On the first page of our story
The future seemed so bright
Then this thing turned out so evil
I don't know why I'm still surprised
Even angels have their wicked schemes
And you take that to new extremes
But you'll always be my hero
Even though you've lost your mind
Love The Way You Lie Part II – Rihanna
We'd found the coyote den, we'd called the police and somehow I was the one chosen to go scout the area for any sign of the fully-shifted Malia before the Sheriff and his deputies showed up.
"Me?" I hissed, arms crossed over my chest as I eyed Stiles in displeasure. "Why is it always me that's sent to go search the woods alone?"
Stiles scoffed back, mirroring my position and raising his eyebrows. "Name one other time you've had to go search the woods alone," he challenged me moodily.
"The time Lydia disappeared from the hospital, every third night when Erica and Boyd were missing, that time we were searching for the alpha pack, also during the summer when I chased after those rouge wolves and got bitten-"
"Okay, we get the picture," Stiles snapped, glaring across the clearing at me. I quieted but refused to feel guilty for my sass. "Would you just go? We're running out of time."
"What?" I asked confusedly. There were a lot of serious things about this task, but a time constraint wasn't one of them. "Running out of time for what? It's not like Malia will run out of the county."
Stiles was silent for a beat, and with a sickening drop of my stomach, I realised what he meant.
"You mean before your dad gets here," I answered myself, and he lowered his eyes, shoulders sagging. "You don't want him to see me with you," I finished faintly. It felt like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to my chest, and my hand moved there almost on instinct, as though the touch would soothe the pain. I hadn't expected for him to be ashamed of me.
"Just until he cools off about the whole..." he waved his hand ambiguously.
"Embarrassing bloodthirsty-mass-murdering-undead-vampire-for-a-girlfriend thing?" I concluded, and he had the decency to wince. "It's fine," I continued when he said nothing, feeling the distinct sting of rejection in my stomach. "I'll go hide out in the woods before your dad sees us together," I added bitterly, turning around and taking a step towards the tree line.
"He just needs time," Stiles tried to say from behind me. I didn't even bother to look over my shoulder at him, merely striding passed an uncomfortable looking Scott and storming into the forest.
It was unfair to Stiles; I knew the unpleasant tension between us was my fault. I was keeping something from him, and he – being the intuitive, beautiful, brilliant human that he was – could tell. It wasn't even something small like dropping his ipod in the bath or accidentally-on-purpose opening his mail.
I had killed again. And I had loved it. And I wasn't sure I could stop myself from doing it again.
What were my options? To run? I wasn't a coward, I was a big girl, and I had to face my problems like one. I promised myself that I'd tell him eventually, he was going through a lot right now and he didn't need my shitty impulse control issues on his already overflowing plate.
I walked leisurely through the trees, heading in the direction of my suburb. A cigarette found it's way between my lips, and I lit it was a flick of my wrist, slipping the lighter back into my pocket and greedily sucking in the chemicals.
The temptation to flip the switch was more pressing than ever. I ached to feel nothing, longed to be able to act without questioning every little detail or how it would affect everyone around me. I kicked at a tennis ball sized stone, and it flew into the trunk of a big tree, cracking the wood before bouncing back onto the dirt.
I sucked in another breath, crossing my eyes as I stared down at the glowing tip of my cigarette.
I decided against looking for Malia in dog-form. What was I meant to do when I found her? I didn't feel like carrying a struggling coyote over my shoulder for the night. I took a left, heading directly for my house, my feet a blur on the ground as they moved quickly.
A bath was very much needed, so I toed off my shoes at the door, shedding my jacket and throwing it over the back of a chair. Something was eating at me, and I couldn't figure out what it was; but as I sat in the scalding hot, bubble filled water, it came to me like an epiphany.
I was domesticated. Like a common pet.
I was disgusted with myself. I was better than this, made to feel chastised and unworthy by a small town Sheriff, taking orders from a teen wolf as though he were my alpha; it was pathetic. My fingers gripped so tightly at the sides of my large porcelain tub that the material groaned under the strength of my grip.
Things had to change. It was a matter of principle, a matter of pride. My reputation was at stake; hell, my sanity was at stake.
I scrubbed myself raw, as though I were shedding a layer of skin. I stayed in the water until it was cool and all the bubbles had disappeared. The sun was peaking up over the horizon, I could see it through my small bathroom window as it broke the tops of the houses across the street.
It occurred to me that I hadn't slept since my...lapse in judgement, but I didn't need sleep. In fact, it was the last thing I wanted; who knew what I'd see once my eyes were closed?
There wasn't much to do until school started, so I dressed in my favourite leather pants and most comfortable flat heeled boots, sliding a simple grey button through my arms then throwing a thick, red poncho sweater over that.
My garage was used for nothing but the punching bag hanging from the roof – since I didn't exactly have a car to put in it.
I didn't bother taping my hands, they'd heal instantly anyway. I brought a mug of blood with me, sipping in between hits. It was fantastic to vent via punching bag.
The feel of the leather material covering sand under my fists was comforting, I enjoyed laying into it, keeping my punches lighter than usual, not wanting to break yet another bag. I was able to zone out, concentrating on only my fists flying into the bag, taking pleasure in the muted thuds that filled the room.
