Chapter Two

Scott hadn't wanted to leave, even with the double threat of the Alpha and Monroe's Hunters in Davis looming over them and no plan in place. Their intel on what was happening was fractured with each person holding bits and pieces of the overall puzzle, leaving confusion and assumptions to fill in the gaps, and that was always a recipe for disaster. They needed to figure out where they stood and get a better handle on what their surrounding enemies really wanted so that they could find the best way to counter if attacked.

If the Alpha wanted to attack at all.

He had been watching. Studying what Scott and those surrounding him would do with little or no care that there were Hunters on scene that had just attacked one of the Betas he had made. If he'd seen Chris or knew who he was, he hadn't indicated it. His red gaze had been centered on the True Alpha who was quickly getting in over his head.

And the water was still rising. Chris knew that Scott felt a responsibility for the girl that had been turned, even if she wasn't his Beta. Scott, Stiles, and Derek had gone to the hospital to gather up any information they could about the girl that Stiles hadn't been able to pull from school records. They'd need to get her out of there, get her help so that she didn't rip the campus or her hometown apart on the next full moon. She had so much promise to be sucked into this mess. A Junior. Lit major. Pre-law. Her friends said that she wanted to get into local politics and help her community from the ground up. She wanted to help those who couldn't help themselves. It hadn't helped that her name was Allison.

Chris pushed a long breath out through his nose as he bent to retrieve one of the emitters that had been attached to the base of a tree. Low and not immediately evident, it was likely motion sensitive. They'd planned all of this out and the likelihood was they'd get away with it. It looked like a terrible accident with no motive if the police didn't have the full story, and they'd experienced the chaos of a community finding out about the supernatural just a handful of months before. He didn't dare risk putting a bullseye on Scott or forcing him out of his university now that he was finally making some headway towards his goals.

"Those aren't yours."

He'd heard the footsteps behind him, but hadn't bothered to acknowledge it. Let the boy think he had gotten one over on him.

Chris turned, holding the small emitter up. "Clever design. Not as durable as the ones we use, but it did what you wanted it to."

The student - Todd McAllister, from the file Stiles had pulled far too easily. The school really should ramp up their security - straightened, his eyes brightening. "You're a Hunter? Do you work with Monroe?"

"I'm an Argent. My father taught her everything she knows." Minor detail that his father had been absolutely insane and at odds with Chris right up until Kate had taken out thirty years of family trauma on him with her fangs. The kid would just see an ally.

A smile perked his lips. "When Ramsey and I saw what she was, we couldn't just stand by. There were two more. You were right there. You had to have seen them." He extended a hand. "I'm Todd. I-"

Chris took it and dragged him forward so he could speak lowly and avoid any of the few linger bystanders' curiosity. "You're young and inexperienced is what you are. So bent on the dogma you were sold that you didn't take the time to even know the girl you labeled your enemy." Fear crept into Todd's eyes as Chris tightened his hold. "Had she killed an innocent person? Had she done anything more than be a victim to the Werewolf that dropped her here? You don't know, do you? Of course you don't, because all you saw was a monster. You keep down this road, you actually manage to kill an innocent kid like that girl, and it's you that'll be the monster."

Todd jerked his hand away, gaze hardening as soon as he was free. "It doesn't matter if she did kill, she would have. I stopped her. I saved an innocent life. More than one."

"You and your buddy hit a Werewolf with a car. You think that had any lasting effects?"

"I know it did." He flashed a vicious smile and pulled what looked like an inhaler from his pocket, but instead of the tin casing for medicine, it was glass with purple liquid in it. Wolfsbane.

Chris' hand snapped out and he took the device, throwing it hard enough against the ground that it shattered, releasing the poison. "And now I know." He turned on his heel, starting for the vehicle. The girl would be dead and they needed to get Scott out of there to regroup before the Alpha became a problem.

"And you can't do a damn thing about it," Todd shouted from behind. "The dogs you're protecting? The two of them that heard the emitter? They're next. You can tell them we're coming for them!"

Chris snorted. "Kid, you're going to be too busy to ever think about them again."

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialed a number. "Paul? It's Argent. I want everything you've got on two UCD sophomores named Todd McAllister and Ramsey Duke."

Argent's SUV was filled with a heavy silence as they drove back to Beacon Hills, no one ready to talk about the young woman's death. A death that, if Argent and Derek were right, was the result of an Alpha trying to lure Scott out. It was his fault. Allison's death had been his fault. The sting only sharpened by the irony of the girl's name set in deep as he curled himself up in the seat behind Derek, dark gaze fixed on the frosted window and he could imagine a spiral cutting through the condensation. Argent had said he'd taken care of the situation with the two students that had murdered her, whatever that meant, but there was no feeling of resolution in that. A girl he hadn't known and that hadn't known him was dead because of him. Nothing could set that right.

