Too many war wounds and not enough wars
Too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores
Too many sharks, not enough blood in the waves
You know I give my love a four letter name
Irresistible – Fall Out Boy
Erica and Boyd didn't say anything once they were brought in. I didn't say anything back except to ask if they were okay once the hunter had left. Erica had whimpered and her dark-skinned friend had merely lolled his head to the side, barely conscious. We passed the time in silence, no sound bar Erica's pained pants and my agonised hisses as I stubbornly struggled against the vervain ropes.
Nothing changed until a few hours later, when the door atop the stairs finally cracked open and someone was thrown down them like garbage. I didn't particularly care until the familiar scent smacked into me. I gasped as I stared through the darkness with blurry eyes at a confused and panicked looking Stiles.
He tried to see through the darkness, but was entirely unsuccessful. He stumbled a little, running his hands along the walls until he finally found the light switch. There was a click and a second later the room was filled with light.
"Juliet," Stiles gasped like he was in pain, completely ignoring the two tied wolves and rushing to my side. I didn't have the energy to fake a smile, I merely raised my head, staring at Stiles, unable to stop the fear from leaking through in my expression. He knelt in front of me, hands on my blood soaked legs as he stared up at me with watery eyes. "Oh God," he gagged, spying the various bullet wounds and protruding stakes. "They shot you in the head?" he asked in horror, hand reaching up to brush over the hole in my skull. "I'm so glad you're a vampire," he breathed, leaning forwards and pressing his forehead to mine, avoiding the bloody wound.
My chest fluttered. Those were definitely among the words I never expected to hear in my very long existence. I didn't dwell on it, however, opening my mouth to try and talk. My voice was hoarse and scratchy, and it made Stiles wince. I made the mistake of inhaling deeply, and instantly the blood flooded my eyes, inky black veins winding up my cheeks. Stiles didn't even flinch, simply staring at me, looking heartbreakingly lost.
"Get...away," I gasped every little movement I made causing searing agony to flow through me. My fangs slid out of their hiding place, and his eyes tracked the movement.
"What? No," he argued, shaking his head and squeezing my legs comfortingly. His breath fanned across my face and a consuming hunger reared its head in my gut.
He gulped, glancing down at one of the stakes in me. He nodded to himself, looking into my red and black eyes once more before reaching down with a grimace and wrapping his hand around the stake Allison had shoved into my side.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," that gratingly familiar voice spoke from the top of the stairs. Stiles froze, spinning around to face Gerard as he strolled down the steps towards us, shifting so he was in front of me, like he was protecting me.
No.
He needed to be protected from me right now.
"What are you doing with them?" he asked the old man bravely while I stopped breathing altogether, knowing it would be easier if I didn't have to inhale the mouthwatering scent every few seconds.
"At the moment just keeping them comfortable. There's no point in torturing them, they won't give Derek up. The instinct to protect their alpha is too strong."
"You don't seem to have a problem torturing Juliet!" he countered angrily, taking a step back, now standing so close I could feel the delicious heat radiating off his body.
"That isn't torture," Gerard responded coldly. "That is the only thing stopping her from killing us all."
I wasn't sure he understood what that meant, but he accepted it and powered on nonetheless. "Okay, so what are you doing with me? Because Scott can find me, alright? He knows my scent. It's pungent, you know? It's more like a stench. He could find me even if I was buried at the bottom of a sewer, covered in faecal matter and urine..."
"You have a knack for creating a vivid picture, Mr Stilinski. Let me paint one of my own," Gerard responded cooly.
"Scott McCall finds his best friend bloodied and beaten to a pulp. How does that sound?" I stiffened in pure fear at the old man's words.
"Look, what are you? Ninety? I could probably kick your ass up and down this room!" Stiles retorted, only to get a face full of fist a moment later, sending him crashing to the ground. I couldn't help the whimper that passed my lips as I surged forwards. The vervain ropes tightened with my struggle, searing pain burning through layers of skin at my wrists and the stakes imbedded in my flesh splintering even further. "Okay, wait!" Stiles begged as Gerard knelt over him, rearing his fist back before slamming it in to Stiles' face.
