You'll never know what hit you

Won't see me closing in

I'm gonna make you suffer

This hell you put me in

I'm underneath your skin

The devil within

You'll never know what hit you

I will be here

When you think you're all alone

Seeping through the cracks

I'm the poison in your bones

My love is your disease

I won't let it set you free

Til I break you

The Devil Within – Digital Daggers


When I woke up, Stiles was gone and the house was empty.

This was surprising, since I was a light sleeper and usually I was woken just by Stiles waking up and getting out of bed. It was still dark, and I contemplated trying to go back to sleep, but when I turned over in bed to get comfortable, my keen eyes spotted Stiles' shoes sitting in the corner where he'd kicked them off before bed.

I sat up, a feeling of dread appearing in my stomach that hung heavy like a weight.

Why would Stiles leave without his shoes? He didn't have any other ones in the house, and he got grossed out by the slugs that usually covered my front lawn from dusk until dawn, so he wouldn't have walked to his car without them.

With a frown so deep that it made my brow ache, I reached over to my bedside table, picking up my phone and dialling Stiles' number. He didn't answer for a long time, it rang and rang and rang until I was sure it was going to go to voicemail, but then at the very last second, the call connected.

"Juliet," Stiles' voice said through the phone, though the way he said my name was all wrong, like he wasn't used to the way the sound felt on his tongue, as though it wasn't a word he said on a daily basis.

"Stiles, where are you?" I asked immediately, scooting back against my headboard and tilting my head in the darkness, listening closely to the sounds on the end of the line. "You left your shoes here," I said, knowing he'd know what I meant.

"Come meet me," he murmured, though it sounded like the order was nonnegotiable.

"What?" I asked incredulously. "Now? Where?"

"The hospital."

Worry flooded me. "What's wrong?" I demanded, pushing myself off my bed and heading over to my closet, pulling out an old hoodie and forcing my feet into some old combat boots without putting socks on, knowing the blisters would heal before they were a problem. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Juliet," he responded, and although I couldn't see him, I could imagine him rolling his eyes. "But, we need to talk."

The words sounded foreign, and in some way, foreboding. I zipped up the hoodie and threw my hair into a low bun, grabbing my keys and heading directly for the door. "You're at the hospital? Which room?" I asked hurriedly, darting down the stairs and letting the door click shut behind me.

"The roof," he replied, and I paused on my porch, confused by the answer.

"You want me to meet you on the roof of the hospital at-" I pulled my phone away from my face to glance at the time, "-11pm?"

"That's what I said," the words sounded impatient, and though it was Stiles' voice, it was like I was talking to a completely different person.

"Okay, well-" before I could even finish my sentence, the call cut off, leaving me with the dial tone and a clear absence of Stiles. Stopping beside my mailbox, I stared at the phone for a long moment before pocketing it and turning in the direction of the hospital.

As I ran, I wondered what could possibly be so important that he would leave my house barefoot and travel to the hospital for no other reason than to visit the roof, only to ask me to meet him there anyway.

Something told me that whatever he was keeping from me, on a scale of surprise party to dead body, it was probably closer to dead body.

I knew that was hypocritical considering the bodies I myself had left littered around town the last few weeks – and not told him about – and some sick part of me hoped it was really the case, though I doubted it was so. Stiles couldn't hurt a fly, mostly because he wasn't strong enough, but I digress.

I got some odd looks from the nurses as I wound my way through the halls, but thankfully none of them tried to stop me. The hospital wasn't the best place for a fallen-off-the-wagon-blood-addict to be hanging out, and I had to stop breathing all together to prevent any impulse control slip ups.

I pushed my way out onto the roof, sucking in a deep breath of the cool, blood-free air. The hair on my arms stood on end, and the back of my neck prickled. There was power here, power so great that I paled in comparison.

"Ah, good, you're here," Stiles' voice said, and I turned to face him, seeing him standing in his pyjamas, feet unsurprisingly bare, though he didn't seem cold despite the freezing temperature of the night.

