I've been living my life on the edge
Slip and fall if I take one more step
There's safety in numbers, I guess
But I'm going rogue in the wild, wild west
Wild West – Lissie
I'd been looking forward to Christmas in Beacon Hills. I was going to spend the day at the Stilinski household, drinking shitty eggnog and watching a selection of Stiles' favourite holiday-themed action movies. I would have let John talk me through the rules of whatever sport he was watching that morning, and I would have stared in awe at the presents under the tree that had my name on them – something I hadn't gotten to enjoy for a very long time.
Instead, it was Christmas Eve and I was in a random park in upstate New York, sipping on a warm beer and sucking in the chemicals of a stale cigarette, my feet kicked up on the other side of the uncomfortable bench, my jeans coated with a thin layer of snow from the crying sky.
I couldn't complain – well, I could have, but I didn't deserve to.
I supposed I could go find a hotel; locked myself inside a high-end room and watched porn while I took a warm bath. But again, it all came back to what I deserved. And it wasn't that.
I took another sip of my beer, the liquid slowly getting colder with each minute exposed to the below-freezing temperatures.
My phone rang, the sound cutting through the still night air. At one point it might have made me flinch, but I was far too numb to the world these days. Besides, I knew who it was.
I hadn't had the heart to turn the phone off – no matter how it may have been the easier thing to do.
No, instead I stared at the screen every single time it rang, waiting for a message to be left so I could listen to it over and over as I reminded myself how much of a pathetic asshole I was.
"Jules," he said my name like there was nothing else he'd rather say. "Come home. We love you. I love you."
It was pretty much the same thing every time, but each recording got more desperate, more upset. I was just waiting for him to hit the point where he moved passed desperate and hit angry. Then, just maybe, it would get easier.
I kicked at a pebble on the street, tipping my head back and swallowing another mouthful of beer, finishing off the bottle. I let it drop to the cement with a loud clink, stepping over the slumbering form of a homeless woman and making my way downtown, intent on finding a bottle shop and compelling myself some real grog.
"Well, if it isn't little girl lost."
The voice made a freeze, my boots sliding an inch deeper into the thick snow. "Fuck me," I groaned, tipping my head back to look up at the cloudy sky, as though asking the heavens why he had to be here now.
"A little far from home, aren't we?" he asked coyly from where he was leaned against a building to my left.
I sighed, the sound as tired as I felt. "How did you find me, Klaus?" The words were spat, making it obvious how much I resented him in that moment.
"The witch in my pocket, of course," he responded smoothly, and I finally turned to look at him. He was stood casually, in an expensive looking waistcoat with a pair of leather gloves on his elegant hands.
"What do you want?"
"Come now," he murmured, his accent thick in the empty, silent street. "Where are your manners? One should exchange pleasantries when greeting their oldest friend."
"Merry Christmas darling, how are you today? Lovely weather we're having, isn't it? " I responded sardonically, allowing my own long-since buried accent to become apparent, words lilting in a way I had forgotten they could. I paused, and Klaus sent me his most unimpressed stare. "What do you want, Klaus?" I finally asked, my tone bordering on rude, but at this point I wasn't afraid – if anything I'd probably be relieved if he killed me.
"I'm here to cash in my favour," he told be after a beat, taking a step away from the building and moving towards me. I watched him carefully, taking note of the way the falling snowflakes stuck to his skin – the surface so cold that they didn't melt.
Dread filled me. I knew this day was coming, I supposed I'd just been hoping it wouldn't be for a long time yet. Who knew what he'd want me to do? Still, I kept the alarm from showing on my face, instead tilting my head curiously, shoving my hands into my pockets and appraising him thoughtfully. "Go on, then," I prompted him casually, bracing myself for the coming instruction.
"As you know, I have my hand in a countless number of projects spanning the world over," he began slowly, taking calculated steps forward as he began to wander around me in a loose circle, seemingly without a care in the world. "Without constant supervision, some can get away from me – and I am quite the busy man."
"Get to the point, Klaus," I snapped impatiently, then froze as I awaited a reaction, only for him to smirk and continue pacing.
"I've got an operation running down South – have you ever heard of the Calaveras?"
I couldn't have stopped my eyebrows from raising if I'd tried. "You're the head of the Calaveras? One of the most renowned hunter clans in the Northern hemisphere?"
"Well, not that they know it, of course," he murmured with a casual wave of his hand.
He seemed surprisingly approachable, here in a small and lifeless back street of New York, during the middle of the night while snow fell from the sky, coating the streets like a white sheet. "Let me guess," I replied slyly. "You call yourself a puppeteer?"
"Something to that effect."
"And this involves my favour, how?"
Klaus paused, seeming to consider me closely before he spoke. "I want you to go down and keep an eye on them," he finally told me, watching my every move. I made sure to keep my thoughts from showing on my face. "They've recently procured some rather valuable information. I need it seen to that they're doing as ordered with it."