"Stop!" I screeched desperately, knowing it would do no good. Every blow he received cut through me, hurting more than stakes or wooden bullets ever could. My eyes watered and I bit my tongue so hard that my mouth filled with blood. "Stop it you bastard!" I screamed. "Stiles!"
The sheer force of the rage I was experiencing was enough to snap me out of my internal pity party, giving me what seemed like impossible extra strength as I ripped my arms apart, the rope holding them tearing like it was paper. At the sound of the bone in my arm breaking, Gerard swung around to stare at me in shock that only lasted a split second before anger took it's place.
He didn't have the time to defend himself, because in the next second I'd slammed him into the wall, my forearm braced over his throat, pressing down enough to choke him. His eyes bulged, and even though his face went purple, he had an indulgent smirk on his ugly face, as though everything was going exactly to plan.
I would have bitten him happily, but the thought of digesting the prick's blood made me feel physically ill. Besides, I loved to watch him suffer.
I was so consumed by my rage that I didn't hear the footsteps hit the stairs until a moment later I was being hit with a metal bat.
Ordinarily it wouldn't have mattered much, but I was already extremely weak, wooden stakes still jutting out from my torso. I was going to run, get the hell out of there, but I was too weak to carry Stiles with me, and like hell was I leaving him there alone. So reluctantly I let them subdue me, securing me back into the chair I'd vacated as I stared at an unmoving Stiles in worry.
Stiles was still, staring up at the ceiling, completely dazed. "What the hell?!" I shouted furiously as the aged hunter pushed himself to his feet, rubbing a hand to his bruised throat. "You psychopathic bastard!"
"That's really the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it now?" he responded blankly. I merely glared back. He didn't bother to look at me. Stiles groaned, turning onto his side as he held his face in pain. He looked up at me, eyes teary as he stared at me, trying to communicate non-verbally, though I wasn't sure what he was trying to say. "Huh," Gerard hummed thoughtfully, eyes flickering between the human and myself. "You're free to go, Mr Stilinski," he finally said, and I blinked in surprise.
"What?" Stiles croaked, struggling to focus on the man standing over him.
"I said, you're free to go." Shakily, he propped himself up, frowning in confusion. Gerard continued when he made no further move to leave, "I suggest you leave before I change my mind."
"Not-not without Juliet," he coughed, blood trickling down his chin from the cut on his lip.
It was worse now that his blood was exposed to the air. The war raged inside of me, thirsting for his sweet blood. "No," I grunted, a single tear spilling over onto my cheek.
"What?" he asked again, wincing as the movement jostled his injuries.
"If I let her go now, she'll kill you," Gerard spoke up, and I glared at him with absolute loathing.
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you really think whatever she feels for you is strong enough to overcome her bloodlust?" he asked condescendingly, sneering down at the kid. "Don't fool yourself. I'm throwing you a lifeline, take it and get out."
He was trembling, staring at me with sadness and terror and a hundred other emotions I couldn't name. "Go," I hissed, another tear escaping my eye. "Please, go."
With great reluctance Stiles scrambled to his feet, spinning around and disappearing up the stairs, only looking back at me twice. I sagged in relief once he was gone, the temptation of his blood going with him.
Gerard turned to me, examining his slightly bruised knuckles casually. "Now, I'm sure I didn't see the beginnings of a mateship just now," he said in a way that, if I didn't know better, sounded sarcastic.
"He's human," I spat. I'd always been repulsed by the way they called it mating. In reality, it was more of a name given to vampire courtship, but hunters loved setting us apart from the rest of society, loved making us seem more animal than human.
"You wouldn't be the first to fall to the temptation of man," he sneered. I growled right back. Apparently I didn't seem like I was in enough pain, because he suddenly surged forwards, ripping out the stake from my stomach. I grunted, sweat breaking out on my brow as I struggled with the pain the wood chips left embedded in my flesh caused.
He grinned like my agony fuelled him, waiting only a moment before slamming it back into my thigh. It didn't hit anything vital this time, so I was able to keep my groan of pain to a minimum.