"Stiles, what's going on?" I asked hesitantly, stepping closer to my boyfriend, eyes flickering over his form. His heart was beating slower than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes had deepened since I'd seen him only a few hours before.

He wore a small smirk on his pale lips, head tilted like he was assessing me. Before he could say anything, there was a groan from the right, and I looked to the source of the sound, my eyebrows shooting up to my hairline when I caught sight of a man laying on the concrete, a wince on his aging features.

I looked back at Stiles dubiously; I hadn't been so confused in my whole 200 years.

"I know what you've been up to, as of late," my boyfriend told me, and my breath caught in my throat.

Panicking, I decided to play it dumb. "I don't know what you're talking about," I murmured, my voice lacking any kind of strength, in fact it sounded weak.

"Don't play dumb with me, Juliet," he said, and for a brief beat I was convinced he was somehow reading my thoughts. "It isn't becoming of a woman your age," he continued without taking a breath. Stiles didn't talk like that.

Something was wrong.

"Who are you, are what have you done with Stiles?" I demanded, only half joking – I forced a small, pained smile on my lips to prove it.

Stiles hummed like I'd raised an interesting argument. "That's the question, isn't it?" he pondered, smirk widening as he slithered over to the unconscious man to our side. "But we're not here to talk about me," he said matter-of-factly. "We're here to talk about you."

"Stiles," the word was said in a warning tone as I urged him to stop playing games.

"Juliet," he countered with that same smirk, suddenly crouching down beside the man. My feet may as well have been welded to the floor; I couldn't seem to make myself move. "I know what you did," he sang, uncharacteristic glee shining in his chocolate eyes. Uneasiness churned within me.

"Stiles-" I tried to get him to snap out of it, but he wasn't having any of it.

"I. Know. What. You. Did," he seemed to almost spit the words. He smirked up at me impishly, a dangerous gleam in those eyes that I found I adored. "And, you know what? Stiles knows too."

My breathing was laboured, I wasn't sure what to do or say. It wasn't Stiles I was talking to? Had he been compelled? Body-swapped? Possessed? Nothing was impossible in this world. "So who am I talking to, then, if not Stiles?" I asked, treading lightly and trying to stay calm.

He smiled like I'd said something amusing, shaking his head at his own thoughts. "I'll be here for a while yet, Juliet," he crooned, reaching out to nudge the slumbering man. "It's been a long time since I've had a body – I want to have some fun...well, even more than I already have." He smirked, and though Stiles did too, this expression was entirely too cold to belong on my warm boyfriend's face.

Realisation trickled through my insides like a droplet of icy water. "It was you," I said it like the words themselves tasted bad. "Last night, it was you I was with, not Stiles."

"You are quick, Juliet," he murmured, tilting his head at me and observing me like I was on display at a museum. "We love that about you."

I wasn't sure what that meant, but something about it made me feel ill. "What do you want?" I demanded, glad my voice didn't shake, and he chuckled amusedly.

"That's my business," he said before I could question him further, and I knew asking more would be pointless.

I amended my sentence, "what do you want with me?"

He smirked, pushing himself back up to his feet and kicking the unconscious man, almost as an afterthought, serving no real purpose. "Now there's a question I can answer," he purred, moving forwards without stumbling once, his posture very un-Stiles-like, spine too straight and self-assured. "I want you to feed from this human until he dies," he told me pleasantly, like we were discussing the weather. "And then I want you to wallow in the guilt for as long as it takes to flick that famous little switch and turn it all off so you can be my partner in crime without any reservations."

I gulped, and his eyes followed the dip of my throat closely. "You're not the first man to ask me to turn it off for them," I finally said through clenched teeth.

"Except I'm not a man," the not-Stiles creature countered smartly, an amused smirk on his familiar lips. "Not really."

I was silent, too afraid that something would break inside me should I open my mouth; to acknowledge what was happening made it all so intensely real.

