The Huntress

by TheLiteraryEscapist

The first installment in the Argent Chronicles. Follow Adrianna Argent, the demigod daughter of Kate Argent, as her mother's murder forces her to choose a side between the hunters she's always known and the wolves of Beacon Hills. Is she a friend, or a foe? Or, perhaps, neither? (Takes place during MTV's 'Teen Wolf' Season 2 and between the Lightning Thief and the Sea of Monsters.)

9. Chapter 9

9-Party Guessed

T here had been a time not long ago, when Lydia had wished for adventure. For something extraordinary to happen to her; anything to break her ordinary, boring, circadian rhythm. But now that that something had actually happened, she understood how foolish she'd been to wish away her innocent, carefree life for a chance to prove herself.

His hands were clawing at her legs, dragging her towards him as the people cheered in the stands. She felt the same terror she'd felt the first time, only now, she knew exactly what was going to happen. His teeth sunk into her flesh, breaking through the layers and drawing blood. She screamed herself awake.

Lydia hadn't been surprised that it was a dream. She'd had it a few times now. Could anyone really blame her? She'd been attacked by a murdering psychopath at the winter formal and there was no sign that Peter Hale had been, or would ever be, apprehended. In her opinion, she had more than enough reason to fret.

Her sheets clung to her body uncomfortably, forcing her long-sleeved pajama to glue itself to her skin and draw out the cold sweat collecting all the way up her spine. As her hands desperately threw off the covers, not even really thinking about the action, the soft pads of Lydia's fingers brushed over dirt, moss, and twigs.

Closing her eyes tight, Lydia felt her mind go numb as her body tensed, rigid. Like the way the human body reacted to being watched, the hairs on the back of Lydia's neck stood on end. She knew that presence, how could she forget, the whiff of crisped skin and leather gave him away before he spoke.

"Lydia." He sung tauntingly, the dip beside her in the bed telling her he was lying down right next to her. "Lydia, Lydia, Lydia!" Peter ended in a growl, his charred hand grasping onto her shoulder in an attempt to turn her towards him.

Tears leaked out of her sealed lids, mixing with the mascara she hadn't had time to remove before going to bed, and running down her cheeks. "Leave me alone." She pleaded weakly, her voice trembling.

"Unfortunately," Peter mocked with false sympathy. "I can't. At least, not yet." He told her. Even his voice made her afraid; the way she knew he'd be staring at her if she opened her eyes. He was a monster to her, something she'd only ever been able to accept existed in nightmares and twisted realities.

"Are you real?" Lydia had to ask. He certainly felt real. And yet, there was something not quite right about him, like she really was dreaming him up.

"Interestingly— " He rolled the words over his tongue as though he had all the time in the world. "That question can also be answered, 'not yet'." Peter leaned forward so that he was sitting right next to Lydia. Despite her best intentions, Lydia opened her eyes.

"I promise everything's going to get back to normal, Lydia." Peter's burned, ashy face was just as she remembered it being that day when she'd walked all the way to the Hale's burned down home. He placed his singed hand on one of her pale cheeks. "All that you have to do, is every single thing I ask." He threatened, digging his long nails—or were they claws—into the skin of her flesh and drawing a shriek from Lydia's trembling lips.

She didn't remember getting out of bed but the next thing she knew, Lydia was standing at the top of the stairs, her hand clutched tightly in Peter's. "Timing is key here, Lydia." He instructed carefully. "It all needs to happen by the next full moon."

"Do you know what they call the full moon in March?" He idly questioned, continuing on despite her lack of answer. "It's called the worm moon."

Something wet and squishy underfoot caught Lydia's attention. She looked down only to choke on her own breath. Her bare feet were covered in mud and slime and wriggling, disgusting, engorged worms. Lydia pressed her lips together to hold back yet another scream. She hoped she was asleep, safe in her bed, and that none of this was real. She hoped she'd wake up and soon.

"They call it that because it's the last full moon of winter, and the worms would literally crawl out of the earth as it thawed." Peter informed her in the same slow, cautiously patronizing tone. "Kind of has the feel of a rebirth, doesn't it?" He asked as Lydia glanced up and away from the worms covering her feet, to face him.

He looked different, somehow. Less burned and more like he was covered in soot. If it hadn't have been for the worms crawling across his face, clinging to his hair and inching across his temples, Lydia would have thought that he was handsome. He obviously had been, at one time, judging by the way he seemed to regard himself as her superior.

Once more, Lydia lost track of time, the soft rubbing of carpet beneath her toes the only thing that told her she was moving. When she finally came back to herself, she was in her living room.

"But," Lydia frowned, her mind finally having gotten over her initial shock and onto a more analytical path. "The full moon is on Wednesday. That's my birthday."

"Exactly." Peter smiled, as though he was proud of her. His words from the Hale house came back to her. Was this why he'd chosen her in the first place? "And Lydia's birthday is always the party of the year, isn't it?" He pressed, not looking for an answer but demanding her full attention all the same.

"Everyone wants to go to this party." He dramatically intoned, a note of sourness clinging to his words. "So, we're going to make it a very special party."

Outside, just beyond the glass-inset french doors her mother had insisted on during the renovation that had been the beginning of the end of her parent's marriage, people crowded around in fancy clothes, as though her party was already happening.

Seeing all those people, some that she recognized and others that she didn't, sparked an ember of rebellion in her. "And what if I don't?" Lydia challenged Peter, holding her chin high as he glanced back at her incredulously.

The air seemed to chill around her and the comfortable buzz of a lively party died out to nothing but eerie silence. Lydia followed Peter's gaze outside. What she saw was drastically different than the celebration she'd witnessed before.

Blood coated the doors, sticking to the glass in splattered patterns as bodies piled high on the patio. They were everywhere. Dead people on the balcony, in the pool, next to the fence, and leaning on the door.

This would be the consequence of her disobedience. It was a price too high for Lydia to even consider.

"I think it's best that we just make a plan and stick to it." Peter commented offhandedly, like he was talking about the weather. "That way, no one gets hurt."

Although there was ice in her veins, stopping her from running away or defending herself, fire burned in her heart. She didn't have a choice, Lydia saw that now. She was at Peter's mercy. The least he could do was explain himself.

"Why me?" She wondered if her theory was correct. If he'd really chosen her because he thought she was strong enough, smart enough, to do what he wanted.

"Because, Lydia Martin is not only beautiful," Peter remarked mockingly. "Not only incredibly intelligent. She's immune."

Frowning at his words, Lydia recalled what Jackson had said to her all that time ago. He's accused her of the same thing—of somehow transferring it to him. "Immune to what?" She couldn't resist asking.

This was it. Lydia could sense it. This was the secret everyone had been keeping from her for weeks. Maybe Peter, despite all the evil plans he had for her, would finally be the one to reveal it to her.

"Oh, that's right. They haven't told you, have they?" He teased, drawing out the answer for as long as possible. "Bet you've felt like the last to know for a long time. Doesn't feel good, does it?"

"That's not true," Lydia admitted both to herself and Peter. "Someone did try to tell me. I thought she was crazy." Sighing defeatedly, Lydia's expression compressed to one of guilt and fear.

"She was right, wasn't she?" Peter's eyes didn't move from hers as he held onto her every word. The thought didn't even occur to Lydia, that Peter might not have known about the girl she spoke of. "Adrianna Argent was right all along."

"Argent?" He ground out through his teeth. "Which Argent is this?"

Lydia's knees shook as Peter's wrath rained down on her, his stare burning holes through her shattered armor and stealing the truth from out of her lips. "Y—you don't know?" She stuttered helplessly. "Adrianna, the girl that came here for her mother's funeral."

"Who was her mother?" Peter demanded not a second after Lydia had finished speaking. Startled, she struggled to speak through gaping, confused lips. "Who was she?" He snarled, wrapping his charred hands around Lydia's throat and raising her off the ground, suffocating her.

Gasping for breath, Lydia tried to pry off Peter's fingers from around her trachea, to no avail. He was much stronger than her, even if he wasn't completely corporeal yet. "Kate," She managed to choke out. "Kate Argent."

As though the name had been a dagger to his heart, Peter stepped back, dropping Lydia and watching as she crumpled to the floor, coughing and gagging on the smoky aftertaste left in her mouth.

"Well then, I suppose you deserve to know everything." He trampled over the subject like it had never been brought up. If it hadn't been for the set in his shoulders and the clenching of his fists, Lydia wouldn't have known if she'd imagined the whole thing or not. "It's probably best if I just show you." Peter decided.

Shadows bent and suddenly, Lydia was alone. She stood up hastily, scanning the room around her for any sign that Peter had been there. Not even a hair was out of place. The patio and pool outside were pristine and just as they'd always been—no bodies or blood in sight.

For a split second, she allowed herself to relax. It was over. None of it was real. She'd only been dreaming. But that didn't account for why she was downstairs, instead of being safely tucked in bed, or why her throat still ached from where Peter had strangled her.

Turning around, Lydia peered into the kitchen, something in the marrow of her bones telling her that Peter wasn't done with her. Standing outside the window framing the kitchen sink, was a figure of immense size. It was at least eight feet tall, maybe nine, and the breadth of it's shoulders far out distanced the width of the window.

Glowing red eyes and pointed fangs as white as bone snapped at her as the creature charged towards her, crashing through the window. The scream Lydia let loose was filled with horror and regret. Why hadn't she believed Adrianna when she'd tried to tell her what really lurked in the quiet, undisturbed shadows of her world?

Why didn't I listen? Lydia chastised herself as she collapsed to the floor, sobbing deep, painful tears as the dimness of the room around her kept her company. There was no trace left of the beast that had shattered her world, aside from the truth that poisoned Lydia's fragile mind.

