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Chapter 5
"Where is she?"
"What are you doing here?" Jordan asked. He looked from Malia to Lydia to Kira.
Malia flicked her eyes over at him without breaking stride. She looked around Derek's nearly empty apartment.
"Derek, I know you've embraced this whole minimalist aesthetic, but that doesn't mean your sofa has to be the equivalent of a slab of cement," Peter said. "Invest in decent furniture."
Malia watched her dad cross over to the sparsely stocked corner that had been turned into a makeshift kitchen area and eye Derek's coffee maker with a grimace. With a resigned sigh, he punched the button to turn the small appliance on. He turned and leaned against the counter. He didn't look surprised to see Malia.
"Where is she?" Malia demanded again.
Peter's expression didn't change. "Did you at least bring food with you?"
Malia scowled at him. "Is it true?"
"That I had the worst night sleep and would kill for an omelet? Yes." Malia narrowed her eyes and Peter sighed. "I take it Scott and Stiles told you?"
"You attempted murder and now you're an alpha?" Malia summarized. "Yeah, Peter, they filled us in. Where is she?"
Peter's eyes flicked toward the bedroom door. Malia cocked her head, listening for any sound coming from there.
The sound of feet landing on the floor. She listened more intently. Footsteps coming to the door.
Malia flicked her claws, ready for whoever—whatever—opened the door.
"A bit dramatic, don't you think?" Peter asked.
Malia spared him a glance. He nodded toward her claws.
"Your last attempted murder turned Kate Argent into a werejaguar," Malia reminded him. She fixed her eyes on the door as it opened. Her muscles coiled, ready for whatever threat may appear.
A short figure in a tattered t-shirt—stained, burned, shredded and bloody—and ripped jeans stood in the doorway. She startled at the girls and Derek, Jordan, and Peter in the main living space. Malia narrowed her eyes at the woman. She had no idea what a phoenix was—what one was capable of—but everything Stiles and Scott had said was enough to make her keep her guard up. Even if this woman looked more like she belonged to a group of college outcasts than a predatory killer.
The woman's white blonde hair was sticking up, telling of a restless night spent tossing.
"Henley?" Lydia asked.
The woman—Henley—tensed.
Lydia kept her voice gentle. "I'm Lydia. This is Kira and Malia. We just came to see if you needed anything."
"And to make sure you aren't homicidal," Malia added.
Henley looked at Malia. A hint of orange burned away the gray of her eyes. Malia felt a growl at the back of her throat.
"We don't think you're homicidal," Lydia said, giving Malia a look of censure. "We just know this can be a lot to take in."
"You mean freak number one over there trying to kill me?"
"He's not a freak," Malia said hotly. "Peter might act like a sociopath half the time, but he's not a freak."
"Thanks for that heartfelt compliment," Peter muttered.
"Yeah, well, if I tell anyone about this nightmare it's going to be a therapist," Henley snapped.
Alarm had Kira shaking her head. "You can't tell anyone. They'll either arrest Peter—"
"Try to arrest me," Peter interjected.
"Or lock you up in Eichenhouse," Kira finished.
Malia didn't appreciate the dark look Henley gave Peter before she looked back at Kira. "Trust me. I'm not going to tell anyone about any of this. I'm going home, getting ready for work, and forgetting all about…whatever this was."
Jordan stood from his folding chair near the single table in the room.
"I'll take you home."
Henley pursed her lips and took a step back. She shook her head. "I'm good. Unless this is your way of telling me you're going to keep me under guard?" Her eyes started glowing again, making it clear how she felt about that.
Malia narrowed her eyes at the woman. She didn't trust her. Stiles had said she came from a family of hunters and the last thing any of them needed was Henley running off to tell a group of hunters what Peter had done.
Henley met Malia's eyes and Malia could tell she read the suspicion and distrust there. The traces of heat started dancing across her skin. Malia eyed the orange and yellow tracing the stranger's skin.
"I'm leaving," Henley said. She glanced towards Peter and the glow built to flames.
Malia bared all her teeth, feeling her fangs prominently against her lips, lunging a step closer and letting Henley see what she was willing to do to defend the people she cared about.
Henley's flames surged and Malia felt a strong grip on her arm.
"Don't," was Peter's single command.
Malia whipped her head around toward Peter. He was telling her to back down? Not the stranger who was threatening them all with flames?
"I'll take you home," Peter said to Henley. "No guard. Just a ride and you're on your way."