"Listen, Juliet," the creature said, tone so like Stiles' that it made a tremor run through me. His keen eyes didn't miss it, and his smirk only widened. "I know what you've done, do you really think I'm going to love you ever again?"

"Like I care," I retaliated quickly, narrowing my eyes at him and crossing my arms so he couldn't see them shake. "The only person's opinion I care about is Stiles'."

"But don't you see?" he asked, stepping closer, bare feet making no sound on the cement ground. "I am Stiles."

"Nice try," I snarled sarcastically, lip curling back to reveal my fangs. "We both know that's utter bullshit."

"No, really," he insisted calmly, smiling like he knew something I didn't. "I didn't take him over," he explained with patience that I could tell was forced. "We're one now."

"How did you even do this?" I asked, refusing to acknowledge his clear lie. The answer hit me before he even opened his mouth, and I narrowed my eyes across the roof at him, keeping my attention on him, looking for any discrepancies in his actions. "The door's ajar," I murmured in realisation.

He smiled in a way I would almost call...proud. "Now you're getting it!" he exclaimed excitedly, throwing his arms outwards enthusiastically. "Listen," he began after a beat, tone calming to a softer volume. "Now that Stiles and I are...us, we're at a different tier than, say, a vampire with humanity," he said the word like it was dirty.

"So you want me to stoop to your level and become a soulless killing machine?"

"Now you're getting it!"

My chest felt tight and it was getting hard to breathe, if I didn't know better I'd say I was moments away from a panic attack.

Not-Stiles looked irritated by my reluctance. "Let me try and sway you," he said flatly, turning back to the unconscious man and pulling something that I hadn't noticed from the floor. It was a scalpel from the hospital, and before I could so much as shout for him to stop, his arm snapped out and the lethally sharp end sliced through the skin of the man's neck, blood bubbling to the surface and spilling out onto the concrete.

The scent hit me like a tidal wave, and I practically choked on my own saliva in response.

"Hmm," not-Stiles hummed like a mother trying to convince her toddler to eat their vegetables. "Come now, Juliet," he crooned gently, reaching down to smear his fingers through the spilling liquid. "Don't let it all go to waste."

My muscles coiled in an effort to stop myself. My eyes turned a familiar blood red, and hunger appeared in my gut like a monster rearing it's ugly head. I stopped breathing all together, but the scent was already imprinted in my nostrils and on my tongue. My bloody eyes followed the stream the blood was causing on the ground. "You just killed someone," I said, using the last of the air in my lungs, hoping it would get through to the real Stiles, wherever he was.

"Come on," he goaded, completely ignoring my shocked words. My nails bit into my palms like teeth, and I felt little rivers of blood trickle from my knuckles as I fought against myself. "I know your resistance is lowered," he all but sang, lifting his bloodied fingertips to his lips and sucking the blood off them in a move that shouldn't have been sexy. "Hm," he murmured like he was a food critic tasting a pasta dish for the first time. "A little on the metallic side for me, but I hear that's all the rage with your kind."

The sight of the blood smeared on Stiles' perfect lips aroused me in a way that made me instantly ashamed. My nostrils flared and my toes inched forwards without my permission, my body being drawn closer to the intoxicating liquid bubbling out onto the ground. What a waste.

"Come on," not-Stiles prompted me, impatience leaking through in his voice. "Feed already!"

Like his words were a command, in the next heartbeat I found myself kneeling in the puddle of blood, my lips attached to the wound at the corpse's throat, sucking with everything I had. The still-warm blood pooled in my mouth, but I barely took the time to enjoy before swallowing, feeling it slide down my throat and settle in my stomach with a pleasant weight.

It tasted better than I could remember any blood ever tasting before. In an effort to get more into me, I tore my fangs into his jugular, ripping into the muscle and making the blood pour out over my face. I couldn't have cared less, unable to stop myself from moaning as I drank and drank, until finally the blood stopped coming, the carcass sucked dry.

I stayed where I was for another minute, eyes closed as I basked in the power, energy and strength coursing through my body. I felt like there wasn't anything I couldn't do.

