heart, but she pushed it aside just as quickly as it had come, redirecting her attention to the wolf who dared to try and steal her grandfather away from her.

Isaac's lips drew back as he growled at her, a hint of reservation in his inhuman gaze as he attempted to rush forth and catch her, only to trip over Allison's well placed kick.

He doubled over and Allison quickly pounced on the weakness. She felt her blood pumping harshly all the way to her fingertips and her adrenaline levels were sky high, allowing her to move with speed that would ordinarily drain her energy far too quickly to finish the duel.

Grinning as her knives came back red, Allison's attack focused on Isaac's exposed back as he choked and struggled. Each time he tried to turn around, Allison would stab the knife, hilt deep in his side, forcing him to flinch away from her and remain where he was. It was almost a game to her.

If Allison hadn't have been so caught up in maintaining her fluid, precise knife work, she would have realized how truly foreign the sensation was. The blood-lust, the loss of control, and the undiluted rage rushing through her system came from one source and one source only; the very man she was protecting with such misplaced dedication.

And, if Allison hadn't have been so distracted by the strangely gratifying criss-cross of destruction carved across Isaac's back, she would have also noticed the figure standing a few feet away, watching her every move from behind the shelter of the plastic curtain.

But she didn't see it. She didn't even look.

Allison couldn't tear her eyes away from her weakening prey, taking great pleasure when the beta dropped to his knees, an agonized, guttural groan breaking forth, before Allison dug one blade all the way into his shoulder and used the other to hold steady across his throat.

She heard footsteps, but didn't register them over the mad drums pulsing in her mind, keeping check of her true self; the compassion and uncertainty that otherwise would have stopped her at the first drop of innocent blood spilled, locked away in a dark corner of her head where only pain and heartbreak existed.

Allison smiled, nearly laughing, as her grip on the knife held against the beta's neck tightened, beginning to slide in a motion totally unfamiliar to her, but which she knew would cut across the aortic vein, ending the werewolf's life.

Her knife hesitated at the thought, holding still. Allison didn't want to kill anyone. At least, she'd thought that she didn't.

Yet, lifting her stare over to watch Derek destroying the battalion of hunters circling him, throwing them through the air like toys and crushing their bones as if they were made of glass, Allison knew that she had to do the unthinkable, in order to get her revenge.

She would have to sink her hands in the blood of Derek's first beta—who, according to her grandfather, was the strongest of all his betas, sharing the deepest bond with his alpha—in order to inflict the same pain upon him, which he'd dealt out to her on the night of her mother's death.

Allison knew she wasn't strong enough to kill Derek. Their brief battle had proved that to her. But she could at least weaken him through Isaac Lahey, her unfortunate victim.

Her fingers grew cold and stiff from her time debating the action, but they moved swiftly when she commanded them to begin sliding the blade across the beta's throat. His breathing was deep and ragged—frightened, although he refused to permit it to show in his tense expression—as blood welled in the gash she'd begun carving in his skin, dripping down his neck.

And as she herself breathed in deeply, bracing herself for the total loss of her innocence, a force which Allison could nearly have mistaken for a freight train, slammed into her side.

She hadn't been prepared; hadn't seen it coming; so Allison was unable to brace herself in time to avoid skidding across the floor on her knees and slamming her head against the concrete beneath her as her momentum was chewed away by the friction blistering yet another part of her body.

Allison groaned, at first only in exhaustion and vexation, but as she stood, it turned to sickly envy and hatred.

Because standing protectively over Isaac Lahey's hunched form, her knees bent and her visage nearly glowing with power and a bone-chilling malevolence, was the only person that Allison had not wanted to meet, on that night.

The only person who could dissuade her in her quest for blood and revenge, or who could bring it to the point of consuming her.

The only person who was capable of utterly destroying everything that Allison had worked so hard to craft.

As Adrianna Argent reached across her shoulder and pulled forth a sword the likes of which Allison had never seen before, a maliciously glittering blade on either end of a chunky leather handle, Allison felt the first real ripples of consequence for her actions.

Hell itself seemed to freeze over when Adrianna opened her lips, the blade which Allison suddenly realized was crafted from both of her cousin's hunting knives melded together handle to handle, twirling effortlessly in her hand, to speak the words that would forever haunt Allison's mind.

"Hurt him again and I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

The worst part was that, crouching beneath her cousin—the battle still waging on all around them—Allison knew instantly that each carefully pronounced threat, stabbing like icicles in her flesh, held more truth than she could ever comprehend.

Adrianna was ready to kill her if it meant protecting Isaac.

Allison stood up, forcing herself to stare down her cousin without glancing away from her haunting eyes, which burned with an eerie green fire. She clenched her much shorter, far less impressive knives in her trembling fists and solidified her resolve, setting aside whatever doubts she had about winning a fight against her more experience cousin.

"We'll see about that." Allison somehow found the strength to retort, her lips rising in a feral, much less attractive version of Adrianna's smirk, as they faced off against each other in a battle of wills for the Argent crown.

Now, they were both ready to kill: one for love and one for glory.

#-#-#-#-#

Once he'd turned his back on Allison, who'd unsurprisingly tried to kill him first—an ultimate failure which cast serious doubt on her supposed training—Derek found his attention pulled towards the point in the middle of the room where gravity seemed to be dragging him to.

As Derek approached at a steady pace, dispatching any hunters that stood in his way, he came close enough to see that Gerard was aged and grey, but not as aged and grey as Derek knew he should have been. There was an aura about him that screamed supernatural. It set Derek's teeth on edge and ruffled his composure.

Somehow, without anyone noticing, Gerard had gotten his hands on something that was making him appear younger and stronger than any psychotic seventy-year-old with a history of violence, should have been.

But Derek couldn't dwell on the small details. If Gerard had discovered the fountain of youth, that was good for him, but ultimately inconsequential to Derek.

That was, of course, until the man he'd assumed to be senile and decrepit, unsheathed a broadsword that Derek remembered witnessing Adrianna use to bisect an omega wolf on her first day in Beacon Hills, lifting it over his head like it weighed nothing and proceeding to swing it through the air between them.

The sword whistled as it cut cleanly across the distance separating them. Derek knew that if he wasn't careful, it would cut through him with just as much ease. Snarling, Derek cautiously began circling the eldest Argent. He was dealing with an entirely different version of the Argent leader, than he'd first assumed.

"That's right, Derek." Gerard taunted, his voice holding steady, the lack of pauses needed to breathe missing from his speech. "I'm not the weakling senior citizen you thought me to be."

Around them, the dwindling sea of hunters shuffled outwards, allowing a wide berth of space for Gerard and Derek to pace. His fingers stretched wide by his sides, claws extended and dripping blood, as Gerard held the broadsword steady in a pose that would permit him to act in an instant.

"What have you done? What is the point of this?" Derek formed the words around his fangs, which shrank back into his gums slightly the more time he spent idle and not fighting. "Allison is half the hunter Adrianna is; she's useless to you. Your own son has turned against you and the Kanima you treasured, squishing beneath your thumb, is turning into a creature you can't hope to control. What did you think you'd gain by coming here?" He wondered, eyes narrowing as Gerard swung the sword casually.

"You're concern is heartwarming," Gerard mocked, venom dripping from each word. "But I can assure you that I will not rise to your bait. You cannot pry my motives from me by simply offering me the chance to boast. I am not the fool you take me to be, Derek, and you disappoint your mother by thinking in such restrained dimensions."

"Leave my mother out of this." Derek spat acidly, an animalistic snarl catching in his throat.

"As you wish." Gerard surprisingly agreed, his brows rising placatingly as he gestured around himself. "Should we speak of your impending doom? Or perhaps you'd prefer it if I shed some light on your own perilous predicament?" He goaded, prodding at any exposed nerve he could find.

Derek held himself steady, restraining the demanding wolf within him that wanted to spring out and tear Gerard apart, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but his sarcastic, wrinkled smile.

"Do not think I have failed to notice how alone you are." Gerard's stare zeroed-in on something behind Derek. Despite how badly he didn't want to give the old man the satisfaction of turning, Derek couldn't help but do just that. "Tell me, Derek, where is the rest of your pack? Is the Lahey boy really all that remains? Is his loyalty still to you?"

The sight of Allison slashing and hacking apart his beta, sent shock-waves of anguish rolling through Derek's tautly coiled shoulders. "You might be asking yourself what happened to the others, where they are, and if they found the safety they so craved."

Derek tore his gaze away from Isaac, who'd been forced to his knees. Despite the fact that Isaac had deserted him, in a sense, to follow Scott, there was an undeniable bond that still existed between them. He'd been the one to bite Isaac and grant him the power he'd craved for so long. He was still, in a very real sense, responsible for the boy's well-being.

"What were their names again," Gerard interrupted his internal misery. "Erica and Boyd?"

Their names rung sour and clipped with distaste from out of Gerard's mouth. Hidden beneath, were threats of violence and death that Derek didn't miss. He breathed hot air out of his nostrils, inhaling the scent of both beta's blood, coating Gerard's hands.

Derek roared angrily; the logical, restrained, human part of him becoming incoherent as he gave into the wolf's wishes and snapped forward to meet Gerard's blade.

The steel, which stung and hissed as it slid through several layers of flesh coating Derek's forearm, grew hot the longer it was in contact with his skin. If Derek hadn't known better, he would have assumed the blade to be made of pure silver. But, like any Hale could have easily explained, silver didn't have such a deadly effect on werewolves as it was told in the legends.

If anything, silver was even less effective than wolf'sbane, causing a temporary rash and weakness that would quickly fade away and heal, sometimes only leaving behind a very small scar.

And the sword Derek ducked away from, a heart-clenching fear that confirmed he was far out of his depth taking hold of him, was definitely doing way more damage than a minuscule blistering of the flesh.

He backed up steadily, refusing to admit to himself that he was on the verge of retreating, Gerard following after him. Although Derek tried his best to duck and step out of the way of the mystery sword, Gerard was faster than he'd given him credit for and often found a way to connect the blade in an experienced flourish with some part of Derek's body.

As he stumbled, leaning backwards at the last minute to avoid the powerful blow Gerard had in store for his head, Derek lost his balance and tumbled to the concrete floor, rolling out of the way of the successive strikes Gerard took at him while he was down.

Turning over onto his back, Derek caught the sword between his palms mid-swing, inches away from slicing through his shoulder. Even as the sharpened, double edges were safely unable to cut him, Derek could feel the metal becoming hot under his palms.

"What the hell?" He grumbled, hot blood pooling from a cut beneath his ribs and a deep gash in his arm which had yet to heal, confirming that not only was the metal able to hurt him, but it also suppressed his enhanced healing.

