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Chapter Seven
Scott watched intently as his mother filled the syringe with whatever the liquid was that would hopefully help Parish reach his hellhound side. His attention so focused on his mother's movements that the alpha startled, eyes flashing red for a split second, as a heavy hand landed unexpectedly on his tense shoulder.
"Scott, you need to relax. You're letting your emotions fuel the wolf. You need to be in better control when we do this." Derek's steady voice cautioned from beside the alpha.
Scott exhaled slowly. " I know. I'm just so worried."
"I get it—" Derek started, but was abruptly cutoff.
"No you don't!" Scott growled, turning to face his friend. "This shouldn't have happened. Everything has been quiet for so long…I just don't understand how this happened." The alpha's eyes flickered between red and his natural brown as his hand slammed into his own chest, hand gripping the material of his shirt. His heart raced as a feeling like the floor was crumbling beneath his feet threatened to overwhelm the alpha werewolf. Scott just couldn't understand how they got to this point. He was sick of his best friend always being the one in danger when something like this happened. He was the alpha; it should be him, not his very human brother by choice.
Derek placed a firm hand on both of Scott's shoulders, breaking the alpha from his worried thoughts, grounding him, and looked calmly at his struggling friend. "Stiles and Lydia are going to be fine. They've been through hell before and came back out.
The red in Scott's eyes drained away and his shoulders sagged as if weighted. "How could I let this happen?"
Before Derek had a chance to respond Melissa's warm voice sounded. "Okay…I think we're ready."
Scott shrugged his friend's hands off his shoulders and took a seat next to his mother and Parish. The gathered group moved in closer as Melissa lifted the filled syringe and gripped Jordan's forearm. Pushing down her apprehension, the nurse's warm brown eyes lifted to connect with Parish's green ones, "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be." The hellhound responded without pause.
Melissa's skilled hand brought the syringe to the brunette's arm. Parish sucked in a small breath in anticipation of the needle's pinch. However, just before the needle could break the skin Scott's strong hand suddenly covered his mother's, stopping the action.
"Scott, what are you doing?" The nurse asked her son in surprise, but the true alpha's attention was not on her.
Scott stood slowly and carefully stepped around his mother and Jordan. "Someone else is outside."
John and Chris moved next to Scott. "Do you think it's one of them?" John asked with a worry-filled voice.
Argent clicked the safety off on his pistol. "Sent to keep an eye on us I'm sure."
Not responding to either of them Scott tensed just as the door was opened to reveal Helen, looking distraught and holding a shotgun.
"I know all of you probably want to rip my throat out, but just hear me out." Helen's voice held a surprising sureness contrasting with her appearance.
Scott took a threatening step forward, causing the young woman to readjust her aim on him. "Why should we?" Scott challenged. "You don't have a scent, so you're clearly one of them. One of the people who took members of my pack." The true alpha took another threatening step towards the woman, not caring about the shotgun or her grip tightening in fear. "So explain to me why I shouldn't just tear your throat out."
The fear showing through Helen's eyes shifted to defeated and her shoulders curled inward. "Because I know what we did was wrong, and I want to help you save Stiles and Lydia before things get worse. What Caleb is planning to do is irredeemable and I won't let him destroy so many lives…I can't let him."
Malia who had been surprisingly calm during the exchange growled dangerously. "Why should we believe anything you say?"
The young woman took a half step back, suddenly unsure of her plan. Her gaze drifted towards the door, looking for a possible escape, and then back at the gathered group. "You're werewolves. Can't you tell when a someone is lying?" The pitch of Helen's voice rose slightly in her desperation for them to believe her.
"We've been tricked before." Scott said matter-of-factly, seemingly unimpressed by Helen's arguement.
"Werecoyote." Malia said unexpectedly, bringing all of the room's attention to her.
Scott looked at his girlfriend in confusion. "Huh?"
Malia looked around the room before her intense stare settled on Helen. The werecoyote crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight into a defensive stance. "She said we were werewolves and I'm not."
The true alpha's slightly uneven jaw dropped open at the absurdity of Malia's statement. "Is that important right now?"
The werecoyote's only response was to shrug. Taking a moment to collect himself, Scott sighed heavily, before turning back to Helen intending to continue questioning her. However, any possible question, any thought going through the true alpha's mind halted with Helen's next words.