"Now that you're properly subdued," he said conversationally, crossing his arms and staring down at me. "I have some information I think you might like to be made aware of."
"How considerate of you," I bit out through gritted teeth.
He smirked in that self-righteous way he did, leaning forwards as though I wouldn't be able to hear him. "He's close."
I frowned, not immediately understanding.
"We've been tracking his movements," he continued. "We don't know his exact location, but from what we can tell he's somewhere in Western Nevada."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, staring up at him like he was insane. Which, to be fair, I was certain he was.
He only needed to say one thing, one thing to make my throat swell in panic, one thing to make my heart fall into my wounded stomach.
"Klaus."
The sound of the name made me want to flinch, but I held back, instead glaring furiously up at the Argent. Images of him slamming his fist into Stiles' face flashed behind my eyes, and I snarled at him warningly. "The second I'm out of this chair, I'm going to kill you," I promised him darkly. "I'm going to enjoy watching you beg for your life as I take it from you."
He had the audacity to look unafraid.
I had no idea how long I was unconscious, but it seemed like mere seconds later that someone had slapped me across the face. My eyes snapped open and I instinctively hissed at whoever dared hit me. I was met with the tired hazel eyes of Erica, who pressed a finger to her lips, telling me to stay quiet. I realised after a moment that my wrists were free of binding, however the stakes and bullets were still in place.
"You have to pull them out," I whispered, and she hesitated. Boyd stepped up beside her, not even pausing before grasping the woof protruding from my leg and ripping to from my flesh. I bit my tongue once again to hold back a scream, especially when he repeated the action with the one in my gut. He shot me an expectant look, and I spat a reluctant thank you before pushing myself to my feet.
The bullets were still in my gut, but I'd need time and a safe space in which to pull them out. At least the one in my head had eventually been pushed back out of it's entry wound, ending up somewhere on the cold cement floor.
Sneaking up from the basement was surprisingly easy. I held my stomach in pain as I silently waved the two wolves through to the back door, the only signs of life being a group of people upstairs and a single beating heart in the lounge room. Their footsteps were quiet as they made their way to the door, pulling it open and darting out into the cool night air before anyone could stop them.
I hesitated.
Anger, bitter and harsh, swirled around in my gut in a way that was painfully familiar. I couldn't help myself, I had to turn back around and pad silently into the lounge, where a man was reclined on the couch, staring at the television as he sipped a beer.
I bit back a growl as I thought about how this man, the hunter, had dragged poison across my skin, watching with glee as it bubbled and burned. My fingers were aching to repay the favour.
I took a step closer, thinking about how although I wanted to drag it out, I had to be quick to get back to Stiles. As soon as my human's face crossed my mind, I froze.
It wasn't easy. Hell, it was torture not to get the chance to torture. I was angry for a moment, even at Stiles. What was a tame vampire good for? Still, I remembered the way he looked at me when I told him all about Myra and the oath I took to be a better person. Killing this meathead now, although it would feel very good at the time, would ultimately make Stiles disappointed in me.
However, I never said anything about not hurting any humans.
"Wha-" the hunter spun around as I purposefully put my weight on a creaky floorboard. I grinned devilishly as he realised who I was. I wiggled my fingers at him with a grin and before he could blink my fist was smashing into his nose. He exclaimed loudly in pain, but thankfully the people upstairs were playing music and didn't hear. I smirked, stepping closer and jerking my knee up into his crotch.
He folded over, holding himself in pain. I leaned closer, curling my fingers around his ear and ripping harshly. "If you ever touch me again, I'll rip off your scrotum, puree it in a blender and feed it to you in a bottle," I told him, no hint of a lie. "And tell your pathetic little friends 'congratulations' for me, on managing to best me this once. But let me assure you," I pulled back to stare him directly in his murky, dull eyes. "It will not happen again."
I patted his cheek once more, severely enjoying the look of fear in his eyes before I slammed my fist into his temple, this time with enough force to knock him out cold.
I followed the path the wolves had taken, startled to see them waiting for me just within the tree line. They were able to move faster than me since I was still full of wooden bullets, and in an act of surprising kindness Boyd wrapped an arm around me, helping me to stay upright and move more swiftly.