It wasn't until my phone beeped that I realised it was time to get to school. I wasn't expecting Stiles to show up to take me, so I was more than a little surprised when the Jeep pulled into my driveway as I shut and locked the door behind me.
I said nothing as I climbed into the passenger seat, the door clicking shut behind me. I didn't kick my feet up on the dash as I usually did, keeping my legs crossed and my feet firmly on the floor. Stiles cleared his throat, and I looked at him, only to see him looking away, clearly with no intention of saying anything.
He started the car, pulling out onto the road and turning the heating up a notch. We were silent for the first minute, then Stiles reached forwards, hitting a series of buttons on the radio until the vehicle was suddenly filled with smooth jazz, the relaxing sounds of a saxophone surrounding us.
I turned to face the window, letting my limp raven hair cover my face, refusing to allow him to see my smile. I knew that was as much of an apology as any words could express. "Scott's dad showed up at the den last night," he told me a minute later, keeping his eyes on the road.
I remained stoic, giving no hint of my true feelings, even though the sound of his voice made me want to melt. "And what did Agent Mc-douchebag want?" I asked cooly, crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at the group of preteens passing recklessly in front of the Jeep.
"To undermine my dad, to get the chance to act like a self-righteous asshole; take your pick," he retorted, snorting in amusement at his own words. My lips twitched, but the movement went unnoticed as he continued to not look at me.
We were silent again, the jazz filling the car, making me want to close my eyes and relax. I would have, had I not been so incredibly anxious.
"Are we going to talk about it?"
I glanced over at him, and he still had his eyes very pointedly fixed on the road. "Talk about what?" I asked, genuinely not sure exactly which topic he was referring to.
"Whatever you're keeping from me," he replied bluntly, changing gears and pulling into a side street that I knew not to be a short-cut, but instead the long way to get to the school.
"What makes you think I'm keeping something from you?" I countered, lying through gritted teeth.
"Don't play dumb," he finally glanced over at me, only to shoot me an unhappy frown. "I know you, Jules. Better than anyone."
"You've known me for less than one year," I argued pettily. "I've been alive for two hundred times that."
"But you're frozen in time, so I can't imagine your personality has deviated that much in that time."
I bit the inside of my cheek. "Touché," I murmured around a scowl, nose scrunching in displeasure.
"Come on, Juliet," he practically groaned, and not in a sexy way. "Why are you acting so weird?"
"The past nine months I've been acting weird," I hissed through my teeth, wincing at my own words. "This is me acting normal."
"That's bullshit and you know it!" he exclaimed rather suddenly, pulling none-too-gently into a free space towards the back of the parking lot, the car stopping with a squeal and a jolt. "What's going on?"
I sighed tiredly, maybe I should've slept after all. "Stiles-"
"I need you right now," he told me with an expression like he was in pain. It sent a sting through me, and shame coursed through my veins. "I'm going through something, and I need you, and you're not here."
My eyes stung; I was once again torn between my instincts (which were screaming at me to shut down, stop feeling anything at all so I wouldn't have to suffer through the guilt that was eating away at me) and my heart (which was aching to hold my human close and tell him I'd never leave his side).
I settled for somewhere in the grey area in between both options. I leaned forwards, pressing my forehead to his clavicle and breathing in his scent. I didn't press my lips to his skin, I wasn't worthy, he deserved better than lips that had, not twenty-four hours ago, torn open an innocent man's throat and feasted on his blood.
My eyes continued to sting, my love for the kid swelling within me, and my shame stabbing at my insides. "You know I love you, right?" I said, even as the bell rang from the building in the distance. Neither of us moved. "Fuck, I love you so much Stiles. I will love every version of you, everything you are or ever will be, I love it. I love you."
Stiles' heart stuttered and his breath caught. His hand came up and his fingers wove through my hair, tangling in the raven locks. "Not that I don't appreciate the sudden declaration of love..." he trailed off, clearly trying to make sense of what I was saying.
But I couldn't stop, not now that I'd started. "Sometimes I wish you could turn it off like I could. It would be magnificent, Stiles," I pulled back, my watery green eyes meeting his. "We would have so much fun. We'd be full of nothing but pleasure and lust and love – all the things that drive a vampire, and we'd be magnificent."
"What are you talking about?" he sounded wary, maybe even slightly worried.
I frowned, the sudden urge to explain what I meant to him dimming but not altogether disappearing. "I sometimes just wish you could be as cruel and chaotic and vicious as I am," I sighed exhaustedly, running a hand down my face, embarrassed to feel dampness on my cheeks. "It would make me feel better, like I might actually deserve to be with you."
"Jules, what's going on?" he asked hesitantly, moving his hand from my hair to cup my jaw, honey brown eyes meeting mine, anxiety visible in the ripples of rich colour.
"I'm fine," I lied yet again, feeling like scum for doing so. I wiped under my eyes, relieved I hadn't put on any makeup that morning. "Just, since the whole 'missing week' with Kol, I've just been really on edge, I guess." That part, at least, wasn't totally false. "What about you?" I asked, feeling like shit for turning it around onto him, but also genuinely curious about the answer. "You haven't been yourself either, lately."
He hesitated, and I reached up to place my hands over his, intertwining our fingers. "It's just these dreams...I have this feeling..." he sighed tiredly. Oh, what a couple we made. "These dreams and hallucinations just have me on edge too."