I hesitated, considering my next words carefully. "And what are they ordered to do with it?"
He smirked, the expression pure sin. "Pass it along to the right parties."
"...what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demanded frustratedly.
"Believe me when I say it will all make sense once you're there," he assured me smoothly.
I hesitated. South was the complete other direction than I wanted to be heading in. But this was one of Klaus' favours, it wasn't one I could simply ignore at my leisure. Not if I valued my freedom or having all of my limbs intact.
But still, I wouldn't have been me if I didn't at least test the boundaries. "And if I say no?"
Klaus let out a sound bordering on a snort. "We both know that isn't an option, Juliet."
I scowled but otherwise didn't argue. I cricked my neck, hearing the bones crack at the violent tug and feeling absolutely no better after it was done. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, hating myself just that little bit more as I looked up at Klaus' face, illuminated in the glow from the overhanging streetlight. "So," I began begrudgingly, a sneer sitting comfortably on my lips. "Where exactly am I off to, then?"
The Original hybrid smirked, the expression chilling me to the bone just as he answered my bitter question.
"Mexico."
It was hot and I was bored.
I may have had my 'soul' back, but that sure as hell didn't mean I was going to sit around knitting and drinking lemonade all fucking day. I could have been partying it up in one of the many dives and clubs that this town held, but I had to assume Klaus had eyes everywhere, and so I was stuck doing my actual God damn job.
I prowled along the wall of the back alley I was stashed in, patchy old coat thrown haphazardly over my shoulders, succeeding in blending me in with the local population.
"Go hang out in Mexico, he says. It'll be like a holiday, he says," I muttered sourly, tipping my head back against the wall, halfheartedly listening to the sounds of the party happening within. I'd successfully located the Calaveras, in fact I'd found them within the first twenty minutes of arriving in town.
I couldn't get inside – I'd learned that the hard way. I could enter the club, but anything beyond that was blocked off, preventing me from getting in with a massive, invisible, annoying-as-fuck barrier.
It had been days since I'd arrived – by coach, since Klaus was too much of a bastard to even spring for business. Dick.
The most I'd gotten was a voice message telling me 'not to fuck up' before all lines of communication were cut off and I was left – metaphorically – in the dark.
"He, are you okay?" an accented voice pulled me from my thoughts, coming from right in front of me.
Some young kid was standing before me, staring at me like he thought I'd escaped a mental institute. "Leave," I instructed him sharply, meeting his eyes with a glare. Being in close quarters with humans was no good for either party right now, what with my tolerance still so lowered and me being in such a cranky mood.
Only, the human didn't move.
The compulsion wasn't fucking working.
"I said leave," I snarled as threateningly as I possibly could without bringing my fangs into the picture. He didn't move, just continued to stare at me like he was considering calling someone for help.
I understood – I hadn't brushed my hair in days, and my clothes were chosen specifically so people assumed I was homeless. I didn't look any different to the hundred other homeless guys in town, but apparently my pretty face earned me special consideration.
"Look, I can call someone-"
In a flash I was on my feet, snarling furiously as I grasped the well-meaning kid by the lapel, forcefully dragging him from the alley and roughly tossing him out into the moonlight as I held my breath, hoping I had the strength to resist the call of his scent.
He stumbled out into the town square, just barely catching himself before he fell to his knees.
"Just stay out-" I began to shout, only to completely freeze as I caught an achingly familiar scent on the wind.
Chocolate and mint.
My frozen heart seemed to leap, and I stopped breathing altogether, though this time not by choice. My eyes began to sting and my jaw ached with the need to cry.
What was he doing in motherfucking Mexico?
He was the absolute last person I expected to run into down here. My dark, pained eyes swept the court, jumping from person to person, desperate to lock on to the person, the only person I wanted to see, and who I couldn't see, ever again.
Stiles looked happy, which killed me, but I had to reason that wanting him not to be happy made me an even worse excuse for a person, so I decided to be glad of that fact and move on. He was with Lydia, they were heading across to the building my alley was linked to, heading towards the Calaveras. That was the only explanation, they had no other ties to this world, after all.
Almost as though sensing my eyes on them, Stiles looked up abruptly, right at where I was standing. I dove out of the way, flattening myself against the wall and blending into the shadows in a way only one of my kind could.
I listened intently to the sound of his heartbeat, because suddenly it was the only sound I could hear.
It raced, speeding up more with every passing second. "You okay?" Lydia's sweet voice asked him, sounding concerned as it broke through the sound of his pounding heart.
"I thought I saw..." he trailed off, sounding suddenly breathless. My hands tightened into fists, my nails biting into my skin uncomfortably, but I didn't move an inch. "Never mind," he suddenly breathed, sounding curiously hopeless. "Let's go."
I listened as they moved to the entrance to the club, my heart in my throat, seeming to choke me as it sat there. They took a moment to get in, and I couldn't look around the corner without risking being spotted. Once they went in, I couldn't help them – they were on their own.