It was quiet, and we didn't for a moment stop to breathe, pushing ourselves to go faster, get further and further away, desperate to get to safety.
I thanked the two softly when we came to a familiar part of the woods and no other words were said as I limped away, beginning the journey to my house. It backed onto the woods, but instead of staying in the crushing silence of the building, I simply downed three blood bags before leaving the house once again, heading for Stiles' house.
Ordinarily it would take a minute, maybe less. Now, it took ten. I winced in pain as I held onto the trees for support. Finally I slipped into the end of the street the Stilinski's lived on. Thankfully it was dark, and I was able to make my way towards their house with little drama bar a particularly loud dog behind a wire fence. I had to hide behind a tree in Stiles' yard, watching with a frown as Lydia pulled out of their driveway, driving down the road with teary eyes.
I couldn't find it in me to care about why she was there, it did make a sour feeling curdle in my gut, but I ignored it, choosing instead to move to the front door. Cocking my head to the side, I heard the Sheriff in the lounge. There was no way I could sneak passed him.
With a frustrated grunt I gripped onto the grooves on the wall, pulling myself up, each movement more painful than the last. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached Stiles' window. I pulled it up and open, and Stiles spun around at the noise, heart stuttering in his chest.
"Jules!" he breathed in pure relief, rushing forwards to help me out of the window and onto his bed.
"I can't get the bullets out," I told him, taking care not to breathe in his mouthwatering scent. "They're laced in vervain. You need to do it."
He gulped. "Reach into your flesh and fish out the bullets?"
"Yes," I groaned, collapsing back onto his mattress, eyes nearly rolling back into my head at how comfortable it was compared to that bloody basement. I cracked open my eyes to observe the hesitant and sickly looking expression on his face. I reached forwards with a wince, wrapping my fingers around his. "Stiles," I muttered. "You can do this."
"I can do this," he repeated for his own benefit.
He took a deep breath before moving his hand into the hole in my leg, starting with that one first. He grimaced in what was most likely disgust as he dug around in my flesh, fishing out the bullet.
"Wooden bullets, huh?" he asked lightly, peering at it closely before setting it on his bedside table as he made a grossed out face. "Creative."
"Hunters have been using them for centuries," I told him weakly, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to focus on the pain. "They're a real pain in the ass."
"I need to, um," he muttered awkwardly, hands hovering over my stomach.
"Just do it already," I told him sternly, and his heart stuttered before he braced one hand on my abdomen, the other finding it's way into the wound to dig it out. "It was lucky that the vervain was strong enough to keep me from healing, otherwise you would have had to cut into me with a pocket knife to get it out."
I spoke mostly to keep myself distracted, but Stiles apparently didn't appreciate my chosen topic of conversation. He turned an unattractive shade of green, adding to the colour already in his face.
"Cheer up. Ordinarily I'd be thrilled to have your fingers inside of me, but this isn't quite what I imagined."
He choked.
I watched him carefully, as he turned from green to an impressive shade of fire engine red. He stuttered for a moment, unsure how to continue from there. Part of me – the part that wasn't in agony – enjoyed seeing him flustered. His fingers jabbed into my gut and I flinched, biting back a groan of pain. "Careful," I hissed, nails digging into the palms of my hands as they curled into fists.
Stiles didn't speak after that, clearly preferring to work in silence as he managed his nausea and recovered from my comment. Finally the last bullet came out, and we both breathed a sigh of relief.
The only bad thing about being bullet-free, was that my mind moved from pain to hunger in less than a second. My fangs made themselves known, and I slapped a hand over my lips, hiding them from view. Unfortunately there was no hiding the black veins crawling up my cheekbones.
I stopped breathing instantly, lessoning the dull ache in my throat by a small degree. "Oh," he mumbled in realisation, taking an instinctual step back that hurt me more than it should have.
"Sorry," I apologised from behind my hand. "I should go. Thanks, Stiles."
I was nearly at the window when he spoke again, "Wait." I froze, turning back around to stare at him expectantly. "You don't have to leave," he told me hesitantly.