Gerard followed his confused stare, smiling proudly as he regarded the blade. "I'm surprised you hadn't noticed this weapon's potential, earlier." He commented, not at all taxed by the pressure Derek was applying against the blade as he tried to twist it out of Gerard's grasp. "But, since I loaned the sword to Adrianna, I have not had the occasion to use it. All the better for me to have yet another advantage over you."

Derek narrowed his eyes as he surpassed his maximum tolerance for the man's bragging. "Are you really that sure that you've got the advantage, here?" He questioned, his teeth gritting as the sword refused to budge.

"Quite," Gerard assured him tightly. "Your forces are outnumbered and surrounded on all sides. The allies you have managed to scrounge up for this execution you had planned, are mediocre at best. They do not stand a chance of defeating me or impeding me from reaching my goal."

Breathing out an amused laugh through his nostrils, Gerard leaned back, his bulging arms still holding the sword in place, as he looked around himself at the grunts and groans, battle cries and frightened shouts, of the war waging beyond their circle of calm.

"You're not as strong as you think you are." Derek refuted, attempting to rise up to his feet, only for the weight behind the sword to slam him back down as Gerard bent the blade in Derek's hands so that the sharp sides sliced into his palms. "And you've underestimated us. More importantly, you've underestimated Scott." He managed to grind through his teeth as blood slickened his hands, allowing the blade to slip a few inches downwards, closer to his chin.

"Scott is no more than a bumbling fool who values his own innocence over competence." Gerard snapped, his tone souring. "He is no threat to me. Whatever power you think he holds because of his enhanced strength, is easily controlled by pulling the strings to his heart."

"Allison." Derek realized, fuming the longer he struggled on the ground, unable to break free of the deadlock Gerard had pushed him into. "Do you really think you can trust her? She's an emotional wreck. The only reason she's fighting on your side is because of the misplaced hatred you've planted inside her after her mother's death."

"True enough," Gerard concurred stiffly. "And although you were right to say that she is no match for her cousin, the rage that drives her, coupled with the fundamental training I was able to instill in her and the emotional turmoil she will create within Scott and Christopher—a weakness they will not be able to recover from—will be more than enough to defeat them."

Derek held his breath as the sword creeped closer and closer to his neck. He didn't know if he'd normally heal from a decapitation, or if the sword's alien composition would even allow it. Derek didn't want to take the chance, either way.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention. As he followed the shadowed figure, which ran with a swift gracefulness that reminded Derek of how a strong wind could blow past tree branches, leaving no trace it had been there except for the rustling of leaves, his distraction allowed Gerard to stomp one foot over his chest, drawing the air out of his lungs in a painful exhale.

"You wanna know what I think," Derek grinned, his stare never wavering from the shadow he'd begun to identify. "I think you tried to kill Adrianna before getting here, so that if she wasn't helping you, she couldn't harm you, either." He theorized, the dots finally connecting.

Derek understood, now, why Adrianna had always carried the smell of wolf'sbane around with her. She'd been getting gradually weaker throughout her stay in Beacon Hills, and the only reason Derek hadn't noticed, had been because he'd been too engrossed in trying to blame her for her mother's sins against him.

Now, he could see that it hadn't been the werewolves Gerard wanted to poison.

It had been his own granddaughter.

"And for what?" Derek faced Gerard, the guilty ache in his chest alleviating with each word he spoke in Adrianna's defense. "You tried to destroy your own family under the pretense of avenging your daughter's death, just so that you could be strong enough to kill us without anything or anyone standing in your way." Derek licked his lips, his spine tightening as he prepared to break away.

"To clean the supernatural filth from the bowels of this town—to purge it of it's disease—has been my objective for decades." Gerard ranted passionately. "I did not wish to kill Adrianna, but she gave me no choice. She would not join me nor would she follow my leadership." He informed him saltily, remaining aloof from the blame his words inadvertently placed on him.

"And as I'm sure you know," Gerard's voice lowered an octave as he plunged the blade downwards. If it hadn't been for Derek's hand stretching out to block the sword, it would have impaled him through the neck.

"Something that out of control, is better off dead." Derek quoted the words Gerard had said only moments before. Although they'd been in reference to the Kanima, Derek could see how well the phrase fit Gerard's warped evaluation of Adrianna.

As Gerard's brows rose in surprise, silence echoing between them in confirmation of Derek's assumption, the broadsword bore down on Derek even stronger, pushing further through the meaty flesh of his palm as he wrapped his fingers around the sizzling metal.

"But what if she's not dead?" He asked. "What if you made the same mistake each and every of us has made at least once since meeting Adrianna? What if you forgot the one very important thing that makes her who she is?"

Gerard frowned, his eyes narrowing as he took in Derek's words, assessing whether he was lying or not. Derek kept his stare steady and firm, jerking his chin to the side as he allowed himself to look back at the shadowy figure he'd seen earlier.

Her lithe form moved beneath the sporadically placed lamps, wielding a long, double edged sword with a handle in the middle. The metal gleamed beneath the light and as she ducked effortlessly beneath one of Allison Argent's strikes, her long, muddy blonde hair spreading outwards like a curtain, Derek could accurately say for the first time since he'd known who Adrianna was and who she came from, that he was genuinely happy for her to be there.

"What if you overlooked the simple yet undeniable fact," He deliberately pronounced, watching in satisfaction as Gerard's countenance became one of shock and disbelief, his wide eyes following the two cousins who were locked in combat. "That Adrianna isn't human." Derek finished.

Shaking his head, the slight wrinkles lining Gerard's face seemed to hollow out, shadows making him appear closer to his own age. "That is impossible," He uttered, hands loosening around the broadsword's hilt. "It should have killed her or it should have turned her." Gerard explained to himself, his lips moving as he breathed incoherent words Derek didn't catch. "Not this. It was never supposed to allow for this."

Gerard couldn't seem to look away from his granddaughters. From the sound of things, Derek could tell that Adrianna had the upper hand, but Allison didn't seem to be going down as easily as he'd assumed she might. Both girls were panting and grunting from the effort of their fight, Allison's heart having to work slightly harder than Adrianna's.

His left eye twitched as he counted off the seconds of Gerard's distraction. Once he'd passed the five second mark, Derek felt confident enough that Gerard wouldn't be able to retaliate against the movement he had planned, fast enough to stop him.

Taking advantage of his secure hold over the broadsword, Derek gripped the blade even firmer, pulling it out of Gerard's slackened grasp and sending it skidding across the floor at the same time that he tensed his spine, jerking himself upright and into a squat.

Gerard turned on a dime, the two Argent heirs forgotten as he regarded Derek with renewed ire. There was no more time for bragging or taunting, and perhaps that was even more intimidating, as Gerard advanced on Derek, apparently unfazed by his disarmed state.

Derek stood his ground and there was only a moment where Gerard briefly glanced to the side, his stare calculating exactly where the broadsword had ended up, before the hunter drew back his fist and punched Derek in the face.

He had expected it to be weak. He had thought that, instead of hurting him—as the punch was obviously designed to do—it would have backfired and possibly broken some of Gerard's grisly looking fingers.

But it wasn't weak. In fact, it was pretty damn strong.

And, Derek lamented to confess, it hurt like a bitch.

Reeling, it took a moment for Derek to regain his bearings. By then, Gerard had pulled back his arm and landed another powerful hit to Derek's injured rib cage, and then to his shoulder, and then to his chest. It wasn't until the older man aimed to strike Derek's jaw again, that he was able to regain some control.

Derek's hand snapped up quicker than the eye could see to wrap around Gerard's fist, holding it in place a hair's breadth away from hitting it's mark. For a moment, he struggled to push Gerard's hand away, both men's arms shaking from the effort, but after a few short heartbeats, Derek was able to twist Gerard's arm behind his back, vaulting the hunter away from him as his strength returned.

Uncurling his shoulders and standing tall, Derek felt the wounds scattered across his body, inflicted by the Argent broadsword, closing. As Gerard glared up at him from where he'd fallen, his arm stretching out to take hold of the deadly sword, which was only a few feet away, both men realized that the crowd of hunters which had held them in an arena of sorts, were missing.

Derek's chin tilted to the side as he looked around him, Gerard doing the same, to see that most of the Argent's hired men had been left in unconscious piles, scattered around the warehouse.

"I think your luck may have run out." Derek couldn't help but provoke, a jeering smirk lifting his lips as he watched Scott rush over to check on Isaac, who was still kneeling, but otherwise seemed fine.

Gerard pulled himself to his feet, his movements less fluid, as if his arthritic joints had begun to ail him again. "I wouldn't be so certain to announce your victory just yet, Derek." He chastised, hoisting the sword off the ground shakily. "I still have my Coup de Grâce."

Following Gerard's gaze, Derek felt an electrical buzz rush up his spine as he saw Jackson's upper body—finally free from the restraining transparent casing that had wrapped around him, which now lay in an unimpressive puddle all around him—shudder where he lay, his legs still tucked away inside the body bag.

Yellow, slitted eyes flying open, Derek had to suppress the urge to groan as the Kanima lifted itself out of the bag, scales rippling across what remained of human flesh, a six foot long tail whipping by it's side as it screeched, crouching low and spreading it's clawed fingers wide.

It scuttled up the closest wall, heading directly for Isaac and Scott, who had their backs turned to it.

Derek was about to yell out and warn them of the approaching threat, but as his lips parted and his vocal chords tensed, ready to be used, Chris Argent rushed out from behind the grimy, plastic sheets which divided the warehouse's two rooms, his guns blazing.

"Damn my impudent son," Gerard cursed as the Kanima shrieked, dropping to the floor and taking care to avoid the hail of bullets as it engaged in combat. "Do I have to do everything myself?" He rhetorically wondered.

His feet spread wide, claws and fangs at the ready, Derek simply bellowed a response, shifting from foot to foot as Gerard turned back to him, holding his sword at the ready.

Derek sprang back as Gerard slashed wide, nearly severing his arm, using all his senses to predict the Argent's next move. Even though they'd appeared to be winning, the Kanima was sure to mix things up. Derek had to focus on his own fight, as much as he wanted to help the others.

One slight lack of concentration and Derek could end up as half a man.

He thought about how harshly he'd misjudged Adrianna and how close he'd come to killing her for something she hadn't even done.

As he stepped into Gerard's defenses, slashing at the older man's arm and finding that his claws sank into flesh, drawing blood and a pained grunt from Gerard, Derek hoped he could set aside his prejudice towards her for long enough to see the person Scott and Isaac saw.

If she'd managed to survive living with Gerard her whole life and hadn't gone crazy like the rest of her family, Derek realized, wincing as the blade clipped his back and dragged across his shoulder, she had to be stronger than he'd first assumed.

Kate had been first.

Now it was Allison.

Derek was just glad to know that he wouldn't have to deal with a blood-thirsty, psychologically tormented, unrelenting, well-trained warrior that was out for his head. Especially since Adrianna was so much like her mother, old memories were certain to be disturbed.