I narrowed my eyes at him contemplatively, watching him as I attempted to figure him out. I heard his heart stutter nervously, and knew he was at the very least leaving something out. "Is that all?" I asked carefully.
He paused, seeming to think it over, then finally opened his mouth to respond, but there was a sharp tap at the window that interrupted him. I didn't move an inch, but Stiles flinched violently, reeling back and gasping in surprise as he spotted Coach staring through the window at us, that familiar permanent glare fixed on his face.
"Quit making out in the car like a couple of uncontrollable sexual deviants!" the teacher snapped, lifting his whistle to his lips and blowing hard, the sound cutting through the glass. "Get to class!"
I picked up my bag, slipping from the car, Stiles following once he navigated his way around the glowering economics teacher.
I kept my arms crossed, striding across the parking lot with Stiles by my side, listening intently to the sounds of his heart racing and his breaths beginning to slow. "Jules?" he asked when we came to a stop just inside the doors to the school.
"Stiles?" I responded, looking over at him warily.
"Are we okay?" he questioned, sounding more vulnerable than I could ever remember hearing him sound.
I melted, as I so often did in his presence, closing the distance between us and wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, glad the hallways were empty of students, since it was technically class time. "I'm going through something," I decided to stick to the truth as best as I could. "I don't know how to put it into words, but when I figure it out, I'll come straight to you."
"Promise?"
Even though the motion made me feel physically ill, I pressed my lips to his skin, enjoying the way his patchy two-day-old stubble felt against my lips. I hoped he didn't notice my lack of promise, but with the way his heart skipped a beat, I was sure it went unnoticed.
"Jules?" he asked against once I pulled back, reaching down to grasp his hand and beginning to tug him in the direction of the History classroom.
"Hm?" I hummed in response, squeezing his hand and pulling him around a corner. Being with Stiles, even just walking hand-in-hand down the hall, was almost enough to allow me to forget about the weight of my recent actions.
"Do you...wish I was more like you?" he again sounded vulnerable. I wondered what was going on in his head, but couldn't figure out how to ask.
"Opposites attract, love," I told him with a small smile thrown over my shoulder that was more forced than genuine.
"Maybe when I'm a vampire, I'll see the world the way you do," he said somewhat wistfully, squeezing my hand back, thumb brushing over the back of my hand tenderly.
"I can hardly wait," I murmured back as we came to a stop outside our class. Everyone was in their seats, staring up at the new guy who had begun teaching at the start of the new term. I knocked lightly on the door before sliding in, pulling a quiet Stiles in after me.
"You're late," the teacher, whose name I had yet to learn, said pointedly though not unkindly. "See me after class." He spoke friendlily, even had a small smile on his face. "Take your seats." With a final squeeze of Stiles' hand I let go, sliding into the open seat to the left of Scott while Stiles took the remaining empty one at the front of the room, directly in front of me. "Since you're here, how would one of you like to come up and read aloud for us?" he said in a way that definitely wasn't a suggestion. "Mr Stilinski?"
Stiles froze, taking a deep breath before murmuring, "Uh, maybe someone else could..."
"Everyone participates in my class, Mr Stilinski," the dark-haired teacher responded calmly. He glanced over his shoulder at Scott who wasn't paying attention, reading through a thick stack of papers on his desk. He glanced at me next, and I tried to nod encouragingly.
"Okay," he reluctantly muttered, sighing as he pushed himself to his feet. He shuffled over to the podium, and instantly I knew something was wrong.
His heart began to beat wildly and a sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead. I tensed in my seat, debating what to do. Every instinct in me screamed to go to his side, and after only a brief hesitation, I slid to my feet at the same time as Scott.
The wolf paused in the isle, but I didn't wait, barrelling up to the front of the room, slipping into place beside Stiles, wrapping one arm around his waist, prepared to hold him up if necessary. "Stiles, are you okay?" Scott asked worriedly as the kids kids in the room began to whisper.
"Stiles," I whispered gently, thumb caressing his hipbone comfortingly. He began to pant, his eyes going glassy and unfocused. "Stiles," I murmured with much more urgency, fear gripping my insides.
"We should take him to the nurses office," Scott finally said, and the history teacher hesitated.
"One of you can go," he decided, and my head snapped up to glare at him furiously.
He met my eyes, and the instant our gazes connected my pupils dilated, drawing him into me in the way only a vampire could. "We can both go," I ordered him, not caring about how odd it would look to the class in the slightest.
He froze, but I could tell it wasn't from the compulsion. Confusion filled me and my eyes flickered over him, finally coming to rest on a thick leather band the was tied around his wrist, almost entirely positive that it contained vervain.
What the fuck was our new history teacher doing with vervain?
I didn't have the time to worry about it, meeting his eyes once more. Chances were he now knew what I was, and he seemed to swallow thickly, eyeing me like he didn't know what to make of me.
"Fine, you may both take him," he finally allowed, and I didn't wait another moment; he was a problem I would deal with later. Instead I began to drag Stiles from the room, away from the prying eyes of the gossiping teenagers.
I all but yanked him into the hall and Scott was quick to slip up to his other side, helping me urge our best friend into the closest bathroom.
"Stiles, talk to us, is this a panic attack?!" the teen wolf asked in clear concern, staring at Stiles in alarm.