Adrianna had known all along. Monsters were real and now, they were coming for Lydia, twisting her thoughts and bending her will with murderous schemes that caused her hands to shake and her teeth to chatter.

Lydia was alone now. All alone and left to Peter Hale's nonexistent mercy.

No one could help her now.

#-#-#-#-#

Her body felt like it was simultaneously combusting and freezing her organs solid from the inside. Pain was like breathing; it was always there, stabbing at her muscles and twisting her bones out of shape. Shivers and shakes wracked through her body, causing her to jerk in her bed as though she was having one of Erica's seizures.

Adrianna had never regretted anything as much as she'd come to regret using the adrenaline Deaton had given her. It was as close to pure, unmitigated agony as Adrianna had ever been, which was saying something as she'd experienced more than her fair share of pain and torture.

Blurry shapes, indistinct voices, and muted colors were all that she could make out in her hazy, feverish consciousness. Enough to know that it was daytime, which meant that she'd been like this all night and morning.

Eventually, when she'd lain awake in bed, uncontrollably twitching and dripping sweat that only served to lower her internal temperature further, Adrianna decided that it was time for the madness to stop. She forced the covers off of her frail form, nearly screaming out from the pain in her head that came when she tried to lift herself off of the pillow.

Taking deep, measured breaths, her legs spread out awkwardly beneath her in a sitting position as her upper body remained prone on the bed, Adrianna's fingers clenched her soaked through bed-sheet as she willed her torso upwards.

A groan slipped past her lips, despite how tightly her teeth bit down on the soft flesh. Nearby, she could make out the distinct tone of Allison's voice, followed by Lydia's chirping reply. They must have been in the room just across the hall; Allison's room.

Locking her jaw, Adrianna didn't allow another sound to leave her as her hand desperately drifted over to her nightstand. Searching through the contents of the upper-most drawer haphazardly, Adrianna's fingers wrapped around the crinkling plastic bag she'd been looking for.

Something warm and wet dripped from out of her eyes. It was too heavy to be the tears she knew she'd shed. Adrianna dreaded to know what it was, even though she was fairly certain that the substance was her own black, poisoned blood.

Heart beating in her ears like a drum the longer her fingers fumbled around the bag, Adrianna's limbs failed her. Like rust on an old machine, her fingers refused to close around her only salvation for long enough to retrieve it.

Gasping raggedly as a bubbling, watery sensation began in her lungs, Adrianna lurched to the side in a last ditch effort to grab hold of the ambrosia. Her fingers held tightly to the plastic surrounding the candy-like cubes, but just as she pulled the bag towards her, they spasmed and she lost her grip.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Adrianna braced herself for the worst. For all the things that she knew about death, she didn't know what it would feel like to die, especially not like this.

Would she drown in her own blood? Would her heart cease to beat? Or perhaps, it might be even more painful than that. Maybe she'd burn up, just like the Hale's had. It would be such a fitting end, Adrianna reminisced. Ironic, even.

And then, as her vision failed her and her heart became a frantic staccato, the bag of ambrosia squares landed in her lap. Adrianna didn't have time to think about where they'd come from or who had helped her. She hastily ripped open the bag, without a second thought, grabbing a fistful of the candy-like cubes within and stuffing them inside her mouth, chewing as fast as she could.

Instantly, her pain subsided, along with the tension in her limbs and spine. Adrianna leaned back against her headboard, sighing in relief. The fire that had been scorching her veins and the liquid drowning her lungs had vanished along with the pain in her head.

Her own mortality—her vulnerability even—had never been so obvious to her as it was in that moment. Poisoned, Adrianna was just as weak as the humans she hunted with. Maybe weaker still.

"Feeling any better, Adrianna?" A deep, drawling voice questioned her. "One should always be careful when it comes to administering extraneous substances into our bodies." Gerard reminded her, as though he already knew what she'd done.

Opening her stinging eyes, hatred burned in her tired heart as she regarded her grandfather, sitting calmly on the bed next to her. He'd watched her struggle without helping until the end. He'd gambled with her life, just to prove a point.

"Come to gloat?" She couldn't stop herself from snapping, pulling away her arm just as Gerard's hand brushed her cold, clammy fingers. Adrianna didn't want him touching her. Who knew what else he had up his sleeve if he'd been willing to poison her for five weeks without her knowledge.

"Why, what a terrible thing to say." He falsely recoiled from her brashness. "Is it a crime for a concerned grandfather to watch over his favourite granddaughter?"

Rolling her eyes, Adrianna bit her bottom lip as her frustration began to boil. "Cut the crap, Gerard." She finally settled on demanding, leveling her gaze on Gerard and refusing to look away.

Frowning, her grandfather's shoulders unfurled. "Language, young lady." He growled in warning.

"The kind and innocent old man act might work on Allison," She whispered, mindful not to be overheard by the very same girl who was across the hall with Lydia, lest she enrage Gerard further. "But it's never been convincing to me. As a matter of fact, it's kind of offensive you think it'll work, at this point." Adrianna chewed out.

Gerard stared at her, his head tilting to the side as the simmering rage he'd hid beneath a thousand guises evaporated into thin air. Just as Adrianna became truly afraid that he'd lost his patience with her, about to reach out and snap her neck at any minute, Gerard tipped his head back and laughed.

"Oh my," He ground out between humorous chuckles. "I'd forgotten just how much like your mother you are." He slapped a hand over her shoulder, his hold tight. "Don't ever forget what happened to her." Gerard warned, his mood flipping on a dime as he stared at her with unwavering, malicious eyes. Eyes that had seen death a thousand times over; that had been the cause of it, more often than not.

"I know what happened to her," Adrianna replied, her voice tight with barely concealed emotions. "She made the hunt personal. It's a mistake I won't make."

"Good." He accepted, releasing his vice-like grip. It had been a long time since Gerard's grip had been that strong. Since before he'd started on his prescriptions nearly two years ago. "Now, why don't we return to our original conversation." Gerard suggested, threading his fingers together in front of him. "Why would you think that I'd come to gloat?"

Cracking her knuckles, Adrianna hesitated before she metaphorical walked straight into another one of Gerard's traps. He wanted her to admit it, without him even having to ask. He wanted to hear the words come straight from her lips. Why, she didn't know. It probably had something to do with power, but there was a good chance it could have been a part of the enormous, complicated plan he had in place that no one but he knew to it's full detail.

Still, she hardly had a choice. He was armed, after all. She could tell by the way his jacket tucked out behind him that there was a gun in his belt and probably a few knives up his sleeves. Gerard had been the one to teach her how to conceal weapons on her person. It was fitting that, even after hitting old age, he'd never given up the habit himself.

"Because of the rave," Adrianna began grudgingly, choosing to ignore Gerard's satisfied grin for the sake of her frazzled temper. "It all went wrong. Jackson got away." Huffing, Adrianna ran a hand through her sweat dampened hair as her lips struggled to form her next words.

"Listen, I know that you've figured out what happened last night." She felt her hands shaking so she slipped them beneath her thighs on the sprawled sheets of her bed. "You've probably already got a punishment in mind for me, now that you know I helped Scott and Derek instead of you."

The moment she'd finished speaking, Gerard's hand came into contact across her cheek in a harsh slap. The skin stung and the sound of his flesh meeting hers rung throughout the room, but it felt like a pinch compared to what she'd felt only minutes before. Inspecting his fingernails and wiping away the smears of blackened blood that were the tears Adrianna had been afraid to see for herself, Gerard stood up and calmly regarded her.

"Good to see you haven't lost your swinging arm." Adrianna caustically remarked, rubbing at her cheek despite the numbness that had begun to spread over her body as the ambrosia attempted to fix all of her ailments. "You see, no matter what I do, if I lie or tell the truth, I'm never gonna be good enough."

"And is that why you betrayed me?" He asked from where he'd migrated to stand in front of her window, his back facing her. "Because you were afraid of failure?"

"No," Adrianna readily shared. It had been too long since she'd been truthfully, unapologetically, her, and not just the ghost of her mother. "I did it because my heart finally started beating, despite your best efforts." She accused, standing on unsteady feet so that she was equal in height to her grandfather.

"Jackson's not a good man, I know that," Her toes tingled on contact with the cold, hardwood floors, unused to holding her full weight. "But he doesn't deserve what you wanna give him. He doesn't deserve to be executed without a shot at redemption. Scott wants to save him and so do I." Adrianna stated, placing her hands on her hips decidedly.

Backing away from the window in front of him and finally turning back around to face her, Gerard raised his brows in response to her explanation. "While your little show of emotional connection to Jackson's circumstances is quite convincing," Gerard began apathetically. "I don't believe you."

Shock was the first thing Adrianna felt, then outrage, followed by a sliver of uncertainty she buried deep within her heart, away from Gerard's reach. "Believe it or not," Adrianna defended. "But it's the truth."

"Oh, I never doubted your honesty." He replied, stead-fast to his point. "What you told me is obviously how you really feel. I just didn't believe that it was the reason you switched sides so suddenly." Gerard had the indecency to lecture her on her own feelings.

"Yeah, well," Adrianna angrily huffed, forgetting that he was now her enemy as she delved head-first after the bait he'd laid out for her. "What do you know about emotions and personal motive anyway?"

"I know a fair bit, actually." He contradicted her. "I learned from Kate. You and her are so similar." Gerard commented, pulling on a strand of her muddy brown hair as though mentally comparing her to her mother. "You were right. Her mistake was making the hunt personal, but it wasn't what killed her."

Adrianna's eyes snapped up to meet Gerard's in an instant. They both knew he'd won, right then, as she yearned for nothing else but to know what had really killed her mother. She needed to know and Gerard was the only one with the answers.