He'd come to know that it was the little victories that were the sweetest.

#-#-#-#-#

Adrianna was mad.

In fact, she could even say that she was furious.

When she'd seen the way Allison had violently attacked Isaac, his blood pouring out in hot trickles across her cousin's knives as something deep and worrying drove Allison to the edge and then beyond, Adrianna had nearly lost her mind.

Something urgent and heart-stopping had driven her to intercede, harshly pushing Allison away with more force than she'd meant to use. A cloud had descended over all rational thought and the only thing that remained was the undiluted, knee-shaking fear of watching Isaac Lahey die; the one person she'd begun to care for unconditionally.

There were too many names on that list who she'd seen killed, or ended up killing herself, for Adrianna to be able to bear adding another one.

Adrianna hadn't thought as she spat hateful, threatening words at her cousin. She had only felt.

Deep inside her chest, the heart she'd hidden away all her life for the very same fear of being absolutely devastated beyond recovery, had leapt so far out of the cage it had been locked in, it was still jammed in her throat, even now.

There were words—soft, gooey, vulnerable words she didn't even know how to use—sitting on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be said to Allison. But each time she tried, the familiar ice cold terror blocked her airways and reminded her just how close she'd come to realizing her worst fear.

So they fought, knives slashing, kicks flying, metal grating and sparking red hot as they battled for dominance. Neither was willing to give in.

Though the uncertain, yet extremely potent emotions she felt for Isaac were what motivated Adrianna, it was clear that something else entirely was forcing Allison into the dangerous role of a huntress susceptible to Gerard's meddling.

Something, Adrianna could guess, that was related to Victoria Argent's untimely death.

Easily blocking the array of clumsy, yet powerful blows, Adrianna pressed her cousin backwards, forcing her to retreat as she laid down a heavy layer of cover against the continuous barrage Allison refused to let up on.

Although Allison had two small, close range knives—compared to Adrianna's single amalgamation of her twin hunting blades—it was clear by the way Allison hesitated to breach the relatively vast distance between them, that she wasn't confident using her weapons as they'd been meant to be implemented.

Perhaps she was afraid of losing, should she step closer to Adrianna. Or maybe she hadn't been as fully trained with the knives as she tried to appear. Either way, it gave Adrianna yet another advantage.

The lamps overhead allowed for some bright spots to shine down on them. It was in the shadows between these areas that Adrianna felt most comfortable. She moved as though she was made of darkness itself, jumping back and forth, slashing and diving at her cousin as Allison struggled to keep up.

Adrianna's double bladed sword felt like a second limb, but even as it molded to the shape of her hand, Adrianna could not forget the sting she felt every time she remembered Gerard and the way he had hefted her broadsword over his head.

It had been crafted just for her; the first fusion of celestial bronze and silver—wolf'sbane dipped filigree engraved across the blades. She had trained with it all her life. Without it, Adrianna felt incomplete.

The sword had been meant to finally be hers—wholly and unconditionally—on the day she graduated from training.

Now, Adrianna knew that she would never see that day.

Allison launched at her with just as much fervor as she'd had all night, putting too much emotion into her moves and counter-moves, so that she was left heaving. But, Adrianna had to acknowledge that her cousin had yet to falter.

Exhaustion was beginning to creep up on Adrianna when she understood what needed to be done, closing off her thoughts as she focused on breathing, her sword becoming an extension of her arm, which was an appendage to her body, which was a part of her soul.

Standing directly beneath a lamp, the brightness and constant flickering forcing her to squint, Adrianna lifted her sword up, catching Allison's knife across the middle hilt, and pulled away, the knife coming with her as it caught on the leather straps wrapped across the hand-hold.

Allison growled deep in her throat as Adrianna tip-toed around her, the fallen knife safely out of her cousin's reach. "Come on," Allison pressed, her tone turning shrill and impatient the longer Adrianna refused to attack. "Come on!"

Stepping forward, Allison dove for Adrianna, her one knife held firmly in front of her with both hands. The technique was there, but the years of practice which allowed knowledge and physical reaction to coincide, was missing.

Adrianna pressed her lips together as she ducked into Allison's charge, twisting her body and using the flat of her blade to slap across her cousin's back, startling her enough that an opening between her arms enlarged to the perfect width where Adrianna could have pushed forward and disarmed her with minimal injuries.

But, like the rest of the day had proven to her, things were never that simple when it came to the Argents.

Expression stormy, Allison struggled against her as their arms become tangled, locked together in a painful contortion that Adrianna had no hope of wriggling out of, thanks to her cousin's persistent kicking and stomping.

Guarding her last knife zealously, Allison was able to reach out and gouge a long scratch across Adrianna's cheek. Her lips rising in a cruel smile, although her brows were furrowed in what could have been uncertainty, Allison slammed the cold knife against Adrianna's neck.

"Stop it." Adrianna gritted her teeth, attempting to use her less constrained arm to push away the blade digging into her skin. "Allison, you don't want to do this. You're hurting people and who knows what you'll do next."

She remembered the omega, her first kill. Adrianna hadn't ever thought that she would be capable of taking a life so easily. All that had changed when her mother died. A part of herself that she'd always been too afraid to embrace, had unraveled as easily as breathing. Was Allison any different?

"Do you really want to kill me?" Adrianna's voice lowered so that it was just her and Allison. There were no more rules or lies, no more reputations to uphold or expectations to reach. "Is that what you want, beneath the anger and whatever Gerard's told you? Because if it is," She continued, her mind reeling back to all the faltered steps she'd taken and could have avoided, if she'd only had someone to talk some sense into her. Adrianna couldn't allow Allison to walk down that same path, without at least trying to help her. "I can promise you that it won't take away the pain of losing her."

Adrianna remembered her mother, the way she really was. All that anger and hatred, the power and training, and the few but precious moments of vulnerability and pride that had slipped through the cracks. Kate was always with her, sometimes haunting her every thought, but other times giving her the strength she needed to do the impossible.

"Nothing will."

Her voice cracked with emotion but Adrianna didn't take back the words. They needed to be said. Allison needed to understand that the only way to overcome the crippling loss, was to allow herself to mourn, no matter how painful it was at first.

Allison faltered, pulling herself and the knife away, her eyes clearing for a moment as she lightly shook her head. "No," She quietly said, "I don't want to kill you. I never did."

Her lips fell in a relieved smile, the weight in her chest alleviating. "Then we don't have to fight anymore," Adrianna suggested gently, wary of the swirling vortex expressed through Allison's caramel colored eyes. "We don't have to end this in even more blood and death." She said, pitching the sentence so it ended in a question, rather than a statement.

Allison frowned, her jaw abruptly clenching as her anger reared stubbornly, refusing to abate so easily. "But I didn't start this." She reminded herself, shaking her head.

"Can't you see," Adrianna pleaded, her voice raw from the mixture of rage and sorrow burning in her blood. "Gerard is using you, just like he used Kate. Just like he tried to use me. The moment he doesn't need you, he'll throw you aside."

"He doesn't care about you." She forcefully told her cousin, hope for Allison's redemption fluttering away, just out of grasp the longer Adrianna allowed her cousin's anger to fester. "Gerard doesn't care about anyone."

Allison's eyes narrowed hatefully. "You're wrong." She denied, her black makeup smudging in places, allowing Adrianna to see the bright red rims of Allison's eye lids. "You're just jealous because you aren't good enough, anymore. Because you've never been good enough."

Tears pooled and then fell from Allison's eyes as her nose tinged red. "I am better than you ever were." She seemed to assure herself, bitter barbs in her words meant to inflict the same pain she was feeling, onto Adrianna. "I'm a better hunter. I'm a better student." She began to list, her voice strengthening with each word.

"Don't do this, Allison." Adrianna tried one last time, her own anger beginning to kindle and reignite. "Don't make me do this. Don't cross this line."

Allison lifted her chin high, a muscle in her jaw twitching taut. "I'm a better leader. I'm a better Argent. I am a better daughter." She ended up choking past her tensed throat.

Right then, Adrianna forgot about saving her cousin from repeating her own mistakes because in that single moment, the frayed self-control that Adrianna had barely managed to hold onto, snapped cleanly in half.

She pounced forward, all coiled muscle and violent instinct, her sword slashing in a blur of brutal movements as Adrianna kicked into a gear she rarely allowed herself to delve deep enough to tap, for fear of losing herself.

Before Allison could so much as catch her breath or lift her knife to protect herself, Adrianna had twisted her cousin's arm to the point where the bone began to splinter, stopping only to kick away the knife which fell to the ground.

She then countered Allison's panicked kicks and misplaced punches, ducking to the side and sweeping her leg across both of Allison's feet so that her cousin tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Twirling her double bladed sword over her shoulder and across her arm so that it extended all the way to Allison's chin, Adrianna breathed out through her nose harshly and quickly took hold of what little control she could find within herself, to stop from decapitating her cousin.

"Go on," Allison encouraged her, a hint of the madness Gerard's manipulation was creating inside her, rising to the surface as she stared defiantly up at Adrianna. "Do it. Be the murderer we all know you to be. I dare you to." She whispered.

For a moment, Adrianna was tempted. Her sword dipped lower, stealing away Allison's next breath as her obstinate cousin refused to show the fear so obviously shining in her eyes. She chose to clench her jaw and brace herself, instead, and the motion reminded Adrianna of herself.

It was enough to bring Adrianna back to reality. She wasn't going to murder her cousin, no matter how twisted and insane Allison had become.

"No." Adrianna resolutely proclaimed, leaving no room for doubt, even as Allison's eyes narrowed and her lips lifted as if to speak.

Standing back from where she'd been leaning over Allison, Adrianna flipped her sword in her hand, slamming the blade into the concrete inches beside Allison's head. Her cousin jumped nearly a foot in the air, falling back as the strength to lift herself up, abandoned her.

"Don't get up, Allison." She bit out, her cousin's words still burning painfully. "Don't join a side you don't understand. Don't defend a man you don't even know. Don't pick a fight you can't win. And don't ever, ever, test my restraint again." Adrianna growled the word, content when her cousin sat back, afraid.

"Next time," She warned. "You might not be so lucky."

There was still the rage and jealousy, hints of contempt and even regret, in Allison's eyes as Adrianna walked away.

She left her cousin to ruminate on her words, pulling her sword free from the crack the blade had etched several inches into the concrete, swinging it by her side as she moved onto the next fight.

Deep inside Adrianna, there was a breach that hadn't been mended and a rivalry that hadn't even begun to see the light of day, between her and Allison. She was sure her cousin felt the same.

No matter how much they tried, neither one of them could take back what had been said and done on that night, or what was to follow.

Because, as the Kanima screeched at Adrianna, it's long, whip-like tail snapping behind it, Adrianna was certain that the worst was yet to come.