Malia couldn't hold back her growl and Henley responded with a growl of her own.
Peter stepped between them. "Let's go," he said to Henley.
Malia didn't back down. She watched Henley look to Peter, flames still heating the room, eyes lit from within. Peter held her gaze.
Uncertainty had Henley's anger wavering. She watched Peter suspiciously.
"I've already tried to kill you once and it didn't exactly work out for me, did it?" he said. "I'm not going to do anything other than make sure you make it home without spontaneously combusting."
Malia wouldn't mind if the woman did go up in flames and self-destruct. She didn't like the way Peter looked at her.
But the flames started fading, though it took another minute before Henley's eyes dimmed to normal. She reluctantly went to the door and opened it without waiting for Peter.
Peter stopped at the doorway.
"Peter," Malia said.
Peter looked at her.
She wanted to tell Peter she was just starting to like him. She didn't want him to get burned. Literally. "Don't turn your back on her," she said.
"Noted." He looked over at Derek and Parrish. Malia didn't blame either of them for the judgment in their eyes when they looked at Peter.
Peter looked unrepentant. "Hire a housekeeper, please, Derek. No need to live like an animal." The door closed behind them.
Malia turned on Derek. "You're just going to let them go?" she demanded.
Derek's eyebrow quirked. "You wanted her to stay?"
"Of course not!" Malia said hotly. "But she's not in control of her powers. And her powers involve fire. A lot of fire! Peter's not exactly great with fire. None of us are," she said, motioning to her and Derek, but meaning Scott, Liam, and werewolves in general.
Derek grimaced and Malia winced. "Sorry," she said. Of course Derek knew how much a threat flames could be, he had lost his entire family and pack in a fire. The one that had kept Peter nearly comatose for years.
"I'll check in on her," Jordan said. "Make sure she's ok."
"Make sure she's not burning Beacon Hills to the ground, you mean?" Malia asked bluntly.
"Lydia?" Kira asked.
Lydia stared at the closed door Henley and Peter had gone through. Kira cast a worried look at Malia.
"Lydia?" Malia asked, louder than Kira. Still no response.
Jordan went to Lydia. He didn't touch her, but stayed near. "What do you see?" he asked.
"Death," Lydia said softly. "All around her. Death."
Malia looked over to Derek, hoping he had something better to offer than the resident banshee's doom and gloom.
"Whose?" Derek asked without preamble.
Lydia shook her head slightly. "I don't know." She blinked and was back with them. "But we can't just let her go."
Derek heaved a sigh. He went for his keys. "I'll talk to Scott. We'll take care of it."
Malia held her tongue until he had left and then looked at Lydia. "Really? Death all around her?"
Lydia nodded, worry puckering her brow.
"Don't you ever get happy premonitions? Like winning the lottery?"
"It's not like I chose to be a harbinger of death," Lydia reminded her pertly.
"Another thing to thank Peter for," Jordan said.
Sometimes Malia really wished she was on a different family tree.
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"This is your car?" Henley asked.
Peter looked over the car in front of them. "It doesn't meet your standards?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his words.
Henley glared at him. The car wasn't any make she recognized, no Ford or Chevy logo on it. Clearly expensive and fast, it was one more hint of who this man was.
Peter clicked the key fob to unlock it. Henley opened the passenger door and slid into the deep bucket seat.
Peter got in and started the car. The engine roared to life before settling into a smooth purr. He pulled out of the weed infested parking area in front of Derek's building and headed toward town.
"What do you do for work?" Henley asked. "Does being a werewolf pay this well?"
Peter slid a look over to her, then turned his attention back to the road. The roads were quiet in the early morning.
"Family money," he said cryptically.
Henley didn't push. She told herself she really didn't care. She didn't want to know anything more about him or his family, his friends. She didn't want to feel this magnetic pull toward him.
She fought the urge to be near him. She wanted to forget about everything that had happened. She felt the heat start to build at the hint of remembering the past eighteen hours. She sucked a breath in and fought to keep the heat from leaving her body.
"Don't burn my car," Peter said.
Henley tried to tamp down the heat. The harder she tried, the hotter she felt. Her vision shifted, sharper and clearer than even her glasses had ever made it. Hyperfocused, but the colors around her swirled in her vision. Sparks started to skitter across her skin.
"Channel it," Peter said.