"Yeah, I really do," I replied, shaking my head at the kid.
"No," he shook his head. "I mean you don't have to leave."
I stared at him, contemplating his words. He moved over to his chest of drawers suddenly, rifling through them until he pulled out a handful of clothes. He stepped closer to me, holding out the bundle in his hands. My brows pulled together and I cocked my head curiously.
"You should get out of those bloody clothes," he told me gently, and though I still felt uncertain, I took the folded clothes, my hands running over the soft material of the sweats. We were silent for a moment, both observing the other, wondering where to go from there.
"Can I use your bathroom?" I asked, deciding that even though it probably wasn't the smartest decision, it was definitely the one I wanted.
"Of course," he nodded, striding over to the open door and pointing to another door down at hall. I inclined my head in thanks, slipping passed him and moving silently through the house.
I heard Stiles talking with his father a moment later, but I purposefully ignored their words, feeling too guilty to listen in. I peeled off my ruined clothes, hissing quietly in pain as I felt my slowly healing wounds tug. I found a dark coloured wash cloth, wetting it with warm water and running it over my skin, getting rid of the dried blood that was left behind. I breathed deeply, focusing on my task, focusing on not overhearing the men in the other room.
Stiles had given me an old pair of black sweat pants that were several sizes too large. I pulled the drawstrings tight, securing them on my hips. He'd also included a blue hoodie, one that was thick and soft and made me want to snuggle into it. I suppressed the embarrassing urge, merely pulling it over my blood stained bra. I bundled my ruined clothes in my hands, taking a deep and steadying breath before slipping from the small bathroom and heading back to Stiles.
The Sheriff was just leaving his son's room as I entered, and he started at the sight of me, staring down at me in surprise. "Hello Sir," I greeted him gently, bowing my head respectfully.
"Juliet?" he asked in surprise, glancing over his shoulder at Stiles with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't know you were here..."
"She just got here," Stiles supplied tiredly, and I shot him a concerned look. He seemed exhausted, but he still tried to shoot me a reassuring smile when our eyes met. He didn't pull it off, but I let him get away with it.
"Are you okay?" the sheriff asked worriedly, eyeing the clothes that were obviously his son's.
Scrambling for a lie, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "When I heard Stiles was home, I had to come see for myself." It didn't explain the clothes I was wearing, but I figured I'd let him think what he would about that.
He sighed, but a smile still appeared on his face. "You're a good...friend," he said as he glanced back at Stiles. His son groaned, running a hand down his face and the older man's lips twitched as though he knew something Stiles didn't. "Well, I'll leave you two to it," he said after a long pause. With a nod of his head he left the room, heading down the hallway and out of earshot.
It was quiet for a stretch as I contemplated how to fill the silence. I moved over to the small trash can by his desk, dropping down to deposit my ruined clothes in it's depths. "I saw Lydia leave," I finally spoke up, coyly toeing the hardwood floor.
"Oh," he exhaled, his heart rate suddenly spiking.
"Did you get a chance to confess your undying love?" I asked, wanting to look up at him but finding I couldn't make myself meet his eyes.
He laughed, but the sound was unconfident and nervous. "No, no," he muttered, scratching at the back of his head. "That's – uh – not so much a thing...anymore."
"What isn't?"
"My 'undying love' for Lydia," he parroted, and I spotted a small smirk on his lips, my eyes wandering over the soft rose colour before sliding up to meet his eyes. I couldn't help but feel pleased and smug as his heart stuttered in his chest as emerald green met golden honey.
"You've loved her since you knew what the word meant," I argued, raising a skeptical eyebrow at the kid. "What happened? You woke up one day and realised you just weren't that into her?" I couldn't help the scathing and bitter way I spoke, but Stiles didn't seem to take offence, in fact his small smile only seemed to grow in size.
"What can I say?" he shrugged, lowering his head bashfully. "I guess it just took me a while to figure out what I really want."
"And that isn't Lydia Martin?"
"I think she and I will be great friends," he said honestly.
"Nothing...more?"
"Nothing more."