#-#-#-#-#

The raid had started not long after Allison had gone after Derek. And no matter how hard Scott tried, no matter how many of Gerard's hunters he smashed and pummeled, Scott couldn't get his mind off of Chris Argent's words, and how true they rung now.

He'd lost her.

The Allison he'd loved—sweet and funny, caring and sensitive—was nothing but a distant memory. The girl in her place, dressed in black with madness shining in her eyes and blood dripping from her knives, was nothing more than a shell of the girl he'd fallen for, what felt like decades ago.

Sure, she might have been stronger and faster. And there was no denying that she'd gotten more advanced in her training; so much so that she was able to fight against Derek for a record length of time. But she was also weaker, in a very real sense, without the softness Scott had loved so much about her.

Allison had always wanted to be taken seriously and now, she had her wish. But what was any of it worth, if all that was left was the hollow, violent puppet Gerard had carefully crafted in the place of a wounded, motherless Allison, who'd been too devastated to realize her mistakes.

Scott would never forgive himself if Allison permanently lost touch with her real self, just because he couldn't stop Gerard in time.

The plan was still in motion. Scott had to keep reminding himself of that. Even though Adrianna hadn't appeared like he'd been expecting her to, Scott knew he'd have to stick to the plan, regardless.

If he didn't, there would be nothing standing in Gerard's way and Scott would lose Allison forever. He couldn't even bare to think about that possibility, so Scott shook his head and pushed aside the disturbing scenario, focusing on wading through the seemingly endless supply of hunters, doing his best to incapacitate them and not kill them.

Although he'd been succeeding at restraining his strength and separating his mental anguish over Allison, from the task at hand; and the unspoken agreement for the others to do the same, still stood; Scott still found himself stepping over the occasional dead body.

Throat slashed or neck twisted oddly to the side, whatever way they'd died, the murder was always brutal and completed with scary precision.

He didn't have to look around himself to know who'd done it, and despite the fact that they needed Peter's help—according to Derek—Scott had known since the moment he'd seen the man alive, that it had been a mistake to trust him.

But then, as one of the last hunters around Scott fell flat beneath a solid punch, he heard the clear echoes of a voice that chilled his bones and forced his heart to clench worriedly. Looking over, he saw Adrianna standing between Allison and a severely wounded Isaac, a long double bladed sword clenched tightly in her hand.

He wanted to interfere. To somehow calm the brewing anger both girl's expressed through stony expressions and growling threats. But then, the Kanima rose to it's feet and chaos erupted.

Scott rushed to Isaac's side while Derek continued to struggle against Gerard; who had a long, very familiar broadsword held at his throat. Chris came barreling out of nowhere, bullets spraying in a wide arc, aiming for the scaled creature. All the while, Adrianna and Allison battled ferociously, like two wild beasts set loose on each other.

"What's going on?" He had to yell just to be heard over the deafening gunfire. "I thought the Kanima was transforming. It shouldn't even be awake right now." Scott recalled, leaning over Isaac's bloody back and tucking one arm carefully beneath his shoulder, helping him to stand.

"I have no idea." Isaac replied, just as loudly. "But whatever's happening, someone needs to make sure that Adrianna doesn't end up losing it. She could kill Allison if she's not careful." His curly hair was glued to his skull in some places by sweat and patches of his own blood. Scott felt a stab of shame as he realized that Allison had been the one to inflict the wounds on his friend, even as he shook his head in disagreement.

"No," Scott licked his lips, watching as Adrianna bent over, dodging a succession of Allison's angry slashes, before twirling her new sword in front of her like a helicopter blade, advancing on her cousin. "I'm more worried about Allison trying to kill Adrianna." He shared, frowning as his ex-girlfriend twisted under one of Adrianna's kicks and landed a solid scratch across her cousin's face as the two Argents became tangled closely together.

"Uh, Scott." Isaac shifted uneasily over Scott's supporting arm. "I think we have more important things to be worrying about." His voice wavered cautiously.

Brows pinching together, Scott followed Isaac's line of sight directly towards the Kanima, which had given up climbing across the ceiling and walls and decided to crouch in front of them. The creature that had once been Jackson hissed at them, it's sharp teeth glittering wickedly with translucent strips of saliva.

"You know, I think you might be right." He agreed, short of breath. Scott surreptitiously spread his feet wider, the claws on his free hand growing out again into sharpened razors as he glanced over at Isaac with a question shining in his eyes. "Can you stand on your own?"

Isaac's jaw clenched tightly as he rolled his shoulders backwards, straightening his posture and pulling away slowly but steadily from Scott. "Yeah," He affirmed, the wounds scarred across his back still damp with blood. "Let's do this."

Scott leaned his upper body forward so that he was nearly matching the Kanima's crouch. He focused on the hot coal burning in the deepest part of his heart—the rage and betrayal he'd shoved away after Allison had chosen to follow her grandfather, over him—and allowed his control to slip.

He instantly felt hair sprouting across his face, a slight ache in his gums letting his know that his teeth had sank into fangs. "Together." He said more to himself, catching Isaac's matching werewolf features out of the corner of his eye.

Nodding his agreement, Isaac snarled loudly, limping slightly to the side so that he was flanking Scott as Chris joined them.

They were two beta wolves and a human hunter, against one Kanima. How hard can it be? Scott asked himself as Chris reloaded his gun and stood across from them.

When the Kanima's tail lashed out, knocking Isaac to the ground, and Scott had to duck out of the way of Chris' ear-splitting retaliation, Scott realized that it was going to be very hard, indeed.

Their numbers turned out to be the only reason they stood a chance against their superior opponent. Together, the three of them were able to lay down an alternating net of cover fire and assaults. But even so, they were only capable of keeping the Kanima busy. Capturing the creature—which was probably the only option they had left to save Jackson—was going to be impossible if they couldn't get more help.

"Behind you!" Scott shouted out as the Kanima scuttled away from him, rushing towards Chris with it's tail swinging back and forth imposingly.

Chris was the only human among them, but even if he'd had supernatural reflexes, Scott knew he wouldn't have had enough time to turn around and defend himself. The man's pistol was all but empty and the ammo clips in his belt were too far away for him to reach before the Kanima was upon him.

Scott moved to help, even though he knew that he'd never make it. His jaw gritted nervously as he watched Chris Argent move in slow motion to face his death. There were still at least five meters between Scott and Chris, and Isaac was even further. Neither of them had any chance of saving him.

Just when Scott had braced himself for the worst, his heart plummeting to his toes as Chris glared straight back at the Kanima screeching greedily over him, a silver blade which shone with gold flecks as it slashed across the Kanima's descending tail, interceded.

"I don't think so." Adrianna growled, blood still dripping from the relatively shallow cut on her cheek as she stepping between Chris and the Kanima.

Hissing, the Kanima's yellow eyes slitted in confusion as it glanced between Scott and Isaac, who had managed to form a barricade on either side of the creature as it had been posed to attack Chris.

"Go," Scott commanded, rushing forward at the same time that Adrianna and Isaac did, so that they swarmed the Kanima, claws scratching and metal blades slicing through the tense air.

For a moment, the Kanima was defenseless, surrounded and taking damage on all sides. Adrianna was hacking away at the creature's chest and mid-section, expertly weaving her sword back and forth between her hands in a blurred figure eight pattern. Isaac and Scott took hold of either arm, doing whatever they could to restrain the Kanima's deadly, venomous claws as the scaled creature weakened.

But then—as though it had magically tapped into an unknown strength reserve—the Kanima broke free from Scott and Isaac, pulling them in either direction and sending them crashing to the ground.

As Scott's shoulder took most of the impact, the fabric of his shirt and then the upper lay of his skin, scratching and tearing across the rough concrete floors, he watched as the Kanima caught Adrianna's sword as it arced partway to it's chest, between it's scaly fingers.

Screeching loudly, the Kanima pulled the sword towards itself, drawing Adrianna in by default even as she struggled against the much stronger creature, and then used it's recently healed tail to whip across Adrianna's legs, collapsing them beneath her weight.

"Adrianna!" Scott heard Isaac yell, the name sounding raspy and urgent on his tongue. Taking his gaze off of the winded, but uninjured huntress, Scott's eyes followed the Kanima as it skittered away on all fours, heading towards Derek.

The alpha werewolf had won his battle with Gerard, the broadsword that the older hunter had fought with lying uselessly several meters away as Derek's hand wrapped around Gerard's throat, although it was clear by the tenseness in his shoulders and the blood staining his shirt that he hadn't gotten away unscathed, either.

As Derek's eyes glowed bright red, Scott could tell that his control was thinning. It would only be a matter of time before he snapped Gerard's neck, but, if Scott's gut was correct, it would be a moment too late.

The Kanima was closing on them both, fast. From the twitch in Gerard's clenched fists, Scott knew that the creature had been summoned for only one purpose. He felt a pull in his chest that begged him not to go through with the plan, not to betray the man that had taught him so much, despite their differences.

Biting down on his lip until he tasted blood, Scott set aside the uncertainty and held true to the only thing that hadn't gone terribly wrong, as of yet.

He timed it just right, waiting until the Kanima was only a few feet away before he parted his lips to speak. "Derek, watch out!" Scott cried, a heaviness sinking in his stomach as he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the ache in his shoulder as the skin began to stitch itself closed.

Just like it had been meant to, the words distracted Derek, forcing him to turn his head to stare at Scott quizzically. Their eyes met and some of the anguish must have translated into Scott's gaze, as Derek visibly frowned, confused and perhaps a little frightened.

It was in that moment of confusion, that the Kanima slammed through Derek. Gerard fell to the floor as Derek's grip was torn away, his knees giving out beneath him. Scott knew he should have gone over to Gerard and offered his assistance—it would have cemented the trust that had been built of his supposed naive idiocy and Gerard's arrogant blindness to Scott's actual intelligence—but an acrid hate in Scott's mouth rendered him immobile as he watched Derek and the Kanima brawl across the room.

He'd done his part. He'd set Derek up, just like Gerard had wanted, and allowed for the alpha to be caught by surprise. Scott didn't have to enjoy it. In fact, he didn't even have to watch it. But somehow, he felt it would be disrespectful to look away from the disaster he'd helped to create.

So he set his jaw and watched as Derek snarled deep in the back of his throat, the way he only did when he was beyond the point of controlling his rage, and forced himself not to cringe away as the Kanima twisted Derek's arms in on themselves and used Derek's own claws to impale his stomach.

Roaring in agony, blood poured between Derek's fingers as he collapsed unwillingly onto his knees. Hissing in a way that reminded Scott of laughter, the Kanima moved away, retreating from the kill as it followed it's masters commands to the letter.

Scott didn't want to think about what would come next. He just acted, beginning to walk towards the fallen alpha, Adrianna by his side, both of them refusing to even glance over at Gerard, who'd already righted himself—a stiff, apathetic set to his lips giving no intentions or thoughts in the ominous swirling grey clouds of his eyes, away.