"This is a dream," my boyfriend murmured more to himself than anyone else. He threw himself out of our grip, stumbling across the room until he reached the sink, grasping the edge of it and staring at himself in the mirror, eyes wet and glassy. "This is just a dream."
"Stiles, love," I said cautiously, keeping my distance, the last thing I wanted was to crowd him. I hoped the term of endearment would help, but if anything his heart rate only spiked. "It isn't a dream."
"This is real," Scott added desperately, not keeping his cool as well as I was. "You're here. It's real. You're here with me. You're here with Juliet. We're all here, it's real."
We didn't have to hear his heart or his escalated breathing to know he didn't believe us.
"Okay, what do you do?" Scott asked, staring at his friend in panic.
I slipped closer to Stiles, letting my hand brush over his back, fingertips dancing across the muscles hidden by his shirt. "How do you tell the difference between a dream and reality, Stiles?" I translated collectedly, casting Scott a stern look over my shoulder, silently instructing him to calm down.
"Fingers," Stiles panted into the sink. "You count your fingers."
"Because you have extra fingers in dreams, right?" I finished for him, and even as he fought to drag air in, he nodded.
"And how many to do I have?" Scott asked, getting back on both feet and holding his hands out for Stiles to see. "Come on, Stiles! Look at my hands and count with me," he directed the panicking kid. I pressed my palm to his sweaty back, thumb brushing his spine like I had taken to doing the last few weeks when he was struggling with his nightmares. "One. Two. Three," the wolf began to count, holding up his fingers in the light, making sure Stiles could see.
"Stiles, breathe," I reminded him softly, continuing to rub his back gently.
"Come on, Stiles," Scott prompted, demanding the other boy's full attention. Finally Stiles began to count out loud, watching through narrowed and watery eyes as Scott held up finger after finger. "Ten," the wolf confirmed once he was done, and Stiles looked like nothing had shocked him more in his life.
Eventually Stiles' breathing began to slow. His heart still pounded, and I took a step back, giving the confused kid the space he needed. He backed himself into the wall, sliding down it until he was crouched on the floor, head hanging in his hands.
I waited a full minute before shuffling forwards, kneeling down in front of him, not touching him but definitely within reach should he want contact.
"What the hell is happening to me?!" Stiles demanded, though I was sure he knew neither of us had an answer.
"We'll figure it out," Scott swore, and of course he did, because what else could we say? "You're going to be okay."
"Am I? Are you?" Scott froze but Stiles continued. "Scott, you can't transform, Allison's being haunted by her dead aunt, and I'm straight up losing my mind. We can't do this. We can't help Malia, we can't help anyone."
The teen wolf finally took a seat beside me, and I leaned into my friend absent-mindedly, listening to the sound of his heart racing. "We can try. We can always try."
Stiles looked like he wanted to argue, but I held up a hand as I heard a distinct and concerning growl echo through the halls outside the bathroom. "Did you hear that?" I asked Scott, who was already clamouring to his feet.
"Stay with Stiles," the teen wolf instructed me firmly, though it wasn't necessary. Nothing would get me to leave Stiles' side. "I'll be back."
"What is it?" the human asked as Scott disappeared from the room, staring after his best friend worriedly.
"Not important." He looked up at me in surprise, but I shot him a flat, completely serious look.
"Jules," he said reproachfully, and I wavered.
"There was a sound," I revealed cautiously. "It sounded like...a coyote."
"And so you want to tranquillise this...Malia girl?" Deaton asked, eyeing us warily, not sure what to make of our plan. After finding Malia (the coyote) in the school, who had come to retrieve the doll that Stiles had taken from the crash site, we knew the only place we could turn for help was to our friendly neighbourhood emissary. "Get her to safety and get her to turn back?"
"Apparently," Isaac mumbled, and Stiles shot him a brief annoyed expression, though the rest of us ignored him.
"Is it possible?" Scott questioned, sagging with relief when the veterinarian nodded, turning around and disappearing through a doorway, only to reappear moments later with a handful of vials.
"It's a tranquilliser for horses," the man explained, placing the vials on the table in front of us all. "For a were-coyote I expect it to work within seconds. I only have three, so whoever's shooting needs to be a damn good shot."
"Allison's a perfect shot," Scott was quick to say.
"She used to be," Isaac spoke up, and we turned to glance at him with furrowed brows.
"She can do it."
"If we manage to find the thing."
"Okay, what is the point of him?" Stiles interjected, gesturing at Isaac pointedly. "Seriously, I mean what is his purpose? Aside from the persistent negativity and the scarf. What's up with the scarf anyway? It's 65 degrees out."
"Don't hate on the scarf," I threw in with a wide, playful smirk in the blond's direction. "It's kind of working for him."
"Really? We're going to go there?" Stiles asked sourly, turning to face me with grouchy expression.
"I may be dead, but I'm still a woman with eyes," I retorted cheekily, enjoying the familiar banter as it filled me with a sense of comfort and something distinctly homely.
"Look, maybe I'm asking the question here that nobody wants ask, but: how do we turn a coyote back into a girl when she hasn't been a girl for eight years?!" Isaac interrupted our mini squabble, arms crossed as he stared back at us stonily.
We were silent, none of us having an answer.