"Are we just not gonna talk about the Alpha that just showed up on campus?" Stiles asked, shattering the silence.

"We did," Scott huffed. "He's here for me."

"Yeah, but why? Who is he? Why now? I mean, he's been ripping campuses apart all up and down the West Coast. Seems like kinda an intense move to track down one Werewolf."

"True Alphas are rare," Derek said quietly from the front.

"So what? They're just going to keep coming out of the woodworks for the rest of his life?"

Scott uncurled, wincing a little as he did. "We have to put a stop to it here. Like we did with Deucalion."

"It's not going to be that easy. The DeBois Pack is old. They've been around longer than the Argents have been Hunters."

"You really are an encyclopedia of Werewolf history, aren't you?" Stiles asked Derek and the other man snorted in response.

"I'm just saying that we - all of us - have experience with American Wolves. We're dealing with a whole new game here. One they've been playing for centuries."

"And winning," Argent said gruffly.

"Avoiding them isn't going to work and I'd rather not go to war with them. So we try a different approach," Scott countered.

Derek sighed loudly. "I swear if you say you want to talk to them…"

"They're looking for me. We don't know what happens when they find me until they do."

"Sure we do. They kill you. They don't have allies, only pack members and enemies."

Scott wiped at the window to give him a better view as they exited the highway towards town. Stiles slumped in the seat next to him. "I'm not hearing a lot of good ideas here, folks."

"First step is getting Scott someplace safe. Your home's practically made of mountain ash at this point," Argent directed at Scott. "The second is to call in the cavalry. Derek?"

"Braeden's going to swing by Boston to pick up Lydia."

"Good. I know they've proven themselves, but let's leave the high schoolers out of it if we can. If we need them, it'll be good to have allies the DeBois don't know about." Argent glanced back. "Have you talked to Malia, Scott? Any idea when she and Peter are back?"

"I haven't heard from her since they left," Scott answered softly.

"Wait. Where the hell did Peter go?" Derek growled and he sounded ready to take his uncle's head off next time he saw him. Apparently the at least one Hale in Beacon Hills at all times deal hadn't lasted very long, if at all. It was supposed to keep their town safe while Scott was away at school and, when Derek had shown up with Argent, he'd just assumed that he'd been in Beacon Hills the whole time. Apparently not.

"He took Malia on that European trip she was wanting to go on. Guess he didn't say anything?"

"No." Derek turned, pointing an accusatory finger at Argent. "And before you start, my phone has been on. This is on him."

"I didn't say a thing."

Scott's dark brows drew together in question for what must have been an inside joke between them, but didn't ask as they pulled into the driveway. Well, this hadn't been the way he wanted to start Christmas break.

Green eyes drifted open slowly, lashes fluttering and Lydia found herself blinking against the light. She tilted her head, squinting, and trying to focus on wherever the vision had dropped her.

There were sounds. Laughter. Feet against hardwood floors. A child nearly bumped into her and she jumped a little as he ran past, all dark hair and giggles as he sped off towards the light. It was warm and the little boy's laughter drew her in. She found herself smiling as she followed him, fingers ghosting against the door to push it open a little wider.

But it hurt. Like it was hot. Burning. Lydia snapped her hand back as the door burst into flames and suddenly she was surrounded by it. Fire was engulfing the house and she could hear people screaming and howling, the happy boy vanished from sight. She could feel her own panic rising as the heat closed in and she pressed her hands to the side of her head, trying to find her way back to the world beyond the vision until she saw it. Two embers glowing red hot that lifted up to reveal a man unfolding out of the flames. She didn't recognize him, but when he snarled the house shook and her scream echoed with those that were dying there.

"LYDIA!"

And then it was gone. The burning home and the demonic looking Werewolf. She was in her apartment in Boston, frozen halfway through the motion of packing a blouse. Her breath came in short gulps as her mind grappled with what she'd seen and the stark difference in where she stood.

"You with me?"

She turned, finding Braeden's concerned look fixed on her. "Yes," she managed, the word tiny in the openness of the room.

"What'd you see?"

"Fire," she breathed out. "It was…" The house had been familiar. She knew she'd been there before, even if she'd only seen the pre-damaged walls in another vision. "The Hale House. I was in the Hale House."

"Derek said the county tore it down."

"I think it was the fire that killed his family."

Lydia took a heavy seat on the bed and Braeden tilted her head. "That's been… right at ten years. Do you think it has something to do with the pack?"

"Maybe. There were red eyes in the flames. What I do know is that what I see is always linked to something bad that's about to happen." She turned, finding Braeden with an unusually worried expression etched into her pretty features. "What?"

The older woman drew in a breath. "Nothing. Let's just see if we can catch an earlier flight out."

Lydia nodded slowly, closing her suitcase and zipping it shut.