"What killed her, then?" She questioned, tears collecting in her eyes as her voice thickened. Adrianna would do anything, say anything, be anything, if it meant getting the chance to understand why Kate had gone off the rails; why she'd hunted down the wolves of Beacon Hills by herself and ended up with her throat clawed to ribbons.

"I'll tell you," Gerard agreed, a mad twinkle in his gaze. "So long as you promise to do one thing for me."

Just one? She wanted to laugh. There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd make her do one, and only one, thing for the information he had. And yet, she found herself nodding. "Anything." Adrianna pathetically replied.

Her grandfather took a moment to bask in his success. His taming of the shrew, of the misunderstood girl that knew only blood and gore, up until a few weeks ago. Then, he told her about Kate Argent and the truth had never tasted so bitter to Adrianna.

"Your mother, Kate, was killed by Peter Hale, who—as I'm sure you're aware—was killed by Derek for his power and strength as an Alpha." Gerard started slowly, torturing her as the minutes ticked by. "What you weren't made aware of, was why an experienced, capable huntress such as your mother was so easily defeated by an injured Alpha without a pack."

"It seems I haven't been made aware of a lot of things, lately." Adrianna interrupted sourly. "Like, say, the fact that Allison told you who the Kanima was."

Irritated by her tactlessness, Gerard's face pinched with his exasperation as he struggled to withhold his anger. "Yes, but I hardly see how you can blame me for doing so, when you yourself have admitted to treachery. I couldn't trust you." He explained bluntly. "Now, do you want me to tell you what killed your mother, or not?"

"By all means," Adrianna glared, silently mocking Gerard with her sweetness. "Continue."

Gerard swallowed roughly and ignored her slight for the purpose of finishing his explanation as succinctly as he could. "Kate had her throat torn open, the life stolen from out of her body, because she showed her weakness to Peter and he exploited it." Gerard began to pace the room as he spoke with rumbling determination. "She was the one to show Allison our family's secret. It was a mistake to bring along such an inexperienced huntress when she was hunting an alpha and two betas, but Kate was never one to listen to reason."

"Allison was there, wasn't she?" Adrianna felt it in the fibers of her muscles, all the way to the flexing of her toes. "She saw everything."

"Your sixth sense for death has not dulled, Adrianna." He responded tightly, never having been very fond of her true heritage and all that it brought along with it. "Peter promised to spare young Allison's life, on the condition that Kate apologized for the Hale fire and permitted her own life to be taken."

The words were like bullets in Adrianna's chest. Each one stung and buried deep inside her, stealing away her oxygen and numbing her brain. She couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't even cry. Gerard spoke for her, basking in her sudden weakness.

"Love killed your mother, Adrianna." He snarled lowly. "Not her loyalty to the Argent cause, or her sometimes extreme tactics. Love." Gerard emphasized as Adrianna's entire body began to tremble. "It's best if you don't make the same mistakes Kate did, don't you think?"

And then, with those last few words, the spell was broken. Standing perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, Adrianna registered exactly what it was that Gerard had been getting at. "How is it that you think I'll repeat her mistake?" She asked slowly, cautiously, like a predator stalking it's skittish prey. "I've never known love and real friendship is still a mystery to me, as you've required from me all these years. You know just as well as I, that if something were to happen where there was a choice between Allison's life or mine, I'd chose myself in a heartbeat."

Unfolding his hands and holding them at his sides, Gerard nodded his head. "While that's true, I have reason to believe that your motivation to change sides in this long-lasting war may have something to do with a certain young, handsome, seemingly vulnerable werewolf in Derek's pack." He told her, his condescending tone making her bristle.

"If you mean Scott," She began hotly, only to be cut-off by Gerard's tense, extended palm ordering silence.

A smile twitching at his lips, clearly pleased with himself for maintaining a degree of control over Adrianna's actions, Gerard calmly proceeded with his explanation. "I don't mean Scott," He informed her. "I was referring to Isaac Lahey."

The way Gerard drawled the name, as though there was nothing more in the world that he hated than those two words which spelled out a boy's identity, raised the hairs on Adrianna's arms and neck. It took her a moment to realize that she was afraid—truly and actually frightened—for Isaac's safety.

"If you touch a hair on his head," She warned, her vision tinting red as she couldn't stop her psyche from delving into the variations of torture Gerard could put Isaac through. "I will make certain that you regret the day I came into Kate's life even more than you regret the day she died."

"Ah," He exclaimed in victory, smug satisfaction wafting off of his every movement. "So you do care for him, then?"

Startled, Adrianna reeled back as though slapped. She'd walked straight into Gerard's trap without even noticing. "He saved my life." She tried to excuse, even as she realized that there was no amount of digging that could get her out of the hole she'd fallen into. "He's a—we're—Isaac's a friend." Adrianna finally managed to say under the intense scrutiny of her grandfather. "Nothing more."

Despite her earlier stuttering, Adrianna forced herself to level her gaze on Gerard's eyes. If she looked away now, she knew there'd be immense repercussions. "He means nothing to me." Adrianna reassured, her heart solidifying into the molten ore it had once been. "I wanted to be like Kate. He was a diversion, that's all. Just don't kill him."

Gerard pondered her confession with steely eyes and tightly sealed lips. All the while, Adrianna remained icy and detached. "Very well," He eventually conceded. If the tone of his voice was anything to go by, he was not at all pleased to be doing so. "As long as your judgment and abilities are not impaired, the matter shouldn't become—an issue." He silently threatened her.

Swallowing thickly, Adrianna nodded. "I understand." She acquiesced readily, her blood turning to ice. "What was the condition? The one thing you made me promise to do in order to share what happened to Kate." Adrianna expounded as Gerard's brows rose in confusion.

"Of course," He said, swiftly moving towards her and placing a stern hand over her shoulder. "Adrianna, what I want you to do is very important to my plan," Gerard informed her, the back of his palm brushing over the side of her face and creeping to the back of her neck where the digits slid around her throat and abruptly squeezed.

"You cannot fail me." Gerard warned, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "Not this time."

His words brought shivers to her toes and stabbed icy needles in her heart. When he left, just as he'd come, unnoticed and barely there at all, Adrianna's thundering pulse did not cease to race.

She had so many unanswered questions, but the loudest, most pressing one fought it's way to the front of her mind. She couldn't understand how Gerard had so easily unraveled a secret that even Adrianna herself had yet to admit, only a day after she'd begun to see Isaac in such a way.

How had he known that she'd begun to doubt everything he'd ever taught her, because of the wolves of Beacon Hills?

She'd never admitted the softening of her heart, or the sudden closeness she desired between Isaac and herself, to Gerard, or anyone else for that matter.

Which begged the question,

How the hell am I supposed to do what Gerard wants me to?

#-#-#-#-#

His chair was beginning to feel like it was molding to his body, becoming a part of him the longer he sat in it, skimming through the two thousand two year book he'd nicked from the Sheriff's station. Over an hour, three aderals, and a completely destroyed set of nerves later, and he still hadn't found anything. Not a single thing to somehow lend him a clue as to who the Kanima's master was.

"Hey, watcha doing?" His father asked him, leaning into the frame of Stiles' door so that he could peak further into the mess of an inhabitation Stiles called a room.

"Homework." Stiles automatically replied, turning over a page he'd already read four times with particular fury.

Without turning to look, Stiles could feel his father nodding and walking away, only this time, instead of indulging his time into the football match on downstairs or the newspaper that hadn't been read in a week, his dad came back. "It's spring break." Stilinski pointed out, confused. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh," He mumbled non-committedly, rubbing at his tired, blurring eyes. "I'm just satisfying my own curiosity."

His father walked into the room, his expression determined and concerned as he gently placed a hand over Stiles' shoulder. Leaning down to see what he was reading, the elder Stilinski sighed tiredly, tripling the guilt that was already piled high on Stiles' conscience.

"We brought Harris in this morning for questioning." His father admitted, his lips pinching together as he caught his mistake. "They brought him in."

Stiles forced himself not to dwell on the past. Yes, it had been his fault that his dad had been suspended as the Sheriff, but with the new information his father was providing, he had a real chance of fixing it. "And?" He pressed, hanging onto every word.

"And they're working on a warrant to arrest him for the murders." Stilinski shared. For a moment, it was just like old times. Stiles working on a case he shouldn't have even known about and his dad helping him, despite the fact that a teenager wasn't supposed to be privy to police information.

Shaking his head, Stiles' hands lay idle over the page he'd been on in the yearbook. "For all of them?" He couldn't help but ponder. It didn't sound right. Harris couldn't have been responsible for all of the murders, it just didn't make sense. There had to be more to it, evidence or a witness that tied Stiles' least favourite teacher to the majority of the crime-scenes.

"Enough of them." His dad supplied, nodding his head as though he could see the thoughts going through Stiles' brain and agreed with them.

Pushing his chair back, Stiles rubbed at his chin as he brainstormed. "With what proof?" He voiced his earlier hunch in the hopes of proving it right or wrong. If the cops didn't have some kind of proof than they were just wasting time, catching a man as fast as they could just to ease frightened parent's minds, not even caring that he might have been innocent.

"You remember the couple at the trailer?" The ex-Sheriff questioned, placing his hands on his hips. "Tire tracks nearby match Harris' car."

"W—" Stiles stuttered as he tried to speak at his brain's pace, which was faster than his lips would allow. "That's not enough." He indignantly cried.

Leaning against his desk, Stiles' father raised his brows as he continued. "The same car was also seen outside the hospital where the pregnant wife was killed." He forced Stiles' ire to settled down, if only slightly. "It's got a bumper sticker on it, a quote from Einstein." He said, slapping a hand over the desktop before leaving Stiles' room.

"Wait," Stiles called as a memory sparked a chain of linked thoughts and theories that had his eyes widening and his fingers twitching sporadically. "What quote?"