"Chris can vouch for me."
Argent leveled his pistol at Helen's head, confusion clear on his hardened face. "I've never met you before." He stated firmly.
Helen lowered her weapon and spoke softly. "You have met me. Many times actually. We used to work together. You just can't remember."
Melissa spoke up for the first time since this new stranger entered the Stilinski's home. "Can't? What do you mean he can't remember?" In concern, she placed her left hand lightly on Chris' forearm her square diamond ring a sharp contrast to the hunter's black jacket sleeve.
Chris glanced at Melissa, lifting the corner of his lips in an attempt to comfort her, before turning his attention back to Helen as she moved.
Slowly, the surrounded woman lowered her shotgun all the way to the hardwood floor, and reached for the pendant around her neck as she stood once again. In one swift motion Helen pulled the pendant from her neck and threw it forcefully to the ground at her feet. A small wave of green energy shot out of the crystal as it shattered.
As soon as the energy dissipated, Helen's scent filled the room as well as the faint residual scent of Stiles and Lydia. Chris stumbled back as memories assaulted his mind. His eyes and nose scrunched in discomfort as he brought a calloused hand to his forehead as if to help with the sudden onslaught.
Scott had Helen against the back wall with firm grip around her throat faster than humanly possible. "What did you do to him?!" The true alpha snarled.
The seasoned hunter reopened his eyes and reached for Scott's outstretched arm. "Scott stop. I'm fine. It…it was just a bit overwhelming; a lot of memories all at once."
Scott's expressive brown eyes swept over his soon-to-be stepfather in concern, checking the man over for any injuries. Satisfied that Chris was unharmed Scott released his hold on Helen who immediately took a measured step away from the emotional werewolf. "So you do remember her?"
"Yes I do." The seasoned hunter's steely gaze drilled into the young woman. "Helen, what the hell were you thinking?"
What was she thinking? Helen wasn't even sure. Grief and desperation blinded her. She wanted so badly to believe Caleb could do it. Could bring Grace back without consequences, but she was a fool. There was no way she could explain that, especially to the people she hurt the most by her stupidity.
Helen looked around at Stiles and Lydia's family and her guilt intensified. If Caleb succeeds in his plan none of these people will ever be the same. They'll have a gaping hole in their hearts and a nagging feeling in the back of their heads that they could have saved Stiles, but didn't. She knew exactly what that felt like. Shame struck her like a fist with the realization. Helen knew exactly what it felt like to lose someone you loved and she was standing on the edge of being one of the people responsible for doing the same to these people.
Helen's voice struggled to escape her tight throat. "I can't change the fact that I helped kidnap Stiles, Lydia, and Allison, but I can help you save them. I'll admit that I let my grief blind me to what Caleb has become, and his true intentions."
Scott, clearly not pacified by the woman's assertion, stalked towards her with alpha red eyes blazing. A low growl emitted from deep within his chest, causing Helen to cower. Chris stepped between them at the same time that John placed a strong grip on Scott's shoulder, halting the true alpha.
"What are Caleb's true intentions? What do you need the Nemeton and Lydia for?" Chris Argent asked Helen directly and felt his heart plummet when the petite woman looked away in shame.
"He's going to try to resurrect Grace by using the Nemeton's power…and sacrificing Stiles."
It took all of Lydia's remaining strength to not turn around and check on Stiles. Every labored breath that cut through the gag cruelly tied around her husband's mouth made Lydia's chest tighten painfully. The banshee knew if she turned to look Caleb would punish him again, and she couldn't stand to see Stiles hurt anymore. She'd seen enough of that to last the rest of her life.
The young mother closed her eyes for a moment to slow her racing heart and willed away the nausea that assaulted her stomach. It didn't help that Caleb had a tight grip on her forearm with a touch that made the banshee's skin crawl. Lydia had never felt so helpless in her entire life and for a moment she wondered if Caleb was right, that it was her fault Stiles was so injured. She wondered if she truly did make him a target…a weapon to use against her, because she loved him.
Quickly, Lydia dismissed these awful thoughts. Love wasn't a weapon; it was strength. So the strawberry-blonde channeled her inner Lydia Martin, the Lydia Martin that Stiles first fell in love with, and vowed that they would make it out of this. The banshee lifted her chin, clenched her teeth, and dug her perfectly manicured nails into the palms of her hands.