But before he could get any closer, the unexpected transpired and the only factor no one had truly considered, shattered the carefully thought-out turn of events.

Allison vaulted herself across the distance separating her and Derek, her bloody and slightly bent knives held at the ready in her white-knuckles fists. Scott didn't even have time to process what she was doing, before she had begun hacking away at Derek's defenseless form.

"No," He heard Adrianna breathe beside him, so much hope hanging in the balance with that one word. "What does she think she's doing? She's ruining everything."

Scott couldn't help agreeing, although he didn't say so out loud. "I think she's trying to avenge her mom." He hesitantly voiced the thought that had stuck in his mind the moment he'd seen Allison with Gerard.

Combing a section of her frizzy, unkempt hair out of her face, Adrianna sighed, shaking her head. "I really wish you weren't so right." She resentfully agreed. They traded guilty glances. Both of them knew that Allison's mental break rested, in part, on each of their shoulders.

And then, to make matters worse, as Derek's weak resistance dwindled into nothing, his blood loss increasing to a horrifying amount, the Kanima sprung forth and wrapped it's tail around—not Derek's neck—but Allison's.

"Not yet, sweetheart." Gerard's reprimanding voice boomed across the warehouse. Scott noticed Adrianna shifting beside him as Isaac joined them. He saw her shoulders dipping, the muscles almost relaxing, although her eyes remained as sharp as ever.

"What are you doing?" Allison choked, her knives clattering to the floor as she reached up to try and loosen the Kanima's hold over her. Slowly, her feet rose off the ground, higher and higher.

Scott broke away from Adrianna and Isaac, circling over to Gerard's side and then continuing so that he stood between a fallen Derek and unraveling Allison. "He's doing what he came here to do." Scott admitted, the almost ever-present tightness in his chest fading away as the secret began to be told.

Looking over his shoulder, Scott saw the way Gerard's brow rose in bafflement. "Then you know?" Gerard said with much more astonishment than Scott had expected.

On the other side of Derek, Adrianna appeared. She nodded slightly as he looked at her. They were ready. Now, Scott could only hope that the plan was actually as fool-proof as Adrianna had assured him it would be.

"What's he talking about?" Allison's voice wavered, pitching high and gravelly as her bravado began to crumble away.

Gerard ignored her, his laser-like stare burning into Scott's uneven jaw-line and making him straighten his posture. "It was the night outside the hospital, wasn't it? When Adrianna and I threatened your mother." Gerard guessed correctly. "I knew I saw something in your eyes. You could just smell the parasitic darkness festering within me, couldn't you?" He lowered his tone to a growl.

Scott glanced to the side as Chris approached, choosing to stand a few feet away from his daughter, even after she'd betrayed them all.

"He's dying." Isaac spoke up from where he was positioned beside Adrianna. His arms hung limply by his sides, the fingers on his right hand twitched slightly.

Adrianna smirked, her lips curling sarcastically as she breathed a small laugh. Gerard smiled, joining her in a private joke that no one else could understand. "Cancer." She stated bluntly. "And after everything, you've only bought yourself another month."

The tightening in her voice and the color that rushed to her cheeks, were the only sign that the knowledge of her grandfather's impeding death bothered her in the slightest. As she shifted to the side, Isaac's fingers interlocked with hers.

"Accurate and insolent as only you can be, Adrianna." Gerard seemed to praise her, though there was a bite of something foreign and prickly in his voice. "Yes, I am dying. I have been for a while, now."

Scott clenched his knuckles until they cracked. Gerard spread his arms wide as though the whole thing was some kind of spectacle. "Unfortunately, science does not yet have a cure for cancer." He morosely intoned, sounding like he was in a Shakespearean play. "But the supernatural does." Gerard reminded them ominously.

Chris instantly understood, the gun in his hand rising slightly as if he wanted to use it on his father. "You monster." He accused, no trace of pity in his stern gaze.

"Not yet." Gerard disagreed, jerking his chin towards the Kanima in a silent order that could not be disobeyed.

Scott felt his heart begin to pump as Allison's feet shook, her limited air supply cutting off as the Kanima's tail tightened around her throat like a noose. "What are you doing?" Allison repeated tremulously, her eyes finally resembling the same resourceful, honest, brave, intelligent girl he'd fallen in love with.

Chris stepped forward, his pistol aiming directly at Gerard before he thought better of it. "You'll kill her too?" He demanded, reluctantly allowing his weapon to rest against his chest.

"When it comes to survival," Gerard began lowly, a gritty strength overtaking his tone as it rose into a shout. "I'd kill my own son!"

Scott wasn't sure if he was ready for what came next, but when Gerard's beady eyes landed on him—nearly bulging outwards with the intensity of his emotions—Scott knew that he didn't have a choice.

It was show time...

#-#-#-#-#

Derek could hardly see straight, but even so, he knew without the use of his sight that the blurry figure in front of him, twisting his arm behind his back and pulling him to his feet, causing the pain in his slashed open stomach to triple as he was dragged across the room, was Scott.

There was a certain smell that only another werewolf carried, not to mention Scott's own distinct scent, that identified him. That, and the nearly intoxicating waves of guilt rolling off of him.

"Very good, Scott." Gerard praised, his words clipped and shaking with his villainous glee. "Adrianna, hold the others back." The hunter added as, blinking harshly, Derek was able to clear his vision enough to see Chris and Isaac tense, stopping dead in their tracks as the girl in question lifted a sword beneath her Uncle's chin and pressed a firm palm against Isaac's chest.

A growl threatened to slip past Derek's lips, but it died in his throat as he coughed on his own blood. He knew what was going to happen next. He'd heard all the things Gerard and the others had said. The man was dying. Cancer.

There was only one way he could survive and that was through the bite of an alpha werewolf; which he so happened to be.

"Scott, don't." Derek found himself pleading as the distance left before they reached Gerard, shortened. "You know that he's gonna kill me right after. He'll be an Alpha." The words were acerbically pronounced. A last ditch attempt to plead his point.

Refusing to meet his gaze, no matter how oddly Derek twisted his head to try to look behind him, Scott eventually reached out a stiff hand to secure around the back of Derek's neck to prevent him from ducking around.

"That's true." Gerard easily agreed. He spoke lazily, like he had all the time in the world. It was the pace of a man that was not afraid to gloat after a victory. "But I think he already knows that, don't you, Scott?"

Derek felt the fingers locked tightly beneath his jaw flexing nervously. It was all the answer he needed. Scott did know. Maybe he'd known all along. It made Derek want to kick himself for not trusting his gut instinct after he'd heard Adrianna and Scott talking to Gerard at the sheriff's station.

Some people, Derek knew, just weren't cut out to live the way he'd learned to, after the fire. There were sacrifices to be made. Some small, some large. And one of those sacrifices, was human attachment.

There was no room for love in a werewolf's world. Sooner or later, something always went wrong.

"He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison." Gerard allowed a suffocating silence between the words where Scott loosened his hold over Derek just enough to let him catch another glimpse of Allison, who was still suspended by her neck, the Kanima's claws inches away from her tensed jugular. "If he does this small task for me, they can be together." He reminded Derek.

The metaphorical and literal bait hung in the balance as Scott frowned, reluctantly tightening his grip on Derek as he pulled him the few final feet so that they where standing directly beside Gerard.

"You—" Gerard taunted, staring directly into Derek's eyes with madness and undiluted satisfaction clouding his gaze. "Are the only piece that doesn't fit, Derek."

Derek peeled his lips back, gagging as two of Scott's fingers jammed beneath his jaw, forcing his mouth to open wide and his fangs to descend as he snarled silently.

His eyes darted to the side, where Gerard was staring out at the perfectly played script that had unfolded. Allison had been their weakness. She was the unsuspected weapon that simultaneously disarmed Chris and pushed Scott that extra inch he needed, to do the unimaginable.

And Adrianna. Derek didn't even want to start with her.

He'd been so convinced that he'd misjudged her. That she wasn't a carbon copy of her mother, and that she didn't deserve his wrath or hatred. He'd been so close to forgiving her.

An uncanny moment of eye contact passed between Adrianna and Isaac, her fingertips curling where they lay across his chest, and it was as though they were silently communicating. Derek frowned as he watched the interaction, anxious to see what his beta would do.

Derek couldn't believe that the pleasure of saying 'I told you so' to everyone that had doubted his firm opinion of Adrianna's duplicitous nature, seemed hollow.

Huffing through his nostrils in disappointment, Derek watched as Adrianna leaned forward to whisper something into Isaac's ear. The deafening drumbeat of his heart prevented Derek from hearing what.

Derek anxiously waited as Isaac licked his lips, glancing between him and Adrianna, before swallowing roughly. He looked away from Derek's burning glare, stepping closer to the huntress as he chose her over him in a near heartbeat.

It was then that Derek allowed himself to feel the oppressive hopelessness crushing down on him.

He'd chosen to live alone for so long, for a reason. He liked it that way. There were less emotional strings to risk fraying. But that didn't mean that, now that he'd built his own pack and opened himself up against the possibility of getting hurt, he was immune to the aching despair that coursed through him at the knowledge that he'd been rejected.

"And in case you haven't learned yet," Gerard went on to say, almost as though he had read Derek's very thoughts. "There is just no competing with young love."

His fists clenched as he tried his very best to force his body to heal. The nails curling into the meat of his palm burrowed deep and only added to the agony Derek felt.

"Scott, don't!" Derek cried out in panic as Gerard began to roll up his sleeve, exposing the pale flesh on his arm. "Don't do this! Stop!" He had the chance to shout before Scott locked his jaw wide open.

Derek could do nothing more than shudder and uselessly twitch his securely restrained arms as his sharp canines were lowered onto Gerard's exposed arm. He felt the sting of betrayal all the way to his bones as Scott held him steady.

No one came to his aid.

"I'm sorry." Scott whispered a moment before Derek felt his pointed fangs break the skin near Gerard's curled fist. "But I have to."

Because the love Scott had for Allison, was far stronger than whatever supposedly brotherly bond they'd started out with, which had been ruined through lies, mistakes, close calls, and far too much distrust for two people to set behind them, without there being remnants of doubt left behind.

The bite was supposed to be a gift, Derek bitterly thought, and he wasn't sure if he was referring to Scott's bite—which had actually been done by Peter—or the four other bites that Derek had given out to his betas and the very creature that had sealed his own miserable fate the moment it threatened Scott's number one priority.

He'd created the Kanima. He was responsible, in a way, for forging the weapon that was now pressuring Scott to do a terrible, doomsday, apocalypse sort of thing by granting a madman like Gerard the power of an Alpha, which would come to him when he finished Derek off.

But it didn't matter, because whatever the case, Derek could see now how wrong he'd been to shut himself away from Scott and Isaac; casting Erica and Boyd aside the moment their loyalties became uncertain.