"Something about imagination and knowledge." His father strained to remember, one of his hands lying flat against the door-frame as he looked back at Stiles.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Stiles breathed in deeply. "Imagination is more important than knowledge," He recited as the sharp memory of a black sedan with the same bumper sticker came back to his mind. It had been part of the reason he'd been able to spread the mountain ash in the first place. "Yeah, I saw the same car parked outside the rave." He told his dad.

"That means you're a witness." Stilinski realized. "You're gonna have to give a statement." He continued, sounding just like he did whenever he was on duty as the Sheriff.

"But, what about the concert promoter, Kara?" Stiles refuted, not quite convinced that tire tracks and a bumper sticker were enough to justify putting Harris away for murdering four people. "She wasn't in Harris' class, right? I mean, what does Mr. Lahey have to do with Harris?"

Shaking out his hand in a gesture Stiles could read as a command to stop from a mile away, the Sheriff sighed heavily—defeatedly, before his voice turned somber. "It doesn't matter." He said, pushing away a chance to break apart a lousy case for the first time in a very long time. "The tire tracks put Harris at the site of three murders. That's damning evidence." He challenged.

"No," Stiles pushed his chair closer to the desk, sifting through the yearbook for the fifth time in a row. "It's not enough." He disagreed as he began to feel his energy reserves running low.

"I—I thought you hated this guy." His dad confusedly tried to understand Stiles' motivations, looking over his shoulder as the pages flittered around Stiles' frantic hand.

"I don't hate him, all right? He hates me." He corrected factually. "And, you know, if he killed them all, then yeah, lock the psycho up. But there's something missing." Stiles spoke his mind, trying figure out why the pieces weren't adding up. "There's gotta be something missing."

"Hey, hey." His father stopped him, taking hold of his arm to prevent him from leafing through the rest of the book and turning him so that they faced each other. "You don't have to solve this for me." He gently reassured Stiles.

Stiles wasn't sure if his dad meant the case, or what happened with his job. Probably both as it was secretly Stiles goal to solve the two most pressing issues in his life.

"No, I have to do something." Stiles refuted, shaking his head. His lips formed the words he wanted to say. How he was sorry for being the way he was, for getting his dad fired and for being such a spastic wreck, but then, he noticed that his father wasn't even looking at him anymore. He was looking at the yearbook where it lay open, stuck on a random page Stiles hadn't seen yet.

"What?" He asked, looking at the right page but only finding a few outdated, unimportant photographs of the two thousand basketball team.

"Look at the swim team." The Sheriff told him, pointing towards the large photograph taking up much of the left page.

The hole gnawing at Stiles' brain, demanding an answer in the form of a different suspect that wasn't Harris, finally alleviated as he read the fine print beneath the picture, telling them who had been on the swim team.

Like the most obvious thing in the world, the names of the mechanic, the couple, and the girl from the rave appeared in the litany of first and last names. Stiles scanned over the page, his eyes catching on another picture close to the bottom.

"Dad, the coach." He pointed out. "It's Isaac's dad."

The loose end had finally been tied in. Someone was killing everyone that had been a part of the two thousand two swim team, for one reason or other. Which meant that Stiles now know who would be next.

Well, at least he had an idea.

It was more than Scott had figured out, by any means.

#-#-#-#-#

"What if we break free?" Boyd voiced all of their fears as he hesitantly tested the flimsy set of handcuffs and chains that would soon be the only things holding him to the subway car, away from other people he would want to hurt.

"Then you'll do anything you can to get out of here." Derek answered as he scooped up the chains from out of Boyd's arms and dumped them on a nearby seat. "Probably try to kill me, then kill each other and kill anything else with a heartbeat." He coldly pointed out.

Isaac wanted to tell him to stop using the word kill. It was making him nervous. Ever since coming back from the rave, there had been something off about Derek. He was angrier than usual, if that was even possible, and a whole lot more unstable. Anything could set him off. More specifically, anything Isaac did.

"I need you to hold her." Derek said, looking away as Isaac raised his head to meet his gaze. Between them, Erica stood, her hands clenched tightly together in an attempt to conceal her fear. It didn't work. All of them felt it.

Getting up and walking behind her, Isaac cautiously slipped his hand under Erica's arms, pulling her closer to him as he held her steady. "So," He started, trying to lessen the palpable tension in the car. "How come she gets to wear the headband?" He asked.

For the first time in the entire day, Derek's stared straight at Isaac. Though the older man tried to hide it, Isaac could feel the anger coming off of him in waves. Ordinarily, that wouldn't have been anything new, except that this time, it was aimed directly towards Isaac.

"Because she'll be able to withstand more pain than the two of you." Derek responded, his green eyes narrowing the longer Isaac held his gaze. "I've got an extra one if you really want it." He threatened lightly, although the words hit more heavily that Isaac thought they should have.

Swallowing, Isaac shook his head, averting his eyes at last from his enraged Alpha. "I'll pass." He replied, hoping beyond all reason that Derek's mood was brought on because of the approaching full moon, and not because of what had happened between him and Adrianna at the rave.

"You ready?" Derek spoke, startling Isaac out of his thoughts.

Erica breathed deeply against him, her heart beating fast as she nodded. "Yeah." She agreed uncertainly, her fists clenching at her sides.

As Derek placed the rusted crown over her head and slowly began to turn the screws, piercing Erica's skull and drawing bright red blood from her forehead, Isaac tried to focus on something else. Erica was like a sister to him. Her screams grated across his ears and nearly pitched his heart overboard.

Her body against his felt different than when Isaac had been close to Adrianna. Isaac's fingers still tingled whenever he thought about the way she'd held them, even when Derek had made a point of staring at them, without letting go until the very end.

She'd been sick that night, Isaac thought, because her skin had been burning hot and then freezing cold. Allison had had to drive her home. He wondered if she was alright; if she was thinking about him.

Erica howled again, drilling holes through his eardrums and forcing a grimace across his face. He looked over at Derek as the Alpha continued to turn the screw, deeper and deeper into the girl's skull.

Isaac worried that Derek would stop too late and hurt her more than he should. When Erica's claws dug into the flesh on his arms and she snarled lowly, her eyes flashing amber for a second, Isaac worried that Derek would stop too soon.

What did I agree to when I allowed Derek to turn me? Isaac asked himself.

It certainly hadn't been this.

#-#-#-#-#

Lydia's party was just as extravagant and crowded as it had promised to be every other year of the girl's existence, only this time, Scott was actually invited. As the full moon gleamed in the overhead clouds, bright and powerful, Scott thought about the night he'd been bitten by Peter.

Despite the fact that he'd gained friends, strength, a pack, and even a pretty awesome girlfriend because of it, Scott couldn't help thinking that it had all been a fraud because now, everything was falling apart.

"Are you gonna apologize to Allison or what?" Stiles commented as he no doubt followed Scott's gaze across the pool towards the girl in question, like any good detective would do.

Sometimes, Scott envied Stiles. He was human, sure—not very good at sports and constantly pining over a girl he couldn't have—but he was smart. That was something Scott could never seem to attain when it came to school or any other of his furry problems.

Frowning as he tore his eyes away from the dark haired girl he'd given his heart away to, Scott tried not to think too much about the way her cousin, who was standing right next to her, stared at him. "Why should I apologize first?" Scott found himself saying as Adrianna won the contest of wills, forcing him to look over at Stiles.

"Because, you're the guy." Stiles pointed out, as though it was another obvious thing that Scott hadn't been able to figure out. "It's, like, what we do." The boy explained poorly, his attention also momentarily drifting over to the Argent girls.

"But I didn't do anything wrong." He complained, placing a hand under his chin moodily. Scott didn't even have to look at Stiles to know that his spastic, genius, sometimes eccentric best friend had his eyebrows raised disbelievingly.

"They you should definitely apologize." Stiles pressed, his hands on his hips. "See, any time a guy thinks he hasn't done anything wrong, it means he's definitely done something wrong." He lectured.

Stubborn, Scott shook his head. There was no way he'd be the one to mend things first. It had been mainly Allison's fault that the Kanima had gotten away, after all. "I'm not apologizing." He declared unflinchingly under Stiles' scrutiny.

A deep sigh came from overhead as Stiles placed a supporting hand over Scott's shoulder. "Is that the full moon talking, buddy?" He questioned, no sign of the mocking, arrogant tone Scott had expected to hear.

Breathing in deeply, Scott stood up. The full moon really was having an effect on his mood tonight, not that he'd admit that to Stiles right away, though. "Probably," He replied instead. "Why do you care, anyway?" He had to appease what was left of the suspicious envy he held towards Stiles. Scott had to know if it was real, or just the moon.

"Because, Scott," Stiles answered without hesitation, waving his hands around him like he usually did when he was trying to explain himself using more than just words. "Something's gotta go right here." He told him, swallowing thickly as he no doubt thought about all the things that weren't going right at the moment.

"I mean, we're getting our asses royally kicked, if you haven't noticed." He nearly laughed, something shiny and heavily guarded coming to light in Stiles' eyes. "People are dying. I got my dad fired. You're gonna be held back in school." The litany started, seemingly to never end as the guilt piled higher and higher on Scott's shoulders.

Some of those things, he'd been responsible for allowing to happen. Either because he hadn't been at the right place at the right time, or because he'd been busy with other, supposedly more pressing matters.

"I'm in love with a nut-job." Stiles readily admitted as they both unconsciously looked over at Lydia, who was dishing out punch to every thirsty party guest she could find. "Allison's oh so mysterious cousin—who is also a total nut-job in my professional opinion—is trading sides like she's playing musical chairs, and if on top of all that, I've gotta watch you lose Allison to a stalker like Matt," He passionately spoke as his voice rose with restrained emotions. "I'm gonna stab myself in the face." He ended rather comically, which was what Scott had always liked about his best friend.