The small group stopped just in front of a beautiful stone statue of a young woman on the edge of the forest surrounding the property. Fully bloomed rose bushes flanked either side of the statue while a lone intricately carved stone bench sat in the center of it all. At the bottom of the statue there was a golden plaque that read 'Grace Charlotte Westmore The Best of Us'.
Without needing to ask Lydia knew this was where Caleb wanted her to open the portal so she turned to her and her husband's captor and demanded, "I need a knife."
Caleb narrowed his cold blue eyes, whether from her tone or suspicion, the banshee wasn't sure. When the dark-haired man made no move to give Lydia the knife she requested the young mother glared at her captor. "Do you want me to open the damn portal or not?!"
Caleb looked at the banshee skeptically, but after a moment he sent a nod to Colin. The nod prompted his younger brother to pass his knife over to Lydia without hesitation, steadying Stiles against him as the movement made him stumble.
Sadly, Lydia didn't have a chance to feel relief that Colin was no longer threatening her husband as Caleb reached for Stiles before the hilt even touched the young woman's hand.
The cruel man pulled Stiles from his younger brother roughly with one hand while he unsheathed the knife at his hip with the other. The many symbols along the blade of the weapon burned instantly with skin contact and seemed to almost pulse like a heartbeat. It took only a moment for Caleb to get his left arm wrapped around Stiles chest and the tip of the glowing blade under the young father's chin, forcing his head up.
Stiles tried to pull back as far as he could from the weapon, but that unfortunately meant he had to rest the back of his head against his captor's unyielding shoulder. The feeling of being so undeniably trapped sent a spike of panic through Stiles' chest. In an attempt to quell his oncoming panic attack, Stiles squeezed his whiskey colored eyes closed, causing a lone tear to escape down the side of his cheek. The young father trembled slightly, but couldn't spare a thought to that as he focused every ounce of his energy on evening out his erratic breaths. With considerable effort he forced each breath in and out slowly through his nostrils as he clamped down on the red gag until his jaw hurt.
Uncaring of his captive's internal struggle, Caleb fixed Lydia with a hard stare. "Don't try anything." He warned firmly and lightly increased the pressure of the knife against Stiles skin until a small trail of blood slid down his pale mole dotted neck.
The sudden pinch of pain brought Stiles back to what was happening around him and he snapped his eyes open again. Immediately his gaze connected with Lydia's and he could see her intense worry. Stiles could also see the gathering of tears that made his wife's green eyes glisten in the moonlight. The overwhelming desire to attack Caleb and damn the consequences so he could comfort his wife hit Stiles like a punch to the gut. A desire that intensified as Lydia broke their connection and dropped her gaze in defeat before she turned around a walked a few steps away from Stiles and their kidnappers.
Lydia brought the blade to the tip of her index finger; deep crimson contrasted with the banshee's pale delicate skin as blood leaked from the fresh cut. The strawberry-blonde took a few calming breaths and tried to push her worry for Stiles to the back of her mind. She tried to forget the way her husband stumbled or the sight of his blood slowly trailing down his neck. A neck she had been kissing just that morning as they both got ready for the day. The banshee tried to quiet her rage at their captors and the situation, and instead Lydia sought out her connection to the Nemeton. When she felt the familiar tug she began reciting the incantation that Deaton taught her years ago. Slowly, Lydia walked along the grass as she let drops of blood fall to the earth in a specific pattern never pausing with her words.
After about a minute or so, streaks of blue energy crackled along the banshee's blood drops and created what looked like an unnatural archway. Beyond the archway was an eerie forest with a thick layer of fog covering the ground. The numerous trees on the other side of the portal were bare, a stark contrast to the thick trees filled with fall colors that surrounded the Westmore estate. The sight emitted an unsettling feeling that was reminiscent of a graveyard.
Lydia turned around to see that Caleb had lowered the knife from Stiles and was staring into the portal wearing a satisfied smirk. Once again Caleb tossed Stiles over to his brother Colin, causing the young father to groan indignantly through the gag. Lydia observed how Colin had to tighten his hold on her husband's upper arms as he swayed from the sudden movement of being thrown, but had to look away as Caleb sauntered towards her.
Lydia had to fight the urge to take a step back as Caleb reached out towards her, but instead of grabbing her like she expected he turned his hand palm up. It took the banshee a second longer than it probably should have for her to realize the madman wanted the knife back.