"Did you rearrange your apartment? Again? I mean, you've been back what? One night?"

Derek closed his eyes, willing himself not to growl as Stiles' chatter drifted up from the lower level. "Did you find anything yet?"

"Huh? Oh. Uh, maybe. Possibly. I wanna check it to that symbol. You found the book yet?"

Derek tilted a book back on the shelf to reveal a second row behind it and plucked a much older, partially burned book from its hiding place. "Yeah." His boots echoed against the metal stairs as he made his way down, flipping through until he found what he was looking for. He set the book down next to Stiles' laptop and the younger man reached for it without looking at first.

His fingers brushed burnt pages and he blinked rapidly, his attention finally pulled to it. "Woh. This from the fire?"

"Yeah."

"Looks old."

"It is." He tapped the photo of a tree etched into an old, wood plank. "This it?"

"Yeah." Stiles turned the laptop so the screen was visible and Derek leaned forward against the table, arms braced against it as he saw the same symbol and the name DeBois accompanying it. The site looked like a business website. A string of restaurants. The logo was eerily similar to the centuries old etching though. Much like the Alpha at UCD, they seemed to have no fear of putting themselves out there, not that too many older families did. Live long enough and you learn how to protect yourselves. The Hales' wealth and the kind of reputation they'd worked hard to develop over the generations in Beacon Hills had shielded them for a long time. Right up until Kate Argent barred the doors and lit their house on fire with so many trapped inside. They had been safe until they weren't. The DeBois Pack simply hadn't been put in the cross hairs of a lunatic Hunter that didn't care what society saw as long as they were dead.

"And this…" a few clicks took him to another page, "appears to be our mystery Alpha." A photo popped up of Anton DeBois, the son of Emil DeBois and heir to the family business that looked to be based out of Paris. Square jaw, eyes averted from the camera so they wouldn't flash, he was tall and lean, dressed in a suit that likely cost more than three months' rent on one of the apartments in his building. Anton's dark hair was slicked back, and even in the photo there was a sense of power. Of danger. "Recognize him?"

"From campus, yeah."

"How do you guys not know each other? I mean, the Hales were big time before…"

Derek quirked one dark eyebrow at Stiles, daring him to finish that statement.

"….they all burned alive, yeah. Uh huh. Stop looking at me like that. I know! I know, okay?" He flopped forward dramatically. "Sorry."

There was something undeniably sincere about the murmured apology and Derek reigned in the instinct to snap. Instead he straightened and turned, taking a seat at the table rather than leaning. "The Hales are old for an American pack. Older than most. My mom's dad's side has roots back to a native tribe in the area, but the European Wolves are a whole different breed. They…. keep their line pure, which is why it's so dangerous for them to get ahold of Scott."

"What's your mean by pure?"

"I mean there are Werewolves that are born and Werewolves that are made. The only made Werewolves they acknowledge are the ones that are born Human in their pack, but take the bite from their Alpha."

"But Scott was made. Why would they—?"

"My guess is they can't fathom a way for a made Wolf to become a True Alpha. They'll know, though, and that respect that they hold for something as rare as he is? That'll go out the window."

Derek found inquisitive brown eyes latched onto him. "Why? When he didn't have anything to do with them? They came looking for him."

He pulled in a deep breath, using the moment to find the right words. "Because they hate Humans. I don't know if it's because they were hunted or because they think they're above them, but even their own. If a member of the pack is born Human and refuses the bite, they're sent away. Banished."

"Lucky bastards."

"Yeah." Derek let his gaze drift down to the symbol that he assumed so many of their pack wore as his did the triskelion burned between his shoulder blades. "You have no idea."

She'd never been much for family, probably because her own hadn't been much for her. Her mother had died or abandoned them - the story changed depending on the moment - and her father hadn't been as strong as either of them would have liked. She wasn't sure she blamed him, looking back. He'd done his best for the hand life had dealt him, and probably more for her than he'd ever have done for himself. That life had made her strong though. Driven. But it hadn't left her with any burning desire to form bonds, much less find something akin to family.

Until Derek.

It was absurd. Well, a younger version of her would have called it absurd, but she'd been drawn to him in a way she'd never been drawn to another person. Go figure it'd be a damn Wolf. One with bright blue eyes and a hesitancy to admit to any kind of softer feelings. One that had leaned on her and given her a place to lean. One that had listened and fought and hadn't given up, even long before she'd come on the scene. Because the more Derek had told her about his past, the more Braeden's respect for him took root. She had survived a lot, but even she wasn't sure she could survive all of that.