I hesitated, searching his eyes for any hint of deception. I was satisfied when I found none, but schooled my features so it didn't show on my face.
"Besides, who was I kidding? She's way out of my league anyway," he continued with a forced carefree grin, trying to lighten the suddenly serious mood.
"That's not true," I countered, lips pulling down at his self-deprecating tone.
"You're only saying that because you have some kind of weird vampire grudge against her," he replied, succeeding in only deepening my frown.
When I really honestly thought about it, I had no choice but to admit my reasons for disliking the girl were petty, even for me. Sure, she was shallow and vapid, but anyone with half a brain could see what a cover that was, a persona to make herself more likeable, as though nobody in this sorry town valued the intelligence she so clearly held in that sharp angled head of hers. No, what really soured her to me, was (loath as I was to admit it) Stiles' affection for her. I wasn't generally a very jealous person, but it was unfortunately an unavoidable aspect of vampirism that I'd inherited when I died. Now that I knew something in Stiles wasn't as attached to her, I found little justification in hating her.
I could tell that Stiles still cared about her, and in a way he probably always would. She was his first love. Lord knows I'd always be tied to Klaus in one way or another.
I thought back to a day ago, when she'd looked so broken and lost at the school. "Maybe she's not so bad," I shrugged suddenly, remembering the way her eyes had welled with tears.
Stiles looked like I'd just told him pigs could fly. "What?"
"I'm not saying I want to throw a ball in her honour," I snapped, covering my moment of softness. "But maybe I could cut her some slack next time I see her."
As I spoke, his hand dipped into his pocket and he pulled out his phone when it buzzed, peeking at the screen with a furrowed brow. "It's funny you say that," he said carefully. "That might be sooner than you think."
"Excuse me?"
He held up his phone, allowing me to view the text on the screen. "It's started."
"Did I get him?!"
I held tight to the seat near Stiles' neck, bracing myself as I listened to the two other inhabitants of the car breathed heavily. I sat up straighter, peering over through the windshield at the kanima sprawled on the hard cement floor. I nodded happily, though the pleased feelings instantly evaporated as the lizard jumped to it's feet, pouncing onto the hood of the the Jeep, snarling at us through the glass.
"Out," I commanded Stiles, and I supposed by extension, Lydia. They dove from the car and I was quick on their heels, following Stiles to Scott's side. I paused once Stiles was safe, glancing back at where Lydia stood in front of a transformed Jackson, holding a key up with a terrified look on her pretty face.
I knew I couldn't intervene. We'd brought her for a reason, and I couldn't stop her now. It had to be done. I just hoped he wouldn't kill her; despite what Stiles said about no longer loving her, I knew it'd destroy him to lose her.
Unfortunately, before the little girl could finish working the magic of love, Derek and another wolf ran forwards, skewering the kanima through the gut with their claws. I was relieved at the turn of events, until I realised who the other werewolf was.
"Scott?" I hissed under my breath, eyes never leaving the slimy old bastard. "Why the hell is a werewolf I know for a fact to be dead currently breathing?"
"Not now," he breathed back, never taking his eyes from the scene in front of us.
Fair enough, I knew it wasn't a great time to be asking questions, but considering Peter Hale was alive and well, happily murdering people as usual, I'd figured I would have gotten at least a moment's worth of answers. My eyes stayed locked on Peter even as they walked away from Jackson, leaving Lydia to run up to him and whisper declarations of love in his dying ear.
"Where's Gerard?" Allison asked tensely, eyes watering as she searched for the man who had used and manipulated her.
"He can't be far."
Everyone's attention was suddenly on Lydia, who turned around, wiping her tears and sniffling sadly. Stiles stepped forwards as though it was on instinct, and I ignored the pang I felt in my gut at the sight. Before he could get to her, however, there was a loud scraping noise, a soft gurgling sound coming from the dead boy's body.
My eyes finally left Peter as I heard Jackson's heart start up again. I looked on with mild curiosity as he sat up.
Looks like more than one person had come back from the dead that night.