Lydia hesitated, as far as she knew Colin was unarmed so all she had to do was get a lucky attack against Caleb. Or she could use Caleb against Colin to make him release Stiles; turn the tables on them. She'd like to see how he liked it having someone he love threatened.
Caleb's dark blue eyes narrowed. "Lydia." He threatened dangerously.
The way the madman whispered her name was like a promise of pain that made a shiver run down Lydia's spine. Quickly, the banshee set to right her mistake praying that Caleb wouldn't take her actions, or lack there of, out on her husband.
Lydia passed the knife back carefully to Caleb her eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt him." She pleaded quietly.
Caleb used the tip of his knife to gently lift Lydia's chin until her brilliant green eyes connected with his dark ones. A sudden sound of movement behind the pair and muffled protest notified Caleb to Stiles' instant struggle against his brother's hold. The thought made a swell of sick satisfaction run through the cruel man as he smirked down at the banshee in front of him. "Lead the way, Banshee" he ordered calmly and removed the knife.
Helen winced when the Stilinski family room suddenly erupted into a chaos of questions and cries of dismay.
"What?!"
"Who's Grace?"
"Is he insane?!"
"Oh god."
"I'm gonna kill him."
"Everybody calm down! We're wasting time! Scott roared above the rest, and instantly quieted the room. The true alpha turned his attention back to Helen sharply. "You say you want to help? Then help."
The slight woman straightened her shoulders and shifted her square glasses. "I've heard a lot about the McCall pack so I'm assuming you already have an idea of how to get to the Nemeton." Scott nodded, so the female hunter continued. "Great. I'll answer whatever question you have on the way, but I would suggest we get moving. Caleb has to perform the ritual sometime within the midnight hour."
John's heart sank at the thought that his brilliant, funny, and fearless son could have so little time left. "That's less than an hour!" The aging sheriff exclaimed as his stomach coiled in fear. John felt his chest seize up as if his breath was stolen from his lungs. The experienced sheriff knew he could not afford to panic right now, that panicking would only mean putting Stiles and Lydia in more danger. So the distraught father tried his son's trick to stave off a panic attack and counted his fingers before getting down to business. "That really doesn't leave us with a lot of time. We need to hurry."
Scott sent a sharp answering nod to the man that was like a father to him and turned to address his pack. "Deaton and Parish get that portal open. Mom get the injection ready." Scott command with authority that spurred them to action. After the three left toward the back of the house Scott shifted his attention to his girlfriend. "Malia I need you to stay here to protect my mom and Allison."
The werecoyote's eyes flashed in anger. "What?! I want to be on the rescue team!"
The true alpha sighed and gripped his girlfriend's hands tightly. "Malia, I need someone to keep my mom and Allison safe—"
"Derek can do that." The brunette interrupted stubbornly, her head tilting towards her cousin to emphasize her point.
Scott's irises flickered red as he ground his teeth. "We don't have time for this…Stiles and Lydia don't have time." The dark-haired man released a deep calming breath while the red leaked back to his natural brown eyes. "Malia please, don't fight me on this."
Malia looked at Scott in understanding. "Alright I'll do it…I don't like it, but I'll do it for you."
Scott squeezed their joined hand for a moment before he released his girlfriend and turned to face John, Chris, and Derek. "Let's go bring Stiles and Lydia home."
When Scott and the rest of the rescue group stepped into the Stilinski's backyard Melissa was injecting Parish with the sedative, the deputy's finger already covered with a bandage from Allison's favorite show Paw Patrol. Deaton chanted steadily as blue sparks started to rip through the air around them as the portal began to form.
After a moment Parish opened his eyes with irises blazing and flames engulfed the deputy's body as his hellhound side emerged. Jordan blinked and raised one burning hand up, turning it back and forth, mesmerized by the cracked skin and fire dancing around him.
Melissa looked at the deputy with worry in her warm brown eyes. "Jordan? You okay?"
The hellhound tilted his head as if assessing himself. "Yes…it's just…odd."
The sheriff stepped up next to his friend and address his deputy. "Can you find Lydia?"
Fiery irises shifted to John. "Yes. This way."
End of chapter seven! As always, if you like my writing, please remember to leave a review or hit the follow/favorite button! Until next time.