A dark chuckle rang through the cool night air, and I finally opened my eyes, detaching my mouth from the corpse's neck and looking up at not-Stiles defeatedly. He reached a hand out, I hadn't realised he'd gotten do close. I didn't want to, and I would later blame it on the blood filling me, but I took his offer, allowing him to help me to my feet.

"Now this, is what a vampire looks like," he said with a leery grin, and I poked my tongue out, letting it run over the skin around my mouth, catching what I could of the blood smeared there like paint. "You have never looked more attractive," not-Stiles told me, and I swear my heart leapt into my throat.

My eyes burned with tears, but thankfully they didn't fall, merely stinging painfully. "Is Stiles really in there?" I asked vulnerably, meeting his familiar honey-chocolate eyes, hoping beyond all hope that I would recognise my human in them if I stared for long enough. If anything, he only looked more alien as the seconds ticked by.

"We are one," he said, and his heartbeat – already slower than a regular human's – was steady.

"Will I ever get him back?" I asked, preparing myself for an answer I didn't want to hear.

He paused, taking a moment to respond. "Maybe," he finally answered, and though his heart was steady, I couldn't help but feel like he was lying. "But it won't be for a long while, and why spend all that time suffering?"

He had a point, and though the option I was faced with made me feel sick, it was looking more and more attractive by the second. A tear slipped from my lid, rolling down my cheek and mixing with the blood smeared across my lower face.

"Don't you just want it all to go away?" he asked somewhat rhetorically, glancing down at the bloodless corpse pointedly. I followed his gaze, throat closing with pure emotion as I stared into the man's lifeless blue eyes, staring unseeingly at the night sky. Guilt clawed at my insides, and another tear fell. "Weren't you just saying mere days ago that you wanted this? That you wanted me to be like you? Don't you want to have fun, instead of being in pain all the time, instead of feeling guilty all the time?" He paused, tugging on my hand to draw my attention back to him. "Let me be with you; let me make you great again."

It sounded like a political argument, but despite that, his words struck a chord within me. I realised that I wanted to give it all up. I wanted it to go away. I wanted to be great again.

What was keeping me here? Stiles was gone, at least for now, and what was I meant to do until I got him back? Suffer in silence? Struggle not to leave a trail of bodies in my wake, no matter where I went? With my lowered resistance, it was really only a matter of time before I killed again, and who knew who my next victim would be?

At least if I gave in, then my friends would be safe. I could control myself in that state – it was the suppressing of my urges that was killing people. And now that Stiles wasn't around as a reason to stay sane, what was stopping me?

Nothing.

I wanted it.

At least I wouldn't be alone in my lack of humanity – I could sense that not-Stiles was very much the same way inclined. We were going to have so much fun.

"Okay," I said, meeting his eyes dead on, before I took the leap, there was one person I absolutely had to speak to. "Stiles," I addressed my boyfriend, and for a split second something flickered in his lifeless eyes, a spark of life that reminded me that my human wasn't gone; not completely. "I can't do it any more," I admitted, reaching up and cupping not-Stiles' face. "I can't be strong. And I'm sorry, I really am. When you come back, you'll be the one to get through to me, I know it. Please have faith in me, Stiles. Please believe I will redeem myself, that I'll come back to you."

"Yes, yes," not-Stiles snapped, reaching up to knock my hands from his face, leaving bloody handprints pressed onto his pale skin, but neither of us cared. "It's all very touching," he sneered in a way that reminded me this wasn't Stiles. "Now do it!" he ordered sharply, stepping back and staring at me expectantly.

I hesitated, knowing that once I stepped of this cliff, it was going to be a hell of journey to get back to where I had been. What was I thinking?

"Turn it off!" not-Stiles bellowed so loudly that I was sure somebody else heard, but the shout was enough to snap me into action. With a bow of my head and a blind search for my switch, there was a beat, and then there was nothing at all.