He stood slowly and dramatically to his feet, tipping his head back and letting out a feral roar, eyes glowing a familiar regretful blue. My eyebrows raised as I watched, taking a second to unashamedly take a peak at his junk, briefly wondering what all the fuss was about.
Lydia dove into him, clutching at him like he was air and she was drowning.
I looked to Stiles curiously, watching in confusion and suspicion as his eyes watered. "You okay man?" Scott asked delicately.
"Yeah," he muttered, sounding choked up. "I just scratched my cheek."
It was a weak excuse at best, and my eyes narrowed in displeasure at the way his heart stuttered, not liking that for once I wasn't the cause of it.
I turned to Derek, his uncle standing a few feet behind him, already a bored expression pasted across his features. He caught my eyes, taking in my glare and breathing deeply.
It was time to get some fucking answers.
Myra laid in a bed at the hospice care ward in New York, her wrinkled hand wrapped around mine as she stared up at me with dull green eyes.
"You'll try and be better, won't you dear?" she'd said in that croaky old voice of hers, her eyes teary.
"Better than what, Myra?" I'd asked, squeezing her fingers lightly, frowning at the sound of her weak heart struggling to continue working.
"Better than you are now." I didn't quite understand, so I merely nodded placatingly, smiling and scooting a little bit closer. She always did know me so well, well enough to know when I was bullshitting her. "You've lived without humanity for so long, Aunt Juliet," she'd told me sadly, staring up at me with compassion. "It's time to stop hiding from your human side."
"This may come as a shock," I began sarcastically, refusing to acknowledge her words on a deeper level. "But I'm not human. Every bit of humanity left in me shrivelled up and died a very long time ago, sweetheart."
My last living descendant weakly slapped me on the wrist, rolling her eyes then wincing when it hurt her head. "You and I both know that it's still there somewhere. It's time to step out of the shadows."
"Interesting analogy considering the sunlight sets me on fire."
She smiled, eyes drooping shut as she shakily struggled to breathe in. "Then, if you won't do it for yourself, will you do it as this old bird's dying wish?"
I'd scowled, but the expression held no severity. "That's just cold."
She'd laughed, the sound more of a cough than anything. "It's time for you to experience life beyond blood and lust and everything in between."
"What would you know?" I'd muttered, my thumb brushing against her cooling skin. "You're just an old crazy lady, locked indoors for one too many years."
She wasn't in the mood to take any of my shit, eyes cracking open again to fix me with a hard stare. For a split second I saw the resemblance between her and her great-great-great-great grandmother; my late sister. It made my stone cold heart ache for a moment. "Promise me."
"Promise you what?"
"Promise me you'll flick the famous humanity switch, and you'll give life a shot. There's more to life than cheap thrills. It's still in there you know, deep down inside you still have the ability to love."
I'd snorted, rolling my eyes and bringing her hand up to my lips, placing a loving kiss on her skin. "Whatever you say darling," I'd smirked as I'd rolled my eyes. "Whatever you say."
"So...Lydia and Jackson, huh?"
As always with my sudden appearances, Stiles jumped violently, swinging around to stare at me, a frustrated look on his face. "We really need to get you a bell," he muttered for the hundredth time, scowling at me for a moment before the expression broke, giving way to a smile.
"How do you feel?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, turning back to turn down the music that was playing from his computer; some kind of piano based song with a pretty melody.
"Now that Lydia and Jackson are king and queen again, and all is right in the world?" I elaborated, crossing one leg over the other, my palms pressed against the windowsill I was seated on.
He rolled his eyes, swinging back and forth on his swivel chair. "We've been through this Jules, I don't feel that way for Lydia anymore," he replied slowly, like he was speaking to a child which only aggravated me further.
"Twelve years of feelings don't just disappear overnight, Stiles," I argued, brows pulling together as I watched his reaction closely. "And I saw how you were earlier tonight; you looked heartbroken."
He exhaled sharply, glaring at me with as much strength as his little body could muster. "Why do you even care?"
And how the hell was I supposed to respond to that?
I blinked at him silently, struggling to find an answer that wasn't creepy and/or completely inappropriate. My lips pressed together angrily when nothing came to mind.