He should have told them how much they mattered to him, when there had still been time to earn their respect and devotion. Instead, he'd let his anger blind him and steal them away from him while his back was turned.

Now he was back where he'd started. On his own—again. And to make matters worse, the messy part hadn't even started yet.

There was no better irony than that.

#-#-#-#-#

He spread his arms wide and victorious, channeling other great men like Alexander, Aristotimus, and Plutarch of Erteria—who had risked everything to burn their names into history and carve out a trail no one else had dared to walk down before them, all for the sake of power—as Derek Hale's bite began to turn him into the very creatures he'd hunted all his life.

Gerard had never felt an equivocal power, not even when he'd stolen strength from Adrianna in order to survive the chemical battle waging in his body, as his cells seemed to irradiate, stretching and burning in a pleasant ache.

Clenching his fists, staring in awe at the perfect imprints of Derek's teeth left behind in his wrist, Gerard felt the wave crash through him as the cancer in his bones, leeching through his body, evaporated to nothing.

He smiled, laughing deep in his throat.

So this is what true power feels like? He asked himself, greedily anticipating the moment he could do to Derek what had been done to Kate, slashing open the Alpha's throat and claiming the role he'd yearned to take, longer than he could remember, but could never satisfy as a mere hunter.

Humans were pitiful, he'd realized the moment his father had taken him on his first hunt. Werewolves, though their nature offended him, were the key to achieving greatness.

And now, after nearly sixty years of uncertain hoping and twenty-four months of careful planning and excruciating waiting, Gerard had wrapped his hand around the secret to eternal life, unbothered by human illnesses and invincible to anyone that would dare to challenge him.

He had it all laid out. The path from here, would be simple.

But then, an impossible thing happened.

Gerard's plan fell apart, right before his eyes, as he watched the holes punched through his flesh where Derek's teeth had been, widen as black tears pooled out, dripping down his arm.

"What?" He shakily asked himself, unable to tear his eyes away from the hauntingly familiar sight. "What is this? What did you do?" He wailed outwards, realization shattering his arrogant dreams with a swift kick even he couldn't have seen coming.

Derek was fallen on his back, staring up in equal fear and surprise. Gerard didn't even consider it possible that he was responsible for the dark turn of events. He moved onto Allison, who had tears in her eyes as she remained frozen beneath the Kanima's grip.

No, Gerard had time to think. She was under my control the entire time. It couldn't have been Allison. Not when she was too busy adhering to the silly delusions of justice he'd easily implanted in her fragile mind.

Gerard knew without looking that his own son and the beta wolf that Adrianna had become so fond of, were not capable of such treachery. This was the result of an experienced killer, who'd given great thought into planning out each detail of the foiling of his ascent into greatness.

His eyes landed on Adrianna. She stared back and it was in that moment that Gerard regretted not having her by his side. There was steel in her gaze, sharp and cutting down right to Gerard's soul. In his own twisted way, she earned again his respect as her hatred screamed volumes while not making a sound.

And then, just when Gerard had accepted his fate, he was surprised again.

"Everyone said that Gerard always had a plan." Scott McCall announced, standing off to his side, just out of reach, so that Gerard's itching fingers couldn't snap the first thing they came into contact with—which very well might have been Scott's smugly upturned lips and his twinkling, laughing eyes.

"I had a plan, too." The boy admitted, an irritating, boastful dimple framing the grin Gerard wanted to wipe clean from his face.

"No." Gerard gritted through his tightly clenched teeth. There was so much pressure building up in his jaw that, if Gerard had bothered to listen, he would have heard the crunching of his teeth as they began to crack under the stress.

His hand flew to the pocket where he kept his pill box. Gerard shook his head as he stared over at Adrianna once more. "No!" He boomed angrily, his shaking, unsteady hands pulling out the small, metal container and emptying the large pills into his open palm.

Gerard could feel the weight of the pills. He'd known since the moment Scott had given them to him at the sheriff's station, claiming that he'd dropped them, that something hadn't been right. Only Gerard had been too consumed by his imminent salvation, and far too relaxed out of his normally hyper-vigilant state, to sniff out the truth.

Crushing the pills took all his strength, but as the plastic bits fell away, revealing exactly what he'd feared most—black, ashy powder which caused his knees to sway by just holding onto it—Gerard found that the effort was well worth it.

"We had a plan." Scott corrected as all eyes swung between Adrianna and her accomplice in guilty disbelief.

Adrianna, at least, had the decency not to appear smug. Another trait that Gerard had not given her enough praise for. Her brow was furrowed sternly as she watched Gerard fall to his knees, black bile forcing it's way out of his stomach and past his lips in an acidic torrent that seemed to have no end.

Gerard choked some of it back for long enough to release all his fury into one, terrible word.

"Mountain Ash!"

He remembered how he'd watched his own granddaughter fall victim to the wolf'sbane he'd tainted her with, all in the hopes of using her link to Jackson, to maintain control over the creature he was soon to become.

It seemed like poetic justice, now that Gerard thought about it, for his life to end just as Adrianna's had been meant to.

Garbled, unintelligible words were exchanged between Derek and Scott, along with blurry glances among the rest of his family. Gerard didn't pay them much heed.

He was focused on one, distorted figure, although her features appeared vaguely familiar to his failing eyesight and the sword gleaming near her stood out like the dawn after a long, dark night.

Bubbling, consuming hatred took hold of him them.

No one could take advantage of him—outsmart him and leave him for dead—without paying the brutal price.

"Kill them!" He hardly managed to roar, his voice pinching and gargling through the stream of black poison spewing past his mouth, rapidly gathering in a pool near his face as he collapsed to the floor. "Kill them all!"

Gerard Argent was never one to go down without a fight.

He promised himself that he'd make them all very sorry for what they'd done.

Even if it meant unleashing a beast that would surely never cease in it's bloody rampage of destruction and death, until everything in it's path had been reduced to rubble.

#-#-#-#-#

He was watching from the sidelines as Gerard Argent—fearsome and merciless leader of the Argent hunting clan for a much longer time than Peter would have liked—was defeated by his own lust for power.

The bite he'd forced out of Derek had been the catalyst to a reaction that had been brewing inside the man for what appeared to be a while. Even though Peter didn't particularly respect Scott, he couldn't help but admire the craftiness of his plan.

Using mountain ash to poison Gerard was resourceful, but it also begged the question as to how Scott had even known that Gerard's plan was to become a werewolf, in the first place.

Knowledge like that, wasn't easy to come by.

You couldn't just dismantle a mystery so complicated and fundamentally mind boggling, with a whiff of Gerard's cancerous scent. No, Peter knew where that information had come from.

The girl dressed in black with a double bladed sword that appeared wicked sharp, even from a good six meters away, and intimidating as hell when her gaze slid over his hiding place, almost as though she could sense his presence there, was the real answer. She was the girl that had been groomed and trained since birth, to be the Argent heir. It would make sense that she'd have the best chance at guessing Gerard's true intentions behind coming to Beacon Hills.

And yet, Peter also knew that it wasn't that simple. Things rarely ever were.

He leaned forward to get a better look, clawed fingers curling around a metal support beam providing his cover, as the Kanima abruptly dropped Allison, turning to face the remaining threats.

It shrieked, the sound piercing deep into Peter's ears and forcing him to wince, before launching itself forward to enact it's master's dying wish. The lights played tricks with Peter's eyes as they flickered overhead, casting certain parts of the warehouse in sporadic shadows. He could have sworn that the Kanima was at least a foot taller than he remembered it being, with a strange sheen to it's scaly hide that spelled nothing but trouble.

Chris Argent was it's first target. He was the closest and least capable of defending himself in the group, aside from Allison. If it had been Peter, he would have used the same strategy, which in and of itself was disturbing, as it proved that the Kanima was intelligent. Picking off the weak ones first and then going after the rest, always permitted for interesting responses through the battle, ranging from an even bloodier massacre, to a cowardly retreat that no one would expect.

But even as he thought it, Peter had already realized that the teenagers Derek had tried and failed miserably to align himself with, were made of tougher stuff than that. They stood tall against the charging creature, all of them refusing to back down as their moment to prove their worth, came about.

There had been a time when Peter would have joined them. He'd had his moments of generosity, in the past. But since he'd broken free of his comatose state—the lessons he'd learned as an invalid with no one to turn to for help, sticking with him—Peter had learned how to pick and choose his fights for his benefit.

And this one, against a creature of untested strength, speed, and agility, which was more unpredictable than Derek on a moody day, just wasn't going to play out in his, or anyone else's favor.

Not when they still didn't know if it's transformation would be completed, or if it had already been.

Peter was no fool. Opposing the dragon-like monster he'd seen as the Kanima's Alpha form was upright insane. Especially when the only help he'd get was from a middle-aged, human hunter, two beta wolves who still didn't know their own limits, an Alpha with confidence issues, and the daughter of the woman who'd burned him and his entire family alive, who he was now entirely certain was the half-blood he'd thought her to be.

No, Peter was better off right where he was. Studying his enemy and learning everything he could about his possible allies. Because if that thing really did end up going Godzilla on them, he was sure as hell not going to be on his own when it came for him.

Chris Argent had reloaded his gun in the space it took for the Kanima to scuttle towards him—which actually wasn't very long at all—and the harsh, successive bangs of the pistol spitting out bullet after bullet ricocheted through the air.

Blow after blow sank into the Kanima's body as it crouched low, it's claws raking into the concrete beneath it to keep itself from being pushed away, although it didn't try to evade the bullets. They simply punched straight through it's flesh, zipping across the room and colliding with random lights and walls. From Peter's vantage point, he could clearly see the scaly hide sewing itself shut moments after Chris had emptied his entire clip.

A silence echoed across the vast warehouse as the Kanima remained where it was, it's head tilting to the side as it examined Chris curiously. And then, like a bolt of thunder crackling down on them, the room exploded in motion.

Chris reached for another magazine, reloading his weapon with effective speed as Isaac—which Peter had found out to be Derek's curly-haired beta's name—and Scott sprung towards the beast, narrowly avoiding it's swinging tail as they began to slash and kick at whatever they could grasp onto for more than a second.

Hissing angrily under the continuous assault both betas managed to rain down on it, combined with the added firepower Chris managed to provide when he'd systematically loaded a bullet into the chamber of his gun and fired shot after shot into the Kanima's tough skin, it only took a moment for the creature to grow weary of it's incompetent aggressors.

As quick as a literal snake going in for the killing strike, the Kanima's tail swept under Scott's legs and sent him tumbling to the floor as it ripped into Isaac's chest with it's claws.

"No!" Adrianna shouted savagely, something desperate and violent pitching in her tone from where she was helping Derek to his feet, blackish veins fading away from the top of her hands as she jerked Peter's nephew upwards and deliberately stomped towards the Kanima.