And somehow, his makeshift family had become hers. Whether it was his biological sister in South America or his chosen brother in California. If it was the Argent he threatened on inhale and protected on exhale or the hyperactive FBI agent in training that had - despite the wildly different stories they both told - been instrumental in helping him escape a raid when the feds were after him, they were family too now. For better or worse, in practice even if not in promise, though she thought she knew him well enough at this point that she could trust that the promise was there, even if neither of them dared speak it. And because of that, Braeden managed to find it relatively on track that she was walking into the decked-out-for-Christmas McCall home with a Banshee in tow.

"Lydia!" Melissa McCall greeted and Lydia brightened immediately, taking the hug like everyone surrounding them had simply accepted her assumed role as den mother. Those brown eyes turned on Braeden. "Braeden, I'm so glad you made it." Suddenly the mercenary was being dragged into a welcoming hug that she hadn't expected and she found herself returning, much to her own surprise.

"Thanks," the younger woman managed. And just like that, she was welcomed into this strange little family. She followed the two other women into the house so Melissa could close the door. "Talked to Derek when we landed. Sounds like he and Stiles are digging into all the old books. That wise?"

"We'll find out," Melissa laughed and ushered them in further still. "Noah - Stiles' father - should be here for dinner. Silly question, maybe, but I hope you eat meat?"

Braeden flashed a smile. "I do." Her gaze traveled past her. "I also drink wine."

"I think I can accommodate that while we wait on the boys," Scott's mother laughed and started for the bottle Braeden had spotted.

It was a good evening after a long stretch of being stuck in a flying tube in the sky. Chatter let her rest and listen while she sipped on her wine, occasionally adding to the conversation. People had come and gone over the years - more than one against their will - but there was still a tangible joy with the ones left behind. Despite the pain, she thought. They refused to give into it, and there was something beautiful in that. No wonder Derek gravitated towards them. They were survivors. Like him.

A knock drew the attention of everyone in the room and Braeden felt her smile soften. The sheriff had shown up half an hour before and dinner was almost ready, meaning that, despite the lack of warning, it was likely Derek and Stiles on the other side of the door.

Scott stood and went for the door, but his hello sounded more like a question than a greeting.

An accented voice - French, if she wasn't mistaken - traveled into where they had gathered. "I'm looking for Christopher Argent. I believe he lives here?"

"He doesn't actually live here, but—" Scott answered but Argent, who had been slid down in his chair, his legs crossed at the ankles, and more relaxed than Braeden had ever seen the man before, was on his feet in an instant and she followed him to the door. Her hand slid to draw her weapon, but it wasn't necessary as he embraced the man happily.

"Lucien. What the hell are you doing here?"

The Frenchman returned the embrace, going a step further to kiss either of Argent's cheeks. "The same as you. May I?"

Argent looked to Scott who gave him a small, almost indiscernible nod. The Hunter stepped out of the way, letting the other man in as the others started to trickle out of the kitchen to see what the disruption was. "Everyone, this is my cousin Lucien Argent from Paris."

"Hunter?" Braeden asked, and wasn't it strange how accusatory that sounded coming from her lips? They'd run into a family - not Argents, but affiliated - while in Paris last that had shot an arrow straight through Derek's collar bone. She could still hear the sound it made when she'd pulled it out.

"Are you who I think you are?" Lucien asked, his tone reverent.

"Depends who you think I am."

"There's a woman they speak of that took on an entire pack of Alphas and won."

"I don't know about won, but I survived."

"A pack of Alphas, it is the same."

"Lucien's been helping me with the DeBois information from Europe. Why didn't you just call?"

"Because I hear that the DeBois aren't just looking for an Alpha. They're looking for an Evolved. If they find him, You will need all the help you can find."

Braeden felt like the floor had shifted under her, and from the response, she wasn't the only one who caught the unintentional meaning.

"Evolved?" Argent demanded. "You said he was an Alpha."

"Evolveds are Alphas. Have you ever seen one that is not?"

"One." He turned to Braeden. "When did you talk to him?"

"Not recently enough," she managed, but the phone was already in her hand, first on the speed dial ringing.

Once. Twice. Three and then four times.

Then it clicked and a rush of unbelievable relief took over. "Derek?"

"Braeden?" Stiles' weak voice sounded from the other end of the line. "They showed up here. I don't know why, but they were here. They took him. I… I don't think they are after Scott."

She felt eyes on her and she steadied herself. "Hold tight. We're coming, Stiles," she swore and looked to the people surrounding her. "The DeBois took Derek."

TBC

Notes: I've really enjoyed writing on this one. While my wordcount in GoogleDocs reads a little over 15K, I imagine I've written a lot more with the number of scenes I've written almost to the end and then scrapped for something I liked a whole lot better. I feel like that's a sign you really love telling the story ;)

So here we are. One answer down, more to come. Any theories to throw out?

Next Time: Derek comes face-to-face with Anton, Chris' cousin gives him a warning, and the McCall Pack stages a rescue for one of their own.