When I opened my eyes, everything seemed...darker, somehow. Instantly I could feel the difference within myself, there was a distinct absence of anything. I didn't feel sad, or guilty, or hurt. I just felt...hungry, and bored.

I looked up, meeting not-Stiles' eyes.

He was smirking, the expression large and bordering on a leer. "Welcome back," he said casually, and I had to admit, the way his bloodied lips moved made me want to throw him against the nearest wall and ravish him. Now my hunger was radiating from an entirely different place in my body.

I tilted my head, letting my eyes cut through the dark, observing every inch of this not-Stiles. "So," I began, and even my voice sounded different; deeper, rougher and darker. "Who're we killing first?"

He smiled, the expression delighted while still holding an air of darkness and indifference. "Baby steps," he told me, and my lips tipped up. I hummed lightly, inching forwards until I was so close our noses could almost brush. I inhaled, enjoying the scent of Stiles with an edge of the blood from my latest victim.

"Okay, boss," I sneered sardonically, even as I moved forwards, winding my arms around his neck and curling into him in a way that wasn't at all sweet, but entirely sexually driven. "What's your master plan, then?" I questioned, curious and suspicious. Why did he need this me, and not the good me?

"I have a previous engagement this evening," he murmured, making no move to lean into me, even as I rolled my pelvis against his sensually. "But I do encourage you to go out and cause all the mayhem you possibly can."

I nuzzled into his throat and nibbled on the warm skin of his neck. Again there was no physical reaction, irritating me. "My favourite thing to cause," I hummed into his skin, and with an almighty shove he pushed me back and away from him. He was strong – stronger than human Stiles, at any rate – and he straightened his shirt as though he was in a suit, not ratty old pyjamas. I giggled at the action, but the sound was dark and creepy, not at all sweet like the word usually implied. "You know I'm not your pet," I said, just to make sure he knew. "I'm not going to be at your beck-and-call."

He smirked like I'd said something funny.

"You're not a leader, Juliet," he said patronisingly. I pulled back, narrowing my flaming green eyes at him dangerously. "You never have been. You're a follower; a minion, or a disciple, if you will." I wasn't sure what to say in response, I felt no indignation or embarrassment, merely a simmering anger that filled my every bone. "You can't survive without someone calling the shots for you," he continued like I wasn't glaring at him like I wanted to snap his neck. "For the last year, it's been Scott filling that role for you. Now? It's us."

I raised an eyebrow at not-Stiles, my rage fading away into intrigue. "Us?" I demanded, deciding to take this conversation one step at a time.

His lips spread across his face coldly. "Stiles and I," he responded impatiently. Of course.

I considered his words, he was right on most counts, though I was loathe to admit it. I knew if I wanted to get my way – to get Stiles back in one piece – I would need to play along. That didn't mean that I was going to fill the role of 'minion' as easily as he so clearly hoped. "Fine, I'll let you call the shots. But you should know: another, better deal comes along, and I'll take it without hesitation. If you think you can trust me, you're severely mistaken," I warned him pleasantly, smiling just as coldly. He had to know where I stood. I prodded my insides for any trace of guilt, and felt a curl of pleasure when all I got back was numb contentment.

"Juliet," the name still didn't feel right coming from not-Stiles' lips, but I couldn't find it in me to care, not even at how condescending he sounded. That part of me was long gone – just like Stiles, for now. "I have no trust in you whatsoever."

I waited for the inevitable sting the words would bring, but I felt nothing but indifference. I didn't care what he thought of me. His opinion (or, lack of trust) had no impact on me whatsoever. "Then we have an understanding," I murmured curtly, chin tilting up.

"One last thing," he said as I turned to leave, excited to revel in my new state of being. I looked back at him, narrowing my eyes as I awaited his response. "I have big plans, so I can rightly assume you don't care who gets caught in the crossfire, yes?" He tilted Stiles' head in a very un-Stiles-like move; even the way he spoke was alien. "You don't care who gets hurt?"