Peter's eyebrows rose in amusement as he noticed the way the half-blood huntress' gaze slid between the injured beta wolf—who was crouched beneath the Kanima, greatly weakened by the gaping trenches scratched into his chest—holding steady for a moment too long to have meant nothing at all.

He cataloged it away for future use. If Isaac was the key to Adrianna's heart, then Peter would be sure to remember just in case he found himself in a situation where he'd need a certain amount of leverage against the huntress whose mother he'd killed.

Screeching in a way that reminded Peter of nails dragging across a chalkboard, the Kanima eagerly accepted Adrianna's challenge as it navigated over Isaac's body, standing between her and him in defiance as it's tail flicked behind it's back impatiently.

Adrianna didn't hesitate as she broke out into a flat sprint, one of her arms pumping by her side rhythmically as the other kept a firm hold over her impressive looking sword.

Over to the side, Peter noticed that Chris had crept around the fringes of the battle to kneel beside his daughter, Allison. The two Argents watched, the elder with a troubled expression clouding his features while the younger narrowed her brown eyes, an envious light reflecting over her puckered lips and frowning forehead.

Peter could practically feel the rivalry coming to a boil between both cousins as Adrianna slid on one knee across the floor, ducking beneath the Kanima's swiping claws and slicing her sword across the back of the creature's leg with precision under pressure the likes of which were hard to come by in any hunter, these days.

She gritted her teeth, an effort filled grunt rolling past her throat as she stabbed her sword into the floor, all the way to the middle hilt, as though the concrete was butter, propelling herself around the weapon like some kind of pole dancer so that she could use both her feet to slam into the Kanima's side.

If this was what Kate had been like at her daughter's age, Peter could finally understand why his nephew had been so interested. There was something unnervingly sexy about a woman that could handle herself around a terrifying monster. It was undeniable and nearly irresistible.

Scott joined her side as the Kanima staggered, regaining it's footing just quick enough to dodge the heavy swing of Adrianna's sword and create a moment of opportunity as Adrianna struggled to pull back her weapon and seal off her widely exposed front. If Scott hadn't have sprung at the opening that the Kanima had inadvertently allowed as it pursued Adrianna, slashing his claws across the Kanima's exposed back, Peter was sure that she would have been reduced to ribbons in an instant.

Trading his stare all around the room, another important turn of events catching his attention, Peter narrowed his eyes in concentration as he listened in to what Chris was urgently telling his daughter.

"Stay there and stay out of the crossfire." Allison's father instructed sternly. "This fight is bigger than either of us. I don't want you getting hurt trying to prove something."

Chris hesitated a moment where he stood, arms outstretched in warning to Allison, before turning his back and slotting another clip from under his belt, into his handgun.

Of course, as soon as Chris strategically positioned himself near the edge of the tussling wolves and steadily winning Kanima—shooting off round after round whenever he could get a clean line of sight—Allison picked herself up and did exactly the opposite.

Peter smirked as he enjoyed the rare spark of rebellion in Allison's actions. As it turned out, she wasn't as much of a goody two shoes as he'd thought. She rushed closer to the fierce battle of swords, claws, whip-like tails, and teeth; adding her own arrows to the mix as she scavenged her fallen crossbow from the ground a few meters away and began firing.

Now this is entertainment, Peter marveled as the whole crew began to work in synchronization, pausing a moment to allow Derek to join the fray and to avoid Allison's unexpected cover which, more often than not, whizzed too close to the good guy's heads to be deemed comfortable.

And, since Peter was often hasty to reach a verdict and tensions were still high-strung between the self-proclaimed heroes, it all went downhill from there.

Chris ran out of bullets at the same time that Allison's arrow supply dwindled to nothing. As the more experienced hunter realized that, with only short-range weapons left in his arsenal, Chris had been effectively removed from the battle, Allison made the mistake of believing that there was no difference between shooting at the Kanima from afar, and engaging in close-quarters combat with it, grasping a pair of short daggers and rushing into the thick of things.

Perhaps Allison would have been able to fend for herself and stay alive without anyone's assistance, if only she'd had more training. But as it was, her novice fighting technique and approach caused a major trip-up within the group that promised to spell deadly consequences.

Stepping in front of Scott—who barely had enough time to side-step away, his clawed hand swinging inches clear of Allison's speedy form—the least experienced among them chose to fill the most perilous role as she faced the Kanima head on.

Peter grimaced in sympathy as the four others fumbled in their positions, unsure where they should hit the Kanima as Allison began her uncoordinated attack, paying no mind to the unspoken rules and choreography that had been established before her interruption.

"Allison, get out of the way!" Adrianna growled as their shoulders bumped and the younger, better trained cousin was forced to dance on the balls of her feet to avoid tripping over Allison's wide stance.

"No, you get out of my way." Allison countered fiercely, shoving away from Adrianna as their egos clashed. "I can handle this." She insisted, her gaze unrelentingly burning into Adrianna's equally determined stare.

While they faced off against each other, more than just their skills being challenged, the Kanima ripped into Scott, wailing loudly—sounding almost like a dinosaur—as it flung Isaac across the room.

It was only then, as Peter watched the Kanima's dry, flaking skin begin to peel away to reveal a slimy, bulging under-layer of corded muscle straining to break free, that he understood why the Kanima hadn't transformed into the Alpha form they'd all been expecting, and why it's apparently non-existent venom hadn't paralyzed any of it's victims. Peter suspected that the sticky slime had been used up in the cocoon that Jackson had been enveloped in, moments prior.

Which made Peter wonder why it had chosen to wait so long, before beginning it's metamorphosis. It could have simply been part of the process, but Peter had a suspicion that there was more to it than just that, or else, every Kanima that had ever existed would have eventually turned into an Alpha. And if that were true, he would have definitely heard of the creature before now.

As Adrianna and Allison struggled to reach an acceptable compromise, the Kanima turned on them, it's slitted eyes blinking freakishly as it screamed in a higher pitch than it had ever done before.

Immediately, both girls stopped their petty dispute, focusing on the Kanima as it crouched before them, it's scales dull and whitish, rolled in dead flakes that crumpled to the ground with each of it's movements.

"We can take him." Allison assured out loud. Although there was a tremble in her voice and a stutter in her heart rate, she pulled out her battered set of knives and held them in her hands as bravely as any of the rest of them could have managed.

In front of them, the Kanima roared. It's flesh rippled with energy, seeming to bulk outwards, as if it's own muscles were being constrained by it's flesh. As though there was an entirely different creature trapped within the beta Kanima's form, trying to break free in that very moment.

"No," Adrianna smartly realized, her tone earnest and filled with dread. "We can't."

Peter felt his body coil tightly in anticipation of either Argent girl's move. Whatever they did in that moment, would set the tone for the rest of the night, and possibly much longer, as the Kanima bent over and reached the final stage of what Peter assumed to be preparation for a full transformation.

Bones snapped out of place, muscles stretching and large patches of scaly hide falling away as Peter's imagination took flight, reminding him of the terrifying image he'd seen in the copied Hale records. The thing they might very well have to face without a serious intervention, in only another heartbeat.

And then, a deafening crash echoed through the warehouse as the wall of foggy paned, nearly floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the warehouse, shattered around a very familiar, slightly battered, blue jeep.

The headlights blinded Peter and he was forced to raise a hand to shield his eyes as he watched the car race towards the Kanima; Allison—who'd already begun to make her way over to the mutating creature—stuck in the crosshairs.

Peter didn't have to have enhanced hearing to know that everyone; especially Chris, who had the most to lose; held their breath, words stolen away in the unexpected moment where Adrianna reached out and pulled her cousin to safety, an instant before the jeep's grill collided with the Kanima's chest.

Shock was the first thing Peter felt, followed shortly by a surprised sense of relief as his claws detracted and the threat fell away, for the moment.

"Did I get him?" Stiles Stilinski asked once he'd climbed out of the driver's side of the Jeep. But Peter wasn't really paying attention to the spastic boy's question.

His eyes were locked on the second person, which stepped out of the passenger's door, her red hair flowing out in a halo around her pretty face as she hurried to the front of the Jeep, where the Kanima had once lain.

Only now, it was standing, the transformation interrupted as it's scales rippled between human and reptile, exposing enough so that Jackson Whittemore was recognizable once more.

"Jackson!" Lydia Martin shrieked, a delicate hand fluttering over her chest and then to her lips as she beheld the monster her lover had become.

Instead of shying away, like Peter thought she would, Lydia walked even closer to the deadly creature, despite the warnings shouted out at her. In her eyes, which appeared glossy and brimming with tears, was not fear or disgust; there was only love. Not ordinary love, mind you, but love nonetheless.

Peter smirked boastfully as Lydia stood bravely, mere inches away from the hissing Kanima. She raised her trembling hand, a metal key held tightly between her whitening fingers as the Kanima reached out it's clawed hand.

The Kanima appeared confused, the human side of it's face frowning as it regarded the object. Slowly, it's claws turned back to nails, it's hide softening to pinkish human flesh the longer it stared at the key and Lydia.

He knew he'd been right to think that Lydia was the only one capable of bringing back the human side of the Kanima. There had never been a moment of doubt.

And now, with the Kanima effectively disarmed, Peter could make his move.

#-#-#-#-#

He was trapped. Jackson felt like his skin was too tight and his bones were too short. It wasn't just in his head, anymore. He could sense the change in his body. Jackson was literally caged inside his own meat sack.

Anger. Anger, and rage, and a thirst for blood that shook him to his core, were the only things he could feel. For some inexplicable reason, Jackson wanted to kill every living thing that got in his way.

It didn't matter if it was Scott McCall, Isaac Lahey, Derek Hale, or the four remaining members of the Argent family. He would kill everyone. And soon, the city would be his. Soon, he'd have his own pack to lead. Soon, he'd be the Alpha.

But then, the anger faded, replaced by a voice that rung in his ears and chipped away at his heart. He'd heard that voice before. Jackson knew he had. It was so familiar. That tone, that word. He'd heard it before.

"Jackson!" It said, loud and filled with emotions he couldn't begin to quantify.

Through the varying shades of orange, red, and yellow that he saw darting about—large swaths of cold blue and green, like oceans separating land masses—Jackson held onto one shape in particular.

It was the reddest of them all, burning like a fire, not in his eyes, but in his heart.

He forced himself to blink—at least he thought it had been his command that enacted the action, but Jackson couldn't be certain; the voice in his head had left much doubt, even after it had disappeared—as he matched the fiery woman's approach.

Jackson felt the urge to destroy the woman in front of him as the space between them evaporated into nothing. He didn't even know why. He couldn't remember when he'd decided that she was even a woman, but somehow, he knew it was true.