Smiling slightly, Scott's stare drifted off of Lydia, over to the double french doors that led back into the house. Standing there, in the middle of the cobblestone patio, was someone Scott hadn't expected to see tonight, of all nights. "Don't stab yourself in the face." Scott exclaimed as the smile slid off of his features.

"Why not?" Stiles sounded confused, for once, not being the first one to uncover or notice something important.

"Because Jackson's here." He pronounced just as Lydia approached the co-captain of the lacrosse team with a glass of punch in hand.

"Glad you could make it." Scott heard Lydia tell the Kanima in disguise as she handed him the drink and swaggered back over to the fountain of punch where she'd been pouring glasses.

Scott was certainly not glad that Jackson had made it. Now, his only chance to mend things with Allison and possibly relax and have a good time, had slipped through his fingers.

#-#-#-#-#

His fingers ached as he clenched them tightly and his head felt like it weighed about a thousand pounds. There was a tightness in his muscles that he'd only ever felt before a shift. Something told him he wouldn't be able to control anything tonight, not even if it meant killing someone, like Derek had told them over and over again.

As the older man began securing Isaac's chains, pulling on the handcuffs for good measure, just in case, Isaac placed a hand over his Alpha's to gain his attention as Derek moved onto the next cuff. Even though they hadn't been on the best of terms lately, for whatever reason Derek didn't want to talk about, Isaac had confidence that he'd speak to him. There were certain things you couldn't avoid, even if you wanted to, and this was one of those things.

"How do you not feel this?" He gritted out through his clenched jaw, perspiration already dotting his forehead and moistening his palms.

Derek seemed so calm, so in control, compared to the wild groans and howls Erica and Boyd were beginning to make. Apparently, he wasn't everything Isaac thought him to be, as he answered honestly, for once. "I feel every second of it." Derek responded, never meeting the beta's gaze.

"Then how do you control it?" Isaac desperately wondered, a shiver rolling up his spine, barely contained as he dug the elongated claws of his left hand into his palm.

Glancing over at Isaac's bleeding fist, Derek took a moment before he continued to try to shut the clamp over the rusted handcuff as tightly as he could. "Find an anchor." He finally muttered, a note of hesitant distrust clinging to his words. "Something meaningful to you." Derek continued, his efforts to finish restraining Isaac becoming rougher and angrier. "Bind yourself to it. Keep the human side in control." He explained with what might have been bitterness or resentment, never looking up.

"What is it for you?" Isaac couldn't help but question. He understood that Derek wasn't just his alpha, but also his mentor. Since the start, he'd been trying to teach them the wrong things; how to defend themselves against hunters—which Isaac would admit had served him well—instead of how to resist the murderous rages brought on by the full moon.

It was what Isaac had been afraid of the moment after he'd said yes to the bite. Loss of control, of himself, and having no way to regain it. He didn't want innocent blood on his hands; not like this.

"Anger." Derek clipped, jerking on the chains and drawing a pained grunt from Isaac as the muscles in his arms complained loudly. "But it doesn't have to be that for everybody." He mumbled lowly, as though not wanting Isaac to hear, despite feeling obligated to share the information.

Licking his chapped lips, Isaac nodded his head as he understood what Derek was getting at. "You mean Scott?" He proposed, wondering what, or who, Scott's anchor was.

"Yeah." Derek gruffly affirmed, jerking the chains harshly once more to make certain he'd fastened them correctly. "Right, that should do it." He seemed to tell himself, pleased with the work he'd done.

Now that he was actually, completely secured to the subway car's seat, unable to move more than a few inches, Isaac's fear of confinement began to set in with a racing heart and dizzy mind.

"Um," He struggled for something to distract himself. Maybe the anchor Derek had been telling him about. "What's Scott's?" He shook his head, his tongue feeling clumsy and overly heavy in his mouth. "His anchor, do you know what it is?" He reiterated with more success and Derek's confusion washed away.

"Allison," The Alpha breathed cautiously. "Scott's anchor is Allison."

Derek moved away to finish checking over Boyd and Erica's bonds, all the while, those four words bounced around Isaac's head. An anchor could be a person. For Scott, Isaac assumed it had been his first love but it could probably just as well be someone important to you; someone you trusted.

Isaac clenched his hands tightly as the full moon beat down on him through the smashed window in the subway car and groaned through his locked teeth. A part of him remembered the way he'd felt last night. How Adrianna had whisked away his fears and worries—made him feel more normal than he ever had.

He recalled the way her green eyes looked when they'd been bordered by black kohl. She'd been nearly like a ghost, then. Half there, half not. Isaac felt his control slipping, his humanity vanishing into the maw of the beast he'd consented to replace his heart.

Isaac held on desperately to what was left.

Green eyes and blood red lips.

Her wiry, scarred hands twisting around his own.

The look on her face when he'd stayed behind to save her.

A stirring in his heart that told him he could trust her with his life.

He hoped the memory of Adrianna Argent was enough to hold him together through the full moon. Isaac feared what would happen if it wasn't.

#-#-#-#-#

The suitcase was heavy as it slammed against the counter but not nearly as heavy as the guilt and sorrow weighing on Chris Argent's chest. He clicked open the locks on the case with ease, focusing on one thing at a time. Turning around the array of painless, fatal drugs held within, he measured his breaths as his wife's expression remained fixed as it had been since the moment he'd found her stumbling behind the warehouse, a bloody bite mark deeply inset within her shoulder.

"You really thought I would do this using prescription pills?" She asked, her disbelief and mild humour shining through in the way her lips tilted ever so slightly when she looked up at him.

"According to gender statistics, most women—" He began to rant, just like when they'd first met and he'd tried very hard to impress her. And just like he knew she would, with one simple gesture, Victoria halted his unstoppable train of thought as she held up a sharp kitchen knife. "But you're not most women." Chris finished fondly, pulling back the case and shutting it closed.

"I'll go upstairs and write the letter." Victoria tautly supplied, leaving the gleaming knife on the table as she left the room, no doubt already preparing her last words to Allison in her head.

Chris' heart rung in his ears as the silence engulfed him. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like, living in a house without his wife. He forced himself to anyway. There'd be no acrid, overcooked food waiting for him at the table when he got home from a hunt. No store-bought cookies that she'd try to convince him she'd made herself. Her favourite TV soap operas wouldn't seem as funny without her mocking comments and his teasing jibes. Allison—

Allison would be devastated.

"Don't hesitate because of Allison." Gerard spoke up, as though he could read Chris' thoughts. "She'll feel the ground shifting beneath her feet time and again in her life. It is our job to teach her how to keep standing." He reminded him, remaining clinically detached in the way Chris could never duplicate, nor did he wish to now that he knew the cost.

"The ground isn't shifting," Chris mournfully replied, tears pricking the back's of his eyelids. "It's crumbling."

He had to lean against the table before him to stop his legs from giving out. Chris hadn't seen this coming; not in a million years. He'd prepared for it, yes. At the back of his mind, the niggling, insistent voice trained into him since he'd been born an Argent had told him that he could lose her. Even still, he wasn't nearly prepared enough for it, now that it was happening. Chris could see what it could have the power of doing to his daughter. It could change her—make her stronger and colder—or it could utterly destroy her.

"You want easy?" Gerard demanded roughly, serving as the perpetual reminder of the sacrifice needed to be made when hunting predators stronger and faster than any human. "Change your last name." He bitterly informed his son. No mercy, no pity.

"Otherwise, go up there and help your wife die with dignity." Gerard handed the knife over to Chris, blade first. "Because if she doesn't fall on her own sword," He threatened, pushing the kitchen utensil into Chris' hand and drawing blood. "One of us is going to have to run her through."

The cut didn't inflict enough pain to make Chris feel better, but it did it's job of focusing his mind. Tightening his grip over the knife, not caring that blood was dripping onto the floor below, Chris hardened his resolve.

It was the Argent way, after all.

We live by the code, Chris recited to himself as he took the stairs up to where Victoria would be, his pace that of a man prepared to lose everything he held most dear. And we die by the code.

"Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent." He breathed, barely audible as he stood in front of the door to Allison's room, Victoria's back to him as she finished writing her fake suicide note. "We hunt those who hunt us."

He wasn't sure he knew what it meant anymore.

#-#-#-#-#

Standing shoulder to shoulder with her cousin, Allison crossed her arms in front of herself as she stared at Matt. He'd scared her, with all those pictures he'd taken of her and as much as she hated to admit it, this time, she needed help.

"You get two minutes." Allison sternly informed the boy she'd once thought was as harmless as a wallflower. Now she knew differently. There was something about him, aside from the awkwardness that now seemed fake, that told her he was more dangerous than he looked.

"Okay." Matt agreed, beginning to close the doors to one of the rooms in Lydia's massive house, only to stop as Allison narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. "Uh, right." He began, licking his lips uncomfortably as his gaze flickered between her and Adrianna uncertainly.

"So I know I took some pictures of you that I should've told you about," He explained, twisting his hands nervously where they were clasped in front of him. "But is it really that bad that—that I think you're beautiful and I think you should be the subject of a perfect photograph?" He stuttered out.

Allison felt the side of her lip lifting in a half smile. It had been a long time since anyone other than Scott had called her beautiful, and he hadn't said it in a long while. Beside her Adrianna cleared her throat loudly, her presence becoming more intimidating as she effortlessly widened her stance and cracked her knuckles. This was why Allison had asked for her help.

Despite the fact that Allison hadn't completely forgiven Adrianna for attacking her during the rave, and Adrianna seemed to be keeping her distance as well, there was no one who could intimidate someone as easily as Allison had seen her do to men twice her height and strength. Men like Derek Hale and even her father.