Then, "I can do it."
We all turned to stare at Scott, eyebrows raised by how unsure of himself he really sounded.
"Remember the night that Peter trapped us in the school?" he continued, realising we needed him to elaborate. "In the gym he was able to make me turn using just his voice. Deucalion did the same thing in the distillery."
"You can't just watch someone sing opera and then belt out the same notes yourself," I hissed in annoyance at his shitty excuse for a plan.
"This is a were-coyote, Scott," Deaton added. "Who knows if it'll work even if you can find someone who can teach you."
"That's why you called Derek first," Stiles murmured in realisation.
"I can try it on my own," the wolf nodded unconfidently. "But right now I'm too scared to change into even just a werewolf."
I sighed along with Stiles, who rubbed a hand over his nearly invisible stubble. "We need a real alpha," the human commented and Scott glanced up, clearly miffed. "You know what I mean. An alpha who can do alpha things, you know? An alpha who can get it going? You know, get it-"
"Up?" Isaac suggested. I pointed at him and nodded; it was a good analogy.
"Great, I'm an alpha with...performance issues," Scott sighed exhaustedly, no doubt humiliated just saying the sentence aloud. I snorted, the sound echoing through the suddenly quiet room. The alpha shot me an unhappy half-glare, and I shrugged in a halfhearted apology.
"Maybe there's someone else besides Derek who could help?" Deaton suggested, and we all paused in thought.
"Peter's out of the question," I said as soon as the thought occurred to me, making sure everyone knew he wasn't a viable option. I didn't trust him even slightly as far as I could throw him – which was far.
"Maybe the twins?" Stiles suggested.
"They're not alphas anymore. After what Jennifer did, almost killing them? It broke that part of them."
"But what if they know how to do it?"
There was a pause. "Nobody's seen them for weeks," Scott murmured thoughtfully, resignation splayed across his puppy-dog features.
"Actually that's not totally true..."
When I'd woken up that morning (or technically, yesterday morning, seeing as how I'd yet to go back to sleep since then) I hadn't been expecting to end the day in Derek's loft, watching two beta werewolves beat the shit out of an alpha with performance issues – his words, not mine.
"Aren't you going to do anything?" Lydia hissed at me incredulously, blinking up at me with her wide, doe eyes.
I leaned back against a beam, watching the one-sided cluster-fuck of a fight happening in front of me. I realised I was feeling more numb than usual, and blindly searched around for my inner switch. It was hovering somewhere in the middle of being on and off, and I firmly flicked it on, wincing at the pain it created in my gut and taking a step towards the three wolves, fangs sliding into position.
"It may not look like it," one of the twins - who knew which one – said to me as the other one smashed his fist into Scott's face. "But we're helping him."
"I thought you were going to teach me how to roar?" the alpha coughed from the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.
"We are," twin #2 responded, staring down at the wolf below him. "You do it by giving in and letting go, that's how Deucalion taught us control."
"Y'know, that's funny. We actually tried something just like this one time, using a heart monitor and lacrosse balls, but you're right, beating the living crap out of him's probably a lot better," Stiles spoke up from behind us, and my lips twitched up at the memory.
Another memory flashed across my mind, of a man crumpled in my arms, pained and wet gurgling noises coming from him as his own blood filled his oesophagus before pooling in my mouth, collecting on my tongue in warm and rich flavours that made my head spin.
I grimaced in disgust at the flare of hunger I felt in my gut; I wasn't worthy of reminiscing about good times with the boys, those memories were tainted with the knowledge of what I'd done not even a full day ago.
The smell of blood intensified in the room, and for a terrifying beat I thought it was human, before I realised it was only more of Scott's blood as it poured from his mouth. The twins continued to wail on the smaller wolf. The alpha coughed up more inky red blood as they slammed their feet into his gut, talking to and taunting him the whole time.
"Come on, Scott," Stiles whispered from Lydia's other side, voice echoing in the large, empty room. "Fight back."
"What if I can't control it?" Scott groaned from the floor, glaring up at the betas hopelessly.
His words struck a chord within me. Was I in the same position? I was having difficulty controlling my urges, my power, just as he did. Should I do as the twins were suggesting and give in? Was suppressing my impulses only hurting me in the end? The only problem was that I wasn't sure if that would help, or make everything a hundred times worse, potentially losing myself in the process.
When the switch was flipped, it was like a whole new person took over, and I wasn't sure the town, or my friends, would be able to handle whoever that may be.
"What if I can't change back?" Scott continued desperately, bringing me back to the moment.
"Then it takes over," twin #1 told him bluntly with a shrug of his shoulders. I knew he was talking to Scott, but in a way, he may as well have been talking to me, and my stomach curdled unpleasantly. "You become Malia, you get further and further away from being human; you turn into an animal. Or worse-"
"You turn into Peter," twin #2 finished with a disgusted grimace.
Scott seemed to take the words to heart and wiped the blood from his face before charging. The twin he went for subdued him with laughable ease, throwing him onto the lone table in the room and repeatedly smashing his clenched fist into his face.
Rage reared it's ugly head in me, and before his fist had come down for a fifth time, I caught it in both of my hands, using his own strength to send him back and off of a helpless Scott who was staring blankly at the ceiling.