"Well?" he prompted, pushing himself from his chair and taking a step closer. I glared at him warningly and he didn't come any further, knowing the warning when he saw it.
"I just think you could do better," I finally muttered bitterly, my words having a double meaning that I wasn't sure he'd understand.
"Yeah, because girls are just lining up to have a shot with me," he replied sardonically, voice raised ever so slightly. I tilted my head, listening for the sounds of his father somewhere in the house. When all I heard was silence, I realised I hadn't seen his cruiser out the front either, so I assumed he was at work.
"Well maybe they are and you just can't see it because you're blinded by how much you want Lydia!" I retorted, feeling less anger and more annoyance flare in my gut at his stubbornness.
"I don't want Lydia, I want you!"
Silence.
Of course his words were met with silence, because what the fuck was I supposed to say to that? To his credit, he did look properly horrified in the moments following his words. His coffee eyes widened like saucers and his pale pink lips parted as he stared at me in pure panic. I realised I was letting the surprise spread across my own face and I quickly rectified that, schooling my features to a more blank expression.
Stiles' heart pounded in his chest and his hands shook. He swallowed loudly, jaw clicking in a way I couldn't help but find attractive.
I wanted to pull away, I wanted to tell him what a terrible idea that was, because I was the living dead and he was so very, painfully human. Before I could force the words from my frozen lips, a thought came to my mind. Less of a thought and really more of a memory, one of my descendant laying in a bed, telling me to open myself up to my humanity; to open myself up to love.
But with a human boy?
I met his eyes and realised, that yes with a human boy. This human boy.
From the moment we met out in the woods, from the moment I breathed in his intoxicating scent, it could never have been anyone but him. We were brought together time after time, and though I wasn't sure I believed in fate, I couldn't ignore the evidence.
Besides, who else would I find that would look beyond the fangs to see the girl inside?
He stumbled back and crashed into his desk as I threw myself at him faster than he could see. He gasped at the contact, but the sound was muffled as I pressed my lips to his, my eyes shutting tightly as I wrapped my arms around his neck, gripping at the collar of his shirt and pulling him impossibly tighter to me.
Our lips moulded together, his were soft and mine were firm, and his arms wrapped themselves around my waist as an afterthought, palms pressing against my spine. I kissed him chastely but thoroughly, loving the way he moaned into my mouth. I smiled into the kiss, kissing him harder, my own hands moving to his neck where I dragged my fingers along his exposed skin, revelling in the way goosebumps broke out along his flesh and a shiver ran down his spine.
Finally, when I realised that he was human and therefore needed air to survive, I pulled back only an inch. He gasped for air, but not for a second unwrapping himself from me. I folded my lips together to contain my grin, but it was pointless as he pressed his forehead against mine, his heavy, minty breaths fanning across my face.
"You still remember that I'm a vampire, right?" I asked, opening my eyes to peak at him. His lids were still firmly shut, but a small smile appeared on those glorious lips. "As in: one of the undead?"
"Uh-huh," he hummed blissfully, reaching forwards to peck at my lips once.
"And you're aware that no matter how I feel about you, I'll always be secretly lusting after your blood?"
"I know," he mumbled, the smile on his lips only growing as he continued refusing to open his eyes, still basking in the moment.
I pulled back not a second later, not able to stop myself from talking. "And-and you know I'm new to the whole 'emotions' deal, yeah?" I muttered, squeezing his neck gently, my nose brushing against his. "I'm still figuring out...everything."
"I'd like to help you with that, if you'll let me," he said in a move that was surprisingly smooth for someone so clumsy.
"God," I grumbled, finally meeting his eyes as he peeked up at me. "Are we really going to do this?" He suddenly seemed nervous, unsure how to respond. His heart sped up in his chest and he stared at me in worry, clearly stressed that I'd changed my mind. I pressed my lips back onto his, kissing him slowly to reassure him. "Well," I breathed, the kiss making me feel light. "I guess it's a good thing we have all summer to spend working on it."
"Think it'll be a relaxing few months?"
"I doubt anything could go more wrong than it already has."
And fuck, was I wrong.