"Matt," Adrianna voiced sweetly, her stare never wavering in it's lazer like focus. "Allison's told me that some of those pictures weren't taken in a public place. She was at home, unaware that she was under surveillance." The younger girl stabbed with a face of innocence.

"Telephoto lens." Matt supplied, shrugging his shoulders defensively as he took his eyes off of Adrianna for a moment "I mean, come on Allison." He urged her to understand, glancing back every now and then to Adrianna as though he was afraid she'd pounce on him at any moment. "Photographers call them candids." He explained, stuffing his fidgeting hands inside the pockets of his coat.

"Well," Allison replied, her voice shaky. She willed it to even out and become stronger. "Police officers call it stalking." She finished, raising her brows as Matt shuffled his feet.

"Stalking," He seemed to roll the word over in his mouth, considering it. "So I'm—I'm a stalker now. That's—is that it?" He shrilly struggled to demand, taking a step closer in the heat of it. "You—you think my bedroom is wallpapered with your photos? You think I'm the kind of guy that's gonna say something like, 'well, if I can't have her, no one can'?" Matt ranted, his face turning red with rage.

Adrianna stepped forward so that her shoulder overlapped Allison's. Fear pumped through her system, sharpening her eyesight and wreaking havoc on her racing heart. "That's enough." Her cousin interrupted but Matt wasn't listening.

"Well, you know what?" He continued, waving his arms in the air like a madman. "Get over yourself because there's another pretty girl walking through the room every five minutes." Matt growled, snapping something within Allison that felt suspiciously like her patience.

Breathing an incredulous laugh, Allison side-stepped her cousin and dusted off her skirt, trying to rid the angry bubbling she felt in her gut every time she looked at Matt. "Well, then all you have to do is wait another three." She reminded him, stomping away with her decency and pride still intact. "Good luck."

"Allison, wait." Matt called after her, realizing his mistake long after it was too late to fix it. She knew he'd come after her but, moving quickly, Allison also knew that she could easily loose him in the crowd.

"I don't think that's a good idea." She heard Adrianna comment from where she remained inside the bedroom. An instant later, Matt's hand closed around her arm as he attempted to stop her from getting any farther away. What happened next was pure reflex and training.

Twisting her elbow, Allison weakened Matt's hold on her, extending her other hand in an open-palmed punch to the boy's chest. As he was twisting, trying to alleviate the sudden pain in his twisted arm, the momentum from her punch threw him off balance, causing his clumsy form to crash to the floor, unharmed in every way except for his bruised ego.

For a second, as Matt lay on the carpeted floor staring up at her in confusion, Allison felt good. No, she felt great. Adrenaline pumped through her blood and her trained muscles responded to her every command. She wasn't helpless anymore. Allison hadn't needed Adrianna to save her after all.

"What is the matter with you?" Matt questioned, his lips twisting into a hateful sneer as he finally overcame his initial shock.

That was when the guilt set in

"I'm sorry." Allison apologized, her hand automatically covering her mouth as she came to terms with what she'd just done. "I'm so—I'm so sorry." She faltered, ducking her head as she tried to flee.

Once more, a hand on her arm stopped her from getting farther then the first landing on the staircase, except this time, when the same response came to mind and she tried to use the techniques she'd employed earlier, real fear for her safety infusing into her tactical thoughts as she convinced herself that Matt was coming for revenge, her palm was blocked by a forearm, thrown off target as easily as a fly batted away with a newspaper.

Turning in surprise, Allison came face to face with Adrianna. It shouldn't have surprised her, how easily the other girl overpowered her few weeks of training with nearly a decade, but it did all the same.

"What the hell," Allison breathed, her senses wired high and her pupils dilated exponentially. "What are you doing? I thought you were Matt." She explained, her shock tinging her voice higher than it normally was.

It didn't escape her, the way that Adrianna's fingers curled around her shirt, as though Allison was about to experience a repeat of the rave. Her cousin's skin was whiter than a sheet of ice and nearly as cold. Dark circles and red rims around her eyes made her look deathly ill.

Allison didn't know how her grip could be so tight, when she looked ready to collapse at any moment.

"You didn't have to apologize." Adrianna finally said, her hands releasing Allison's sleeves as she stepped back. "Hurting someone who would have hurt you; that's justice served." She told her, sounding as though the concept had been told to her at least once before.

Frowning, a dark seed began to flower in Allison's heart the longer she stared at Adrianna. She looked just like Kate, with her leather jacket and her brownish blonde hair, her green eyes and perfect skills. It was infuriating.

"What would you know about justice?" Allison spat, resentment poisoning her words. "You didn't even show up until after your mother was dead." The words kept coming, insults and barbs that Allison wasn't even certain to be true, floating off her lips unchecked.

"I knew Kate, really knew her." Adrianna's eyes flashed dangerously but Allison didn't care anymore. It had been piling up for too long and now, she couldn't stop the avalanche from crashing down. "Kate loved me and before she was murdered, she taught me all about hunting and defending myself. What was she to you, besides a role model you barely knew?"

Adrianna's hand lifted swiftly, her palm extended wide and her purple hewed nails shining maliciously in the dim, flickering hall light overhead. Allison knew she'd gone way too far; crossed a line that was so well-known, it didn't even have to be marked. She silently encouraged her cousin to let her hand fly forward the last few inches and slap across her face.

Except, at the last moment, Adrianna stopped herself.

Tears welled and dripped across her cheeks as Allison's cousin gasped loudly, like she was drowning in hurt. She'd been so engrossed in alleviating her own damaged feelings and broken heart, that she'd forgotten about Adrianna's.

"You're right." The huntress admitted, her facial expression contorting with pure misery. "I never knew Kate at all. She loved you, not me." Adrianna barely managed to restrain herself from wailing, in a broken voice. It set Allison's teeth on edge to hear it.

"It's always been you, Allison." She shared quietly, backing away one step at a time as Allison stood as still as a statue, unable to do anything that would atone for her grave mistake. She wasn't even sure if she could. "All those years training so hard, working my ass off just to get noticed." Adrianna muttered, her fists clenching at her sides. "But it was always you that my mother loved."

Before Allison could so much as gather her nerves to utter one, utterly useless word of condolence, Adrianna was already gone. She took the stairs two at a time, trying to find her cousin, but people were everywhere and Adrianna had always been astoundingly good at disappearing.

A shadow contorted near the kitchen and for a moment, Allison thought it was her. When she saw the shape in more detail, panic spiked her heartrate. "No." She dared to whisper. "No, not here."

Cloaked in black, a crossbow in hand, a girl with dark hair, fair skin and murder in her eyes approached Allison. "Scott!" She cried, terrified. "Adrianna!" She tried again when no one came.

But it was too late. The huntress was upon her.

Lowering her hood to reveal herself, Allison gaped as she stared back at herself. "Look at you. Yelling for help. Always yelling for help." The heavily armed, dangerously motivated copy of herself spoke mockingly. "It's pathetic, Allison." She chided.

"You're all alone now. No one to come and save you." She reminded her, lifting the heavy crossbow. "You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this." Allison's clone informed her, pulling the trigger.

Allison only had time to flinch as the arrow embedded itself into her stomach, blood seeping out and staining her new dress. She regretted treating her cousin the way she had but somehow, as the other girl—the strong girl that looked exactly like she did—aimed again, Allison realized that if she could have gone back, she wouldn't have changed a single word of what she'd said.

The second arrow never hit it's intended mark, Allison's forehead, as her more powerful self disappeared just as she'd come to be, like a mirage fading out of being.

Allison had once strived to be everything that girl had been. Kate had tried to help her, but she'd never finished. Maybe now, with Gerard's assistance, Allison could finally attain her goal.

Maybe she could be everything Adrianna was.

Maybe she could be everything and more.

#-#-#-#-#

She didn't need to turn in order to feel her husband's presence behind her. He'd never been able to sneak up on her, even before she'd stopped going out on hunts with the rest of them in order to raise Allison properly.

"I didn't get the chance to talk to her," Victoria spoke her mind as her thoughts dwelled on her only child; her daughter. "So I want to do it here, where I can be with her."

Her hand stroked the purple bed-sheet she'd helped Allison to pick out. The room had finally been painted, a dark lavender, contrary to her daughter's original choice which had been a navy blue. The purple suited Allison better, Victoria thought. It reflected her strength and her responsibility to the family tradition as a woman.

"Hm," She sighed, pressing her lips together tightly to stop their trembling. "And I think I'm going to need your help." She told Chris, turning around to face him at last.

He had tears in his eyes. Not something she'd expected, given how emotionally closed off Chris had always been during tragedies. Her own eyes were blurry as well with unshed tears. Both of them knew what was required of the other, now, the only thing left to do was be brave.

Chris sat beside her, his arms wrapped around her chest as they both looked out Allison's window at the slowly rising moon. A white, searing hot pain blossomed in her shoulder from the previously numb wound Derek Hale had inflicted on her and she closed her eyes, her grip tightening on the knife Chris had brought with him as she prepared to stab herself in the heart.

"Wait." Chris pleaded, his hands holding her firmly in place, keeping the knife a good distance away from her chest.

"I can feel it. It's happening." Victoria swallowed thickly as she pressed herself closer to her husband in an attempt to regain her nerve. "You know what to do. You know what to tell people." She went over the drill she'd been forced to learn all those years ago when she'd married into the Argent family.

"Tell them I had a history of depression." She commanded sternly, not liking the way Chris hesitated to answer, the words catching in his throat as a near sob. "Promise me." Victoria reinforced, her brow furrowing as her heart began to tear itself in two different directions.

"I will." Chris gasped through shaky, uneven breaths. "I will, even though I've never see you depressed once in twenty years." He reassured her.

Nodding her head, Victoria soldiered on despite how much she wanted to cry and relinquish her responsibility to someone else. Now was not the time for weakness. "Allison needs to say it too." She added unwaveringly.