The twin I'd knocked on his ass gave a roar, leaping back to his feet and storming towards me, claws glinting in the moonlight that was streaming through the windows. The other twin leapt in between us, effectively putting a stop to his brother's attack.
"What? I thought we were helping him?" he roared at his twin furiously.
"You help too much," the sane brother responded calmly. The other one shot me a final sneer before backing off, stepping away from me and Scott, who I was braced in front of protectively.
I turned around, eyeing my werewolf friend in concern. Scott turned his head to the side, spitting out a mouthful of thick red blood and wincing as his face no doubt flared with pain. His gaze flickered around the room for a long moment, then focused on the ceiling once more.
I recognised the look in his eyes as one of determination and unshakable will.
One thing was for sure; whether or not he found his alpha roar by tomorrow, we would be going out and getting Malia back before the next twenty-four hours were up.
In a way I related to Malia. I knew what it was like to be out of control, to lose yourself to your more primal instincts. I knew once she was turned back into human form (if at all) she would need someone to help her along, and though I usually detested doing unnecessary volunteer work, I figured a project would do me good, keep my mind off of my slowly weakening resolve to stay humanised.
"Do you think we'll be able to do it?"
I looked over at Stiles who was perched behind the wheel, steering us onto the reserve. He glanced over at me instead of Lydia, who was settled in the backseat, hands in her lap as she stared out the window thoughtfully – so I knew he was talking to me.
"I think we'll be able to catch her," I responded with a contemplative hum. "But I think whether or not we can save her comes down to Scott. If he can't turn her back, what's the point? We can't keep her locked in a cage in coyote form for the rest of her life."
"Can you even imagine?" he asked, most likely rhetorically. "Being trapped in a dog's body for eight years? Living all primal and animalistic like that?" He shuddered at the mere thought.
Another wave of sympathy flashed through me for the girl, but outwardly all I did was stare out the window into the passing trees, wondering what he'd think of me if I went into that state – minus the dog.
We pulled up at the furthest point we could drive to, from there we had to walk. I slipped from the car, boots sinking into the soft earth as I walked around to the left side where Scott was pulling up on his motorbike, and Allison was parking on his other side.
All of us were silent, none of us knowing what to say.
"Anyone else think we might be doing more harm than good?" Lydia was the one to finally speak up, and I had to consider her question. Usually my gut instincts were accurate, but I was confused on how I felt about this predicament. Were we doing the right thing? Did Malia even want to be human again.
Unfortunately there was no way to find out before going ahead. We could only complete our task and hope for the best.
"We're trying to keep a father from killing his own daughter," Scott reminded us all, and I nodded absent-mindedly. That was true; letting her stay in this form was a danger to her life.
"Actually, we're trying to keep a guy from killing a coyote, who is actually his daughter, who we don't know how to change from a coyote back into his daughter..."
Stiles and I both had the same idea as we turned to glare daggers at Isaac, who held his hands out placatingly. "And again with the 'not helping'," my boyfriend muttered sardonically, and Isaac smiled back scornfully.
Scott sighed, clearly exhausted although we hadn't even begun. He turned away from the bickering boys, staring at Allison expectantly. "Did you bring it?" he asked anticipatively.
The dark-haired beauty fished the large tranquilliser gun from her trunk, holding it up for us to see. Confidence wasn't exactly instilled in me when I caught the fearful, unsure and anxious expression on her face – not the look of a self-assured sharp shooter.
"You okay, Allison?" I asked warily, eyes narrowing as I noticed a small tremor in her hands.
She looked shocked by my question – a deer in the headlights – but before she could respond there were two very loud and very distinctive bangs from what could have only been a few short miles away.
In an instant Scott was shoving his helmet onto his head and climbing back onto his bike. I spun around to face Stiles, who looked perplexed by his friend's sudden movement. "Stay safe," I cautioned my human, who clearly had no idea what was happening.
"Wait!" he cried as Scott's engine started and he took off. I glanced over my shoulder at him once more before turning away and rushing after him.
My boots dug into the dirt, kicking up the soft earth and making the scents swirl around me. I kept up with Scott easily, the bike going only a fraction of my possible speed.
"Where did it come from?" I asked Scott, who I knew could hear me even over the groaning of his engine.
"A few miles that way," he responded in kind, letting go of the handlebars with one hand to gesture to the west. "Go ahead, you'll get there quicker."
I didn't bother arguing, nodding my head even though he couldn't see and pushing myself faster, disappearing past the tree line. I didn't get more than a few yards away before an agonised scream ripped through the woods, followed by a metallic crash and sickening thud from behind me.
I identified the screamer as Isaac, but my priority was Scott, who was face down on the forest floor, not moving at all after his crash. "Shit," I cursed, spinning around and legging it back to Scott's side. "Scott!" I snapped, falling to my knees beside his still form. "Scott!" I hissed again, reaching forwards to shake his body slightly.
His heart was beating steadily in his chest, and though I wanted to take the helmet off, I knew from my years in college that it was safer for me to leave it on; he may have a head injury, and my blood – my usual go-to remedy – wouldn't do him any good.
Just as I was contemplating leaving him, maybe finding help, his heart sped up and he shot upwards, ripping the helmet off himself and staring up at me dazedly.