I took a moment to search myself, looking for that familiar feeling of panic or fear, but instead all I felt was that pleasant numbness, an obvious absence of care that was pure bliss. In fact, if anything, I felt almost an eagerness to witness the destruction of innocence. I wanted to watch the good burn; it had brought me nothing but pain so far.

Even with all this, I didn't want any of them to die. I wondered if I was defective, shouldn't I have wanted to kill everyone in sight? I thought of eating strangers on the street, terrorising young people and causing utter chaos, and I felt a curl of pleasure at the fantasy. So I was definitely still 'working' in that regard, however the thought of killing the people I called friends made my gut twist.

Not-Stiles didn't have to know that, however. I supposed I would just have to walk the line, find a happy medium between causing complete and utter pandemonium, and keeping the people I had – at one stage – loved, safe.

"I don't care who gets hurt," I said, and it wasn't a complete lie, I really didn't mind if the pack got roughed up a bit – it would do them good.

I cringed at my own thoughts, how pathetic could a soulless vampire get?

For a brief moment, there was a flicker in his honey eyes that was familiar, the same spark I saw every time I met before-Stiles' gaze. There was pain in the flare, something like a scream through nothing but his eyes, but I blinked to make sure I was seeing right, and it had disappeared by the time my eyes were once more open.

"Oh Juliet," he crooned coldly, a wicked gleam replacing the brief cry in his eyes. "I can see right through you."

"Is that so?" I asked, boredom flowing from my tone as I stared across at him indifferently. I decided to change the subject, desperate to feel more in control of the conversation. "So, these big plans," I purred, placing on foot in front of the other as I sauntered up to the not-Stiles. I reached out, letting my bloodied fingers trail over the familiar teeshirt he wore, tracing over the collarbones I knew so very well. "Feel like sharing?" I whispered innocently, blinking up at him with wide eyes that before-Stiles wouldn't have been able to deny.

His lips tipped up, and I felt a curl of pride as I assumed he was agreeing, his hand snapped out, catching me around the wrist. He squeezed, applying pressure that for any human would be impossible. His grip was so strong that I winced, allowing him to drag my hand away from his chest, a sneer on his pale lips.

"Just be there when I call on you," he snarled tightly, eyeing me with a mix of lust and disdain that made me tingle in all the right places.

This lustful, hungry, molten-onyx was just as enticing as ever, in a hauntingly familiar and exhilarating way. I decided not to think about the parallels to past flames, that was a breakdown for another day.

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special," I hummed, smiling pleasantly even as I ripped my wrist from his grip with all the force I had. He barely flinched, but let me go, a spark of mischief in his eyes that sent a thrill through me. "I suppose I'll go and wait by the phone for your call, shall I?" I questioned teasingly, growing tired of our banter. I needed to stretch my returned wings, run amok in the nearest establishment I could find. "I eagerly await the next time we meet..." I trailed off pointedly, glancing at him from under my lashes in a move that would melt a mere man.

He paused, dark eyes calculating as they flickered over my form. "They call me Void," he finally murmured, hint of a deadly smirk on his lips.

"That's what they call you, but that's not your name," I challenged, and I could tell from the brief tightening of his beautifully cut jaw that I was correct. The expression was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Until we meet again, Juliet," he said smoothly, the picture of cool, calm and collected – the opposite of before-Stiles, who was as twitchy as a ferret, scattered and ruffled being a permanent personality trait.

I purred in response, flashing him a bright, eager grin before he turned and melted into the shadows. Void wasn't with me anymore, and he'd taken before-Stiles with him. I once more waited for the feelings to come, but none appeared. I waited for the guilt about not feeling to come, but none appeared. I waited to feel grief over Stiles being Void, but none appeared.

I realised that, as it turned out, now I was void too.


A/N: We're starting a new chapter of this story now. Things are about to get intense. Shoot me a review and tell me how you think the rest of the season's going to play out, I'm super interested to hear your theories.

PS: If you're in America, are old enough and haven't voted or don't plan to vote, you should definitely do so. It's SO important, don't be silent!

VOTE BERNIE!