Her little girl, barely old enough to know right from wrong, and now, she'd have to lead the hunt; take her mother's place. There was no way Gerard would allow that half-breed to do it, Victoria had made certain of that. His promise still rung in her ears.

Allison would be great in every way a huntress could be. Kate's bastard daughter would be stricken from the Argent family tree, once Gerard had used and discarded her. Only one heir would be remembered. Only one daughter.

Chris' body trembled against hers as she felt him nodding. "But I won't let her believe it." He vowed. He knew her well—too well. That was why this goodbye was turning out to be so hard. They'd fallen in love with each other, against all odds. It was a fate Victoria never wished on any hunter. Attachments made everything complicated, and yet, she didn't regret any of it.

"She'll hear things." Victoria disputed as she imagined all the gossip Beacon Hills would circulate around her death. "People will say I was weak. They'll say I took the easy way out." She bit out harshly, real fear taking hold of her.

The future was so uncertain and tumultuous for her family. Victoria wasn't certain she could do this, condemn herself to death and leave her daughter and husband on their own to face what was to come.

The alternative, she reminded herself, is far worse.

"And I'll tell her it was the hardest thing you ever did." Chris stroked her short, red hair, his tears landing on her good shoulder and moistening the sleeve of her torn blouse.

Breathing deeply, Victoria accepted her lack of choice in her fate. It was death by her own hand, or death by a stranger's—perhaps by the demigod's sword. She'd been strong her whole life, it would only be right for her to do the same in her death.

Leaning her head back onto Chris' chest, Victoria stared up at the moon. It was rising steadily, ticking away the seconds left on her clock far faster than she wanted. "And they'll ask," She continued, covering the last of her worries. "How could I do this to my family?"

"She'll know you did it for us." Her husband answered, giving her the strength she needed to accept what might happen to Allison when she died. It was a consequence they'd all been aware of when they joined the hunt as kids.

Her fingers wound around the handle of the knife more tightly, so as to disguise their shaking. The bright light from the full moon swept inside Allison's room, illuminating the carpet underfoot and creeping towards the bed.

"I can't do this myself." Victoria permitted herself a moment of instability, of the childish need for soothing. "Chris. Help me." She gasped as her heart beat like the hooves of a thousand horses the closer the moonlight stretched to her.

Without a word, Chris sidled in closer to her, his firm, steady hands closing around hers and helping her to position the knife above her third and fourth rib, hovering over her most vital organ.

A burst of what felt like adrenaline, but was really the strength and endurance of a werewolf, signaled the end for Victoria as she clasped the knife with whitened fingers.

"Now." Victoria Argent told her husband as he joined her in plunging the knife through her sternum, into her heart. She drew in her last breath hoping that her daughter could be saved from the death that had befallen her.

The death of a hunter; of an Argent.

#-#-#-#-#

Tremors rushed up and down Adrianna's spine as her clammy hands pressed against the porcelain toilet boil which was blissfully cool compared to her feverish skin. As her stomach emptied once more into the basin, blackened bile staining the water and wafting up into her nose, causing her to wretch and attempt to expel substances from within her hollow stomach, Adrianna wondered if she was finally going to die.

It had taken far longer than she'd expected it to, given the amount of adrenaline she'd taken at the rave—double Deaton's recommended dose—but the overwhelming pain she was experiencing right then seemed to make up for the wait.

Groaning lowly as her organs danced about inside of her, ostensibly unhappy with remaining where they ought to be, Adrianna struggled to remove her mother's coat and press her cheek against the tile floors in search of a respite from the heat she felt coursing through her veins.

Her heeled combat boots squeaked as she moved around, twisting her shoulders in order to shuffle out of the tight, leather garment. It fell to the floor at the same time that Adrianna toppled her glass of punch.

With a resounding crunch, the glass shattered under her shoe, spilling the pinkish liquid within all over the floor, soaking into Adrianna's jeans and adding to the sticky puddle of a girl that she'd become.

Gasping, Adrianna curled over the toilet, heaving as she vomited once more, only this time, she was certain that there was nothing in her stomach. Pure black, inky liquid drained out of her lips and fell to the base of the toilet, refusing to mix with the water in a similar way than oil.

Cold, relieving fingers brushed against her neck, trailing down her arms and taking hold of her hands. Fingers that felt familiar. She saw, clear as day, her fingers intertwined with another's and as she looked to the side, Adrianna came to know whom they belonged to.

"Isaac?" She asked hesitantly, a croak in her voice from the acrid bile she'd expelled only moments before. "Isaac, what are you doing here? It's the full moon." Adrianna pointed out, concern for him giving her the strength to attempt to move away from the toilet.

Wiping at her mouth, Adrianna lost her balance and sat back, trembling and coughing uncontrollably. Frowning, Isaac steadied her shoulder as he leaned her against the nearby bathroom vanity as she tried to regain her breath.

"It's alright, Adrianna." He assured her, his eyes shining amber as he came closer to her. "This isn't real." He told her as his lips skimmed across her cheek, ending just beside her ear.

"What do you mean?" She questioned, leaning into his touch. The racing in her heart had diminished enough for her to think properly. "Am I dreaming?"

Pulling away, Isaac smiled in the way that made Adrianna's stomach knot and her head feel light as he grabbed hold of one of her hands. "No, you're not dreaming." He answered, placing something ticklish and soft in her palm. "In fact, I'd say you've never been more awake."

And then he reached forward, one of his hands wrapping around the base of her neck, and kissed her. His lips tasted sweet, like flowers, and she didn't notice his body fading away until the pressure of his hand on her neck diminished and all that was left of his kiss was the memory imprinted into Adrianna's mind.

She smiled despite knowing that she'd hallucinated—a common side effect of wolf'sbane poisoning in werewolves and other supernatural creatures the likes of which apparently included demigods—and leaned her head back against the vanity, humming the tune her father had sung to her when she'd been just a baby.

Her fingers tightened into fists and only then did she realize that the palm Isaac had clutched was not empty. Raising her hand, Adrianna carefully uncurled her digits to reveal dozens of small, purple flowers she immediately recognized as wolf'sbane.

Searching around herself for the source, Adrianna's attention was pulled towards the leather jacket crumpled beneath her. There were claw marks in the sleeves from where the Kanima had shredded the leather and her skin only the night before, but within those gashes, as Adrianna pulled apart the linings of the jacket, were hundreds more of the same silky, delicate flowers.

This had been how Gerard had poisoned her so intensely since she'd come to Beacon Hills. Using a memento he knew she'd never turn down as a Trojan horse for his own fiendish plans. Screaming out in frustration as she bunched up her mother's jacket and threw it at the bathroom door, Adrianna wondered if it was possible for the full moon to have an effect on her, because in that moment, she was angrier than she'd ever been.

Isaac's voice came back to mind, the way his hands had felt over her skin and how his lips had kissed her cheek. It grounded her back to the present and away from thoughts of revenge for long enough to notice, across from her, the shattered remains of Lydia's punch glass, which lay scattered across the tile floor. Inside the puddle of punch, aside from the multitude of glass shards, sat a handful of small, water-logged petals the same in every way, shape, and form as the ones Adrianna had found in her jacket.

She had more than one problem on her hands now. Gerard wasn't the only one poisoning her with wolf'sbane. Now it appeared that Lydia was too, except this time, Adrianna wasn't the only target. Everyone at the party was drinking the punch, which meant she'd intended to drug nearly the entire teenage population of Beacon Hills.

"Dammit." Adrianna swore, climbing to her feet unsteadily and retrieving her jacket, slinging it over her arm instead of wearing it. "The one damn time that I actually start to trust someone." She complained as she left the bathroom along with the small lake of punch for someone else to deal with.

Adrianna didn't notice the pair of curious brown eyes belonging to Allison's stalker which followed her every move. Aside from a few minor differences, she did look extraordinarily like her cousin, after all.

#-#-#-#-#

It was too much for him, Derek would admit it. He'd thought that he could handle it with the chains and the metal screws but, as it turned out, three betas without a single semblance of control on the full moon were too much work to contain, even for an Alpha.

As Erica growled lowly and prowled around him threateningly, having already broken free from her chains and headband, Derek knew it was only a matter of time before the other two followed her lead.

Sure enough, Boyd was next, ripping off the rusted cuffs effortlessly and joining Erica's side as the two betas stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Derek, sizing him up. Snarling, he charged them first, tackling Erica to the ground only to be literally stabbed in the back by Boyd's sharp claws.

As he roared in pain, whirling on Boyd and slashing at the dark-skinned boy's arm, Derek turned around at the sound of glass shattering as he realized that he'd completely forgotten about Isaac, who'd also managed to break free and easily leapt through the subway car's window, out of sight.

"Isaac!" He yelled, standing up and moving towards the shattered hole of a window in order to see if he could find the boy. As his back was turned, Boyd and Erica leapt on him and Derek had to set aside his fears for Isaac in order to fight off his betas.

Slashing and punching, biting and snarling, Derek did his best to keep the two young, strong werewolves inside the subway car. As he gained the upper hand on Erica, cornering her against the outer wall of the car and fumbling with the empty set of cuffs in order to try to restrain her once more, instead of fighting, Boyd ran for the exit.

Derek wasn't fast enough to stop him, one hand still holding Erica to the bench, but, leaping through the window inside and causing the subway car to shudder from the force of his landing, Isaac was. Wrapping his clawed hand around Boyd's throat, Isaac slammed the other beta into a nearby seat, snarling at his pack-mate as he held him down.

Smirking, Derek turned once more to deal with a struggling Erica, clocking her across the jaw with his fist and disabling her for long enough to chain both of her hands back to the bench.