His arm stretched out, ready to slice open her neck, but then her own arm reached up, something bright and blinding held in her hand. It burned Jackson's eyes, but he couldn't force himself to look away.

Something about it was captivating. It stirred up memories and thoughts that he recognized as his own, even as they appeared alien to him.

"Jackson." She whispered, and he knew it was his name by the way it floated past her lips like a prayer.

Lydia, He wanted to reply.

That was her name. He was as certain of that as he was of the love scorching through his veins, crushing the walls pushing in on his mind with limitless strength as he slowly regained control over his own body, his identity-based confusion fading away.

He remembered the taste of her lips. The feeling of her skin beneath his hands. The way her tears left black stains across her cheeks and how his heart clenched whenever he'd been the cause.

The key clenched tightly in her palm. He remembered that, too.

"Here." He'd told her all that time ago, handing over the metal object rather carelessly as he sidled up beside her in bed. "It's to the front door."

She smelled so good, standing only inches away from him. Lydia always had, to him, even before she'd been truly his to love.

"A key to your house?" Lydia had asked him, playing coy even as they had both realized the magnitude of the gesture. "Already?"

"Well," He'd tried to reason at the time. "It's not a wedding ring." But both of them had known that it meant just as much.

Jackson gasped, his vocal chords feeling tight and disused as he shook away from whatever spell-like trance he'd been in, long enough to properly see Lydia. Her eyes held a smile, even as her lips trembled and her heart slammed wildly against her rib-cage.

His cheeks hurt as they slowly began to rise. He'd never felt so happy in his entire life before, just to be able to see her face once more and bask in her affections. Jackson's hand reached out to touch Lydia's own, trembling fist. Nothing else mattered but her.

As his skin brushed against hers, an agonizing pain bloomed across his back in four aching stab wounds. Lydia was pushed away from him, replaced by Derek Hale, who promptly stabbed his claws through Jackson's stomach as he and the person behind Jackson—who he hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of but somehow knew to be Peter Hale—lifted him off the ground.

Someone screamed, so loud that the earth seemed to shake. The pain was unbearable. It infected every part of him as Jackson noticed a flow of hot, slippery blood begin to pour out of the wounds on either side of his body, sliding past the claws embedded through the flesh.

And then, when the pain had reached it's worst, he fell.

Collapsing onto his knees, Jackson would have fallen all the way to the cold floor if Lydia's warm hands hadn't pressed against his chest and gripped onto his shoulders, holding him upright.

"Do you—" Jackson choked as the blood that wasn't leaving his body, began to strangle his internal organs. "Do you still—"

And by that point, he didn't know if it was his utter lack of strength, or the daunting meaning behind those final words, that stopped him from finishing his question.

In the end, it didn't matter.

Lydia nodded, understanding pinching her features as she surged forward, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace he'd yearned for all along, without even realizing it.

"I do." She affirmed, her lips moving against his ear as her fingers combed through his hair. "I do still love you."

As much as it hurt to part from her, Jackson had to look into her eyes one last time before he died. He watched as she tried to be brave for him, but any fool could have noticed the way her angelic face pinched in distress.

"I do, I do, I do." Lydia nodded vigorously, the words bursting forth in a torrent as her hands tightened around his biceps. "I do still love you." She promised, the tears finally tearing across her blushing cheeks. "I do."

He released a weak, truly content smile as the strength sapped away from his body all at once. Jackson was forced to lean on Lydia's shoulder, breathing in her scent as deeply as he could and committing every detail that made her Lydia—his Lydia—to memory.

Jackson didn't even have time to feel afraid before the darkness consumed him. There was a strange light twinkling near the end of the tunnel he slid down that spoke of unfinished business.

A dragon-like creature waited for him on the other side.

#-#-#-#-#

After the long, tireless, emotional roller-coaster that the elder Stilinski had gone through trying to find his missing son—who had left the house less than an hour after returning and abandoned his father to a night of unusual boredom—the Sheriff had finally gotten the chance to relax.

The television blared loudly, a random sports game playing as the Sheriff uncapped a beer and took a healthy swig. It helped to calm his nerves as he settled into the couch and pretended not to wait for Stiles' call telling him he was alright.

He'd raised the kid well. Whatever it was that had bothered his red-headed friend and sent him rushing after her, Mr. Stilinski was sure it wasn't dangerous. Romantic, maybe, but it would still hopefully be a while before he'd have to worry about relationship problems regarding his son's limited social life.

"Yeah!" He half-heartedly cheered as the California team scored a touchdown, tying the game. "That a boys. Show 'em how it's done."

And as the game lapsed into a serene sort of lull, the Sheriff found himself worrying about his son, again, for no good reason. It was a gut feeling he couldn't explain, the kind only a strong emotional bond to another could bring about, that twinged and tickled every now and again. It set his teeth on edge just thinking about it.

The night his wife had died, he'd felt the same way. Only then, he'd ignored it. Now, the Sheriff was hesitant to do the same, no matter how much he wanted to disregard it as nothing.

"Oh Stiles," He found himself sighing, concerned despite his best efforts not to be. "Where the hell could you be?"

He couldn't sit still. It was physically painful for him to relax on his couch and watch a stupid football game, literally hours after his son had gotten beaten up, and still not know where Stiles had gone in such a hurry.

"Don't meddle." He had to remind himself as he sat forward on the couch, his hand inches away from taking hold of the cordless phone and dialing Stiles' number. "The kid's probably fine. He just doesn't want his dad embarrassing him with a phone call if he's trying to make out with a girl." The Sheriff reasoned.

It was enough to set his mind at ease for a while.

Just when he'd started getting interested in the game, keeping score and routing for another California win, Mr. Stilinski heard a very familiar buzz echo through the room.

Instantly, he recognized the sound as his police radio signaling that he had a call waiting. Pushing himself to his feet, the Sheriff grumbled under his breath tiredly as the desire to simply crash on the couch and fall asleep waiting for Stiles to return, nearly overwhelmed his curiosity about the call.

But as he neared the study, where he kept his gun, badge, and radio tucked away from Stiles' greedy hands, Mr. Stilinski couldn't help the nervous anticipation that filled him as he flicked the radio on, pressing down on the button to transmit from his end.

"This is Sheriff Stilinski," He voiced into the speaker. "10—5."

Releasing his hold over the transmitter, the Sheriff waited a moment for a reply. Frowning as the seconds stretched into minutes, nothing but grainy static passing through the line, he pressed down again on the transmitter.

"This is Sheriff Stilinski, 10—5, over." He repeated.

Again, there was no response.

"You've got to be kidding me." He muttered angrily, his mind already jumping to the most probable suspects. "If this is a prank, I swear I'll fire all of their asses." He cursed, holding down the transmitter one last time.

"Deputy Haigh, if this is your idea of a practical joke," The Sheriff warned, reaching the end of his tolerance. "I can assure you that it's not funny and every person involved will be cut two hours of tonight's salary, as penance."

Mr. Stilinski waited for apologies and the most sincere grovelling he'd heard since his first year as Sheriff, when he'd had to set the majority of new trainees straight. When the line remained dead, the Sheriff felt a cold pit of dread fall to the base of his stomach.

"Shit." He hissed through his teeth, shaking the radio in his hand to check if it was even working. "Why can't I ever have a peaceful night off?" Mr. Stilinski asked himself.

Clenching his hand around the small device, the Sheriff took a moment to regulate his erratic breathing. Something was unsettling him to his core, and it wasn't just about the broken radio or the dead kid he'd still have to take interviews for in the morning.

It was in his bones. Like the way he felt when a storm was just peeking past the horizon, within sight, but not quite upon them yet.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" He uttered once he'd finally settled down, speaking plainly. "This is Sheriff Stilinski. This channel is for emergency communication only. It is not open to civilians." The Sheriff stated.

"I repeat." He broad-casted patiently when there was no reply. "This is Sheriff Stilinski. This channel is for—"

"Sheriff!" the shrill, barely recognizable voice of one of his rookie deputies filtered through the static. "Thank god you're there. We need backup, quick. Send the whole station down here. Send the army." The panicked young woman shouted.

"Hang on a minute," Sheriff Stilinski paused, gathering his thoughts for a moment before he spoke into the radio again. "Deputy, I need you to calm down. Tell me what we're dealing with." He instructed, twisting his spare hand into a tight fist as his voice remained level.

"It's—" The deputy faltered, her voice crackling. "I don't know, Sheriff. But it's big and fast and it's already taken out three of our cars."

"Okay. Can you describe this—this thing?" He pressed, swallowing roughly as he processed the knowledge that whatever the threat was, it had already destroyed three cars.

There was a long pause over the channel before the deputy spoke again. "You're gonna think I'm crazy, Sheriff," She warned. "But it's...it looks like a dragon."

"A dragon?" Mr. Stilinski repeated incredulously.

"Yeah," The deputy shakily agreed, having caught the question that had been meant to be for himself. "I know how this sounds, Sheriff, but you've got to believe me. I'm telling the truth."

"Alright. No one's calling anyone crazy." The Sheriff firmly reminded her, licking his suddenly dry lips as he scrambled for something helpful to tell the deputy. "Just get out of there. I'll send in some backup and check this thing out for myself." He settled for.

"I think that's a bad idea, Sheriff." The deputy disagreed, shocking Mr. Stilinski both with her even more frightened tone and her blatant disregard for his orders.

"Why's that?" He asked, the words coming out barbed without him meaning for them to.

The deputy ignored the slight. She seemed to have better things to worry about. "Oh my god, it's coming back." She whispered over the radio, panic spiking her pitch. "Oh god, it's getting closer!" The deputy cried out. "I've got to go. I'm sorry, Sheriff. I've got to leave. I have to—"

A loud, ear-piercing screech cut across the channel as the deputies words were cut off mid-sentence. A cold sweat began at the nape of the Sheriff's neck as the radio fell out of his hands.

He numbly walked out of the room, making his way back over to the television with gradually increasing haste. What he saw reflecting back at him through the screen, scared the wits straight out of him.

Sirens and bright lights flashed across the television from shaky news cameras. Buildings nearby lay in half-demolished heaps as fire hydrants shot torrents of water out onto the street and cars parked along the side of the road appeared crumbled and slightly burned. The 'Welcome to Beacon Hills' sign the Sheriff had always loved, lay in a twisted heap, peeking out from under a line of neatly trimmed hedges.

But all of that destruction and mayhem wasn't what made the Sheriff's blood run cold and forced his legs to go numb as he sat heavily onto the couch, the breath knocked out of his lungs.

The winged beast clothed in armor-like scales, with talons as long as a person and teeth sharp enough to bite through the solid metal lamp posts in it's way, did that all on it's own.

"What the hell is wrong with this town?" The Sheriff asked himself as his head dropped into his hands.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't want an answer if it meant understanding why there was a literal dragon tearing up his city, block by block.

Some things, were better off unknown.