"What?" she asked, trying not to let the heat and energy and emotion pull her under again. She clenched her fists harder, bit her teeth together.
"Stop fighting it." She felt the car pull to the shoulder and slow, the bump as two of the wheels left the pavement. The small lurch as the car rocked to a stop. They were all overwhelming sensations.
She shook her head sharply every muscle fighting her movement. She had to fight it. It was going to take over and she would be burning Peter and his car to ashes. She had to fight it.
"Stop fighting it," Peter said again.
Henley held her breath, squeezing her eyes closed. The sounds from outside the car were too loud. The wind rustling the leaves in the trees reverberated through her skull.
"Open your eyes."
Henley shook her head again. She couldn't. If she opened her eyes, she was going to launch fire at the first thing she saw. Her fingers twitched with the urge.
"Look at me," Peter growled harshly.
The order broke through any of the other commands coming from in her head. Henley opened her eyes.
Peter's eyes were red. He stared at her intently. "Keep your eyes here," he said.
She could do that. She could look at Peter.
"Don't fight against it. It will make it worse," he said.
"I can't—I can't just let it—"
"Use the energy," Peter said. "Use it to focus."
Focus. Try to focus.
"Alpha, Beta, Omega," Peter said.
Henley shook her head. She didn't understand what he was saying. The heat started to pull at her again.
Peter's fingers gripped her jaw, keeping her facing him. His eyes drilled into hers. "Alpha, Beta, Omega," he repeated. "Say it."
Henley's voice shook as she struggled to keep the flames down, keep the power from washing her away. "A-alpha…" His fingers seared her skin.
"Beta."
Henley fought to get the word out. "Beta."
"Omega."
"Omega," she repeated after him.
"Nothing else, just those words," Peter said, his voice getting softer. "Alpha, Beta, Omega."
Henley tried again. She repeated the words. And again. And again.
"Better?" Peter asked. His eyes faded to their natural blue.
It was. Henley searched within for the heat, the terrifying power, and it was gone. "Yeah."
Peter's fingers gentled on her jaw. "That's what you need to do. Focus on the words and nothing else. Let the urges fade."
"Is that what you do?" she whispered.
"I use my anger as an anchor." He dropped his hand, businesslike and distant again. "When the mantra didn't work for Derek, I taught him the same. But I don't think that would be a wise course for you since your anger seems to be focused on me."
"Because you tried to kill me!" Henley exclaimed. What was she even doing in his car with him? Letting him touch her after he was the one who had done this to her?
"You and a dozen others," Peter brushed her off. He put the car in gear and pulled back onto the highway. "Don't take it personally."
"You are a psychopath!"
"I'm proactive. I solve problems in the most direct way."
Henley huffed out a sound of disbelief. "By killing people? Like me? I didn't do anything to you!"
Peter gave her a look that said he doubted that. "Time will tell if you're telling the truth," he said.
Henley reached for the handle of the door. "Let me out."
Peter ignored her.
"Let me out!"" she repeated, her voice rising. This time she didn't try to fight the heat. She let the flames spark to life on her skin, moved her hand to create the fireball.
Peter yanked the wheel hard to the right, the car jumping slightly as two wheels hit the gravel on the shoulder. He slammed down on the brakes hard.
Henley silently dared him to try to make her calm down. When he didn't, she spared a hand to yank open the door and got out. She still held her ball of flame in her left hand. She didn't know how to dissolve it. Not the way the deputy had seemed able to control his flames.
She hurled it to the middle of the highway. Nothing flammable there. The pavement melted where it landed, a charred ring surrounding the liquid asphalt.
Peter was out of the car and jerked back when she threw it. He watched it do its damage, then turned back to her.
Henley waited for him to try to stop her.
He stared at her, his face unreadable. Finally he spoke. "I don't need this. You were supposed to be a warning to your family. Not a cautionary tale about why I should make sure my kill is thorough."
Henley waited, ready to launch at him.
"Good luck to you. Keep a fire extinguisher handy if you're around someone you actually like," Peter advised. He got back into his car.
The car accelerated, spitting loose grit out from under the tires.
Henley breathed a long sigh of relief to be away from him. At the same time, there was the distinct discomfort of being alone, a feeling that had never bothered her before. She was a loner by nature, and by nurture—or lack of it—from her father and brother. But this was a different sensation. Like she was untethered. She was supposed to be with Peter and was adrift in a world that was suddenly unfamiliar and threatening.
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