Isaac looked over at him, his eyes yellow and his face still that of a fully transformed werewolf, but his actions that of a human. Derek knew then and there, that Isaac Lahey had found an anchor. All he could hope for was that it wasn't Adrianna Argent.

"Think you'll be okay now." He told Isaac once the other boy had finished chaining Boyd to a chair and sat in one of his own, his hands calmly outstretched as Derek placed the useless cuffs around the boy's wrists. "Looks like you found an anchor." He pressed, setting aside the dispute he'd had with him in order to try to help him.

If his anchor was the Argent girl, then Derek would do everything in his power to avoid history repeating itself, even if that meant swallowing his own pride and admitting his mistakes.

"The huntress," Isaac eventually told him, his voice hoarse. "Adrianna Argent."

Anger was the first thing Derek felt, followed by dread. "I thought I warned you to stay away from her." He growled ferally as he clamped the last bold shut, standing back and regarding Isaac in a new, terrifying light. "I don't like the hold she had over you."

Shaking his head, the younger boy smiled at Derek's fury in a way that was completely unapologetic. "I don't even understand it myself," Isaac shared. "I just know that the memory of her is the only thing that can keep me human. Like Scott with Allison."

Derek nodded his head and swallowed back the acidic rebuke that lay on the tip of his tongue. He placed a hand on the teenager's shoulder as he permitted, for the first time in a while, his concern and protective instinct for his betas to be seen.

"You did good, Isaac." He praised, careful not to show too much softness. "But we're still gonna need to talk about what happened at the rave. She's not like her cousin; this isn't the same as Scott and Allison's adorable teenage romance." He reminded Isaac with more than a little bit of bitterness in his voice. Isaac avoided his gaze.

"I don't care what you think you know about her," Isaac bravely replied, proving that his feelings for Adrianna were strong enough for him to feel responsible for protecting her from Derek. "But she's not the woman you knew. Adrianna's not her mother."

"And how would you know?" Derek narrowed his eyes in warning as old, painful memories began to resurface. "You never met Kate."

"Well," Isaac licked his lips, thinking over his words a moment before continuing. "It started happening right after Adrianna nearly killed me, back before we knew who the Kanima was." He shared hesitantly, his eyes moving to and from Derek's.

"What started happening?" Derek pressed, his interest caught. Isaac hadn't talked about that night at all. He'd assumed it had been because the boy hadn't wanted to admit that Derek had been right about how dangerous Adrianna was. Now he thought differently.

"I started remembering things." He admitted vaguely. "The thing was, these memories weren't mine."

"Who's were they?" Derek asked, mindful of the rumbling which signaled Erica's return to consciousness. "Isaac, who's memories were they?" He repeated as Boyd grew restless, pulling at his restraints and nearly snapping them in half.

"I—I don't know." Isaac shook his head. "I think they were Adrianna's."

Stunned, Derek frowned as his thoughts muddled into the same giant, confused question he had about Adrianna's origins, which, as far as Derek was concerned, could only be answered using one book.

The Argent's bestiary would be his only chance of unravelling the mystery around the argent huntress who had snared his beta so effortlessly within her manipulative grasp.

Derek was fairly certain Scott had a copy of it.

#-#-#-#-#

He was standing off to the side, minding his own business, happily ignoring the multitude of under-aged drinkers all around him in favour of watching Scott and Adrianna talking together in hushed voices as Stiles tried to make his way back to them through the crowd. That was, of course, until he realized that the punch had been spiked, which lead to general mayhem all around.

Of course, people just had to start jumping into the pool.

Each splash and euphoric yell sent shivers up his spine and ever misplaced droplet of water caused his heart to race. Matt really, really hated pools. It wasn't just the water or the fools that liked to swim inside it; it was the fact that he couldn't swim.

So, when the completely drunk idiots around him decided to hoist him up and take him closer to the pool, swinging him back and forth to gain momentum, he understandably lost his cool.

"I can't swim!" Matt yelled loudly, trying his best to pull his arms out of their meaty fists so that he could teach them a lesson. "No, no, no, no, stop," He mumbled, his voice getting shriller and tighter the closer he got to the water. "Guys, I can't swim!" He shouted once more, in vain.

"I can't swim!" Matt nearly screamed, drawing the attention of some of the more sober party guests the longer he made a fuss. "I can't—I can't," He struggled to say as he got higher and higher into the air until eventually, he was no longer swinging, but falling—straight into the pool as the fates would have it.

As soon as his head sunk beneath the surface and his airways blocked themselves off to preserve oxygen, Matt began to try to pull himself back up towards the fresh air. His arms moved awkwardly as he attempted to paddle, his feet kicking out in panicked directions the longer he stayed under water.

Bubbles floated out of his lips and nose, up to the surface as his diaphragm contracted and spasmed in terror. With all his strength, he called out for help from the only source that had ever listened.

Several hands breached the surface of the water near the edge, obviously they'd finally heeded his warnings and realized that he really couldn't swim, but none of them were close enough.

His body sunk deeper and deeper the longer he struggled to move himself towards the outstretched appendages. As his toes nearly touched the bottom and pure fear turned his veins to ice and his heart into a tap dancer, Matt reached out as far as he could to the arm that plunged the deepest.

It belonged to a girl, he could tell because of the purple paint colouring her nails and what looked like a rope and bead bracelet wrapped around her wrist. She pulled him up an instant after his hand wrapped around hers, not bothering to use her other arm to assist in the lift, and surprising Matt with her strength.

As he lay at the side of the pool, spluttering up water and gasping for air, Matt got his first real look at his savior. Light brown hair, emerald coloured eyes, scarily pale skin and lips as red as he knew his own blood to be, Adrianna Argent was far more beautiful to him than her cousin, Allison, as his hearing returned to him and her voice floated into his ears.

"Matt, are you alright?" She asked calmly, like she saved a life every weekend. "Can you hear me? Nod your head if you can hear me." She persisted, momentarily taking a moment to look around herself at the amassed crowd. "Step back, move away." She demanded roughly, glaring at whoever dared to contest her order. "Give him some room."

"I'm—I'm fine." He stuttered, sitting up without her help and searching through the crowd for a familiar face. Sure enough, Jackson was near. A small, barely noticeable shake of his head was all he needed to communicate his new intentions.

"Good, that's great." Adrianna assured him, her index and middle fingers sliding over his neck to feel his pulse. "Don't worry, I'm not a big fan of water either." She shared, following his nervous gaze out into the mass of young kids staring at him judgmentally.

"I know." He couldn't stop himself from replying, too caught up in the fact that Adrianna Argent was actually trying to make him feel better, to realize that he'd just slipped up. "Because of your Grandfather, right?" Matt asked.

Her expression was what reminded him of the truth. "How hell do you know that?" She callously spat, her armor sliding into place just after Matt saw understanding widening her eyes. "It goes both ways." Adrianna muttered sadly as the puzzle unraveled before her.

"The cops are here, party's over!" Someone yelled loudly as people began to run in random directions, trampling over each other and serving as the perfect distraction for Matt's exit.

Adrianna was separated from him in the mayhem and Matt was glad that he had help getting out of Lydia's house before she told Scott or Stiles what she'd learned. Matt really hated them, but he had an exceptional grudge against Scott.

Standing over by the side of the road, the Kanima coiled around his feet, ready to strike should he give the command, Matt glared at Scott as he rushed out of the house, stopping to stare back on the drive way.

He had ruined Matt's chances with Allison and probably would have let him drown in the pool. Hell, all of them would have, if Adrianna hadn't been there. All of them except for Jackson, his own personal assassin without a conscience.

Shaking with fury, Matt didn't break eye contact with the young, arrogant werewolf until after the remainder of the kids came pouring out of Lydia's mansion, giving him the cover he needed to disappear once more.

Matt wanted Scott to know that he was the one coming for him. That he was the one controlling the Kanima, as it slowly destroyed his world and killed everyone he cared about.

#-#-#-#-#

The night had gone according to plan, not a single hitch or contingency to be dealt with or used. Peter had made certain of that. He could feel his blood coming closer to him as Lydia dragged Derek inside their old home, towards the place where Peter had been forced to spend his days beneath the floorboards, waiting for this very moment.

Voices were indistinct, chaotic masses. He felt energy, saw colours and shapes. Peter was not a living, breathing man, at least, not yet. The moon was strong overhead, but not strong enough. He hoped Lydia had been able to figure out a way to amplify it's power, or else, he was just a fluffy corpse waiting to rot and decay.

He wondered if the worms would get him first, or perhaps the termites. There were plenty of dangers that could be posed to a nearly mummified, ashen body without any life in it.

Suddenly, he felt something. Skin, warm and living with blood pumping beneath the surface, pushed into his rigid hands. He'd stored enough energy within himself just to be able to do this one thing on his own. To dig his claws into his traitorous nephew's arm and draw Hale blood from the naive fool that had dared to kill him in the first place.

Moonlight where there had been none, shone down on him, lending it's strength and stamina to his debilitated form long enough to draw out power from Derek Hale, a small portion of the strength it took to be an Alpha, and awaken from his temporary death.

His heart started first, shuddering uncertainly and then pumping rigorously in a rhythmic staccato he'd so missed. Then his bones and muscles revitalized and became fleshy and alive and it had never felt so good to be him, than it did in that moment.

Crashing through the floor, using his newly acquired stamina a little overzealously, Peter stretched out his cramped back and neck as he stared at his shocked nephew.

"I heard there was a party." He started warmly, smiling widely as Lydia knelt before him in awe and Derek seemed torn between anger and fear. "Don't worry," He reassured his nephew. "I invited myself."

Things were going to change in Beacon Hills now that Peter Hale was back. He was going to put an end to the reign of Argent hunters in his town and wreak as much havoc as he could.

Oh, he'd almost forgotten, and he'd have to find out who, and what, this Adrianna Argent was.