"Oh, thank fuck," I murmured more to myself than him. There was no time to waste, and I grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet. He blinked and shook his head, shaking off the effects of the crash. I squeezed his shoulder tightly, my own emotionally-constipated version of a hug. "You're okay, buddy," I assured him as intelligence seemed to once more come back to his eyes. "Can you run?" I asked him firmly, glancing over my shoulder in the direction the shots had come from.
"Uh, I don't know," he responded confoundedly.
I clicked my tongue. "Well, we're about to find out," I muttered the instant before I grasped him and shoved him forwards, sending him crashing through the woods. For the first few yards he struggled with balance, but I kept a hand on his arm, steadying him and urging him onwards.
After about 200 yards he finally righted himself and charged on ahead, and I was relieved that any damage appeared to have promptly healed.
I kept pace with him easily, my keen eyes sweeping the trees, searching for any hint of coyote-Malia. Just when I was starting to get bored, a flash of movement caught my eye and I looked to the right to spot the coyote racing across the ground, faster than any regular dog I'd ever encountered.
"There!" I exclaimed as I pointed to the north after her, and Scott immediately changed directions, also catching sight of the creature. Now that we had her, she wouldn't be easily lost, but what were we meant to do from there? "What's the plan, chief?" I spoke over the wind, eyes locked on our target.
"Go ahead," he responded, sounding barely out of breath. "We've got to cut her off!"
I did as I was told, speeding up enough to overtake the canine, then at a loss for what to do. I decided to just keep pace with her, even as she veered to the right to get away from me. "Now would be a good time, Scott!" I prompted my friend over my shoulder; we couldn't just run around the woods all night.
I realised I recognised the part of the forest we were in, and a moment later we rounded a bend that revealed the large, hulking remains of the car wreck. From the corner of my eye I saw Scott leap into the air, and I acted on instinct as I hissed ferociously at Malia, making her jump away and towards the spot Scott had landed.
They snarled at each other, both displaying their dominance.
Then, suddenly and only slightly surprisingly, Scott let out a deep, earth-shattering roar.
My eyes widened before I could stop them, the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck stood on end and I sucked in a sharp breath that I would adamantly deny held fear. I scurried backwards, eyes flickering between the howling Scott and the coyote, who slowly but surely began to change shape.
Bones stretched and elongated, stormy grey fur gave way to smooth, pale skin.
Finally, a very naked and shocked looking girl lay where the coyote had been bowed. I allowed myself a brief moment of surprise before I snapped into action. "Call the sheriff," I commanded Scott as I jumped to my feet, reaching for the bottom of my wooly poncho and pulling it over my head. "Hi," I said to the girl, who looked scared out of her mind. She flinched at the sound of my voice, but I didn't react as I held out the item of clothing.
Scott pulled out his phone and turned away from the scene respectfully, letting her stand without being seen. She was shaky on her feet, tremors rattling through her as she took my hand, flinching again at the cold temperature of my skin.
"Malia?" I said it like a question, and she looked up in surprise. I got the feeling she hadn't heard that name in a very long time.
I stepped closer, moving slowly so as not to frighten her. She watched me warily, like she was sure I would snap and attack at any second. I gently pulled the poncho down over her head, and she winced at the feeling of the wool against her newly-human skin. It was long enough to fall down to her mid-thigh, and in an instant she must have realised how chilly it was in human form, wrapping her arms around herself and retreating into the fabric.
"The Sheriff's on his way, he's bringing a medic," Scott informed us, though Malia hardly seemed to be paying any attention, staring down at her human hands in fearful wonder.
"Are you okay?" I asked the girl, who glanced up at me for only a second before staring down at her toes, which she immediately began to wiggle experimentally. She didn't answer me, but I figured that was okay, everything should come in her own time. "I'm Juliet," I told her gently before nodding at the werewolf a few feet away. "And that's Scott."
I glanced over at the boy, who was staring at me with raised eyebrows. Instantly I let a cool mask drop over my face, and I crossed my arms, giving off a harsher air, not wanting Scott to see me as vulnerable or, heaven forbid, nice.
Scott tried to talk to Malia then, but she barely even spared him a glance. I remained silent, keeping an ear out for sirens. Finally, after a long and slightly uncomfortable few minutes, I heard cars heading towards our location.
"Jules, Scott," John breathed as he all but barrelled out of his car, making Malia flinch back in shock and slight fear. "Malia?" he asked her, freezing and holding his hands out, hoping not to scare her. "Malia Tate?"
She furrowed her delicate brow, tilting her head at him like she wasn't totally sure what he was saying. After a long, silent minute, she nodded, and I thought that maybe, she just might be okay.
A whole day later and I had yet to leave Malia's side. This was mostly because the perplexed and confused girl would hardly let me leave, but also slightly because I liked someone needing me as much as she seemed to.
She didn't speak much, at first I wasn't even sure if she remembered how. After being poked and prodded at the hospital for most of the night, she was finally in the police car, on her way back to her dad. I sat in the back with her, keeping my eyes on the passing trees and giving her space, just acting as silent company for her.
Stiles sat in the front next to his father. He tried to make some attempts at small talk, but Malia barely even spared him a glance.
I thought back to our brief but important conversation back in the hospital room, while we were waiting for new clothes to be brought for her to wear home.
I had wanted to go find Stiles or at the very least, Melissa to obtain a snack, but Malia had grasped my wrist, stopping me from leaving from the room. I hesitated, glancing back at her, only to see her not looking anywhere near me, but instead staring defiantly out the window, refusing to meet my gaze.
There were certain things I knew I had to cover, because if I didn't, then we ran the risk of exposure, and I couldn't let the girl go telling everyone about her experience as a coyote.
"Malia," I began quietly, removing my wrist from her grip and settling back into the chair beside her bed. She still continued to stare in the opposite direction, giving no sign that she could even hear me. "You know you can't tell anyone about this, right?"
She still gave no indication she understood me.
"Bad things happen when humans find out about us," I warned her gently, eyes focused on her frowning face. "You can't tell anyone about being a coyote, or about Scott roaring and turning you back into a human."
She said nothing for the longest time, heartbeat steady in her chest. "I'm cold," she spoke without warning, and I moved over to the cupboard by the door, fishing out a blanket and softly laying it over her. She pulled it around herself tightly, and I noticed her hands shaking. "Can I go back?" she asked suddenly, and I frowned in confusion.
"To the woods?"
"To being a coyote," she corrected cooly.
I hesitated. "I don't know," was my honest reply. "Maybe. Shifters aren't my area of expertise."
"Is that what I am?" she asked placidly, eyes glazed as she stared up at the sun as it rose above the horizon. "A shifter?"
"I guess you never had anyone explain it, huh?" I mused, and she scoffed bitterly at my words. I had to get back on topic, I had to be sure that it was safe to let her go home. "So you're not going to tell anybody?" I repeated. "You'll stick with the story the sheriff gives you?"
She didn't reply, but I could tell she wasn't really thinking about saying no, just rather thinking about everything in general.
"I won't say anything," she vowed, turning around to face the window, a clear dismissal. I nodded, content with that reply as I made to leave. Her hand shot out to grasp my wrist once more, and I paused, staring at her in confusion. She didn't look back, but continued to stare out the window as she held my wrist. I got the message, sitting back down in the chair and allowing silence to engulf us once again.
"Are you ready, Malia?" the sheriff asked her gently, and the were-coyote gave no answer other than a slight nod of her head. John took the keys from the ignition and opened his door. "Stay here, Stiles," he warned his son, who nodded his head acceptingly. I slipped out as the man opened Malia's door, walking around to her side and waiting for her to take the lead.
She didn't move, so the sheriff went first, softly urging her towards the house she was staring at with wide eyes.
I followed them up the stairs, my hands shoved into the pockets of my leather jeans, my footfalls silent on the usually-creaky wood.
John knocked on the door, and a moment later a man shuffled into view. His face was tired and drawn, and he glanced over Malia and I with no hint of recognition. The were-coyote glanced over her shoulder at me, and were I anyone else I would shoot her a smile, but I wasn't some coddling maternal human, I was me, so I merely inclined my head slightly, but it seemed to do the trick, because her glassy eyes got even more misty, and she sniffled as she turned back to her father.
"Mr Tate," the sheriff said bracingly, wrapping one arm around Malia's shoulders.
The man glanced at her again, and this time he saw something in her he recognised, because his eyes got as misty as his daughters, and he gasped. "Malia?" he asked, not even daring to hope. The coyote nodded, and though I couldn't see her face, a had a feeling she was caught between smiling and sobbing.
They embraced, he hugged her close to his chest like she was something easily breakable and she her shoulders shook as she began to silently cry into his chest.
Uncomfortable by the blatant expression of emotions, I shifted awkwardly onto the balls of my feet, fighting the urge to run away. I shuffled closer to the sheriff, who was leaning against the railing, watching them embrace with a sad smile. "I'll wait in the car," I told him, sure that Malia was fine now that she was with her family.
He nodded and I took that as an okay, wandering down the stairs and back towards the car. I didn't slide into the back again, instead going to Stiles' window and leaning inside, my crossed arms braced on the door. "Good news," my boyfriend said with a small, somewhat forced, smile. "I can read again."
"Is that so?"
"Objects in mirror are closer than they appear," he read off the side mirror, and I rolled my eyes playfully.
"Yeah, but everyone knows they all say that," I replied teasingly. "You could have just memorised it."
Stiles scoffed indignantly, "I would never."
"Of course you wouldn't, love," I said, my tone condescending. He rolled his eyes back, glancing past me to the porch where Malia and her father had stopped hugging and were now murmuring along with the sheriff.
"Malia seemed to really take to you," Stiles commented after a moment of us watching them.
"I guess I just give off a trustworthy vibe," I self-deprecatingly joked, and he snorted indelicately. "Don't be an asshole," I warned lightly, and he rolled his eyes again.
"The night we first met, you were wearing all black, smoking a cigarette all alone in the middle of the woods and telling us to 'watch out for the big, bad wolf'," he reminded me with a small smirk. "Nothing about that screamed trustworthy."
"And yet, I still got you into bed," I replied impishly, and his smirk widened.
"That you did," he allowed, leaning forward to press his lips to mine.
If only things could stay like that forever.
A/N: Wow, I can't believe this is chapter 51. This is one of my longest ever, and I hope you guys liked it, things only get darker from here, so hold onto your hats, folks.
Review and tell me where you think this is heading, I'm curious about your theories!