I wanted to call out, wanted to stop them and find out what their plan was, but for the life of me I couldn't make my body move. I stood frozen, focused on the sound of Stiles' steadily slowing heart until it disappeared into the building, and I was left, once more, alone.
I figured they'd be out eventually, whatever they were doing shouldn't have taken long. I hadn't noticed anyone else wander in after them, which could only mean they'd come before. And surely they had come, because it would be suicide to go in by themselves.
But then hours began to pass, and I could hear nothing over the thrash of dance music. More hours passed, nobody left the building, and I began to get anxious.
I wrestled with myself. Could I face them? If it was face them or let them die, I obviously chose to face them. But how did I know they weren't going to get out just fine without my help.
I knew the answer instantaneously: I couldn't take that chance.
As afraid as I was, they were the closest thing to family I had left. Wasn't that sad?
"I can't believe I'm doing this," I muttered to myself in sheer disbelief. I smacked my head against the wall twice before cracking my knuckles and walking straight out of my safe little haven.
The men at the door seemed unaffected by my presence.
"Let me guess, there's a secret password?" I drawled lazily, standing with my hips jutted out and my muscles coiled in preparation. The men didn't so much as blink. "You wanna let me in, or are we gonna do this the hard way?" I asked them, glancing up at the camera in the corner purposefully. I would almost assume the guards were robots, they didn't move a muscle. "Hard way it is," I shrugged like it made no difference to me. It did though – that meant it was going to be hard for me too.
Cricking my neck one final time, I let the blood drain to my eyes and my fangs to slip free of my gums. I slid into a crouch, snarling ferociously at the pair, who finally jumped into action. I put up a tiny fight – it had to be somewhat realistic – getting in a light punch or two for show as I waited for them to make a real move.
It was then I felt the sting of a syringe in my neck and the burning sensation of vervain as the poison crept through my veins.
"Son of a bitch," I cursed quietly, even though I'd known it was coming. My body dropped to the ground, every inch of my skin seeming to be on fire. I hissed, cursing up a storm in my head as I felt two arms grasp me and drag me inside.
"Come in, Juliet Adams," an old, accented voice spoke, and somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered how they'd known my real name, but I didn't give it much thought as I was dragged through back halls by my arms, one hand twisted painfully in my hair.
I didn't even have time to worry about facing the others, everything was a haze and everything burned.
"I believe this is yours?" the same voice spat as a door was opened and I was unceremoniously thrown into a damp room where I could hear four appetising hearts pumping under thin layers of skin. "I don't appreciate being lied to. And I don't take kindly to threats from idiotic vampires."
The door was slammed shut again, and I groaned, slowly pushing myself up onto my elbows, raising my head and looking at the quartet of people in the room. "Hey," I greeted them casually, as though I didn't feel half dead and as though grief mixed with guilt wasn't eating me alive from the inside.
They stared, and stared, and then they stared some more.
I groaned, forcing myself to my knees, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, trying to battle the pain still dripping through my every vein.
"Jules?!" Scott gasped, like he was only just figuring out it was me.
Pain ricocheted through me at the sound of my friend's voice, and the look in their eyes. Scott looked shocked, Kira surprised, Malia curious and Stiles...haunted. Just when I thought the pain couldn't get any worse, it turned the dial up to agony.
I decided to just keep from looking at Stiles all together. It was probably for the best; to minimise the damage.
"Where have you been?" the alpha asked, for once actually sounding demanding. Maybe he was finally growing into his new title.
"Here and there," I answered tiredly, already regretting the entire endeavour now that I was inside and nobody was getting tortured. Scott's eyes narrowed, clearly I hadn't given the answer he was looking for. "Spent most of the holidays in New York," I told him, unsteadily getting to my feet, holding onto the wall for help.
"Why are you dressed like a hobo?" Malia asked bluntly.
I clicked my tongue at the girl, who stared back at me impassively. "I'm undercover," I replied with a shrug that made me wince. "Had to keep a 'low profile' as you kids say."
"...Literally everyone says that," Kira injected.
I grit my teeth, both against the girl and the agonising poison making it's way through my body. "It's so hard to keep up with fads, just leave me alone," I grumbled, reaching up to press a hand over my chest where the ache was the most intense.
"What is she talking about?" Malia whispered to Stiles, whose heart seemed about ready to leap out of it's chest cavity with how wildly it was beating.
"She...she tends to ramble...when she's poisoned with-um-vervain..." Stiles stammered factually, like he'd read a book on 'The Idiosyncrasies of Juliet Adams'. I still didn't meet his gaze, instead focusing on Scott, who was apparently still getting over the shock of my appearance.
"So...what are you doing in Mexico?" the wolf finally asked, confusion spread across his features.
"I think the better question is: what are you doing in Mexico?" I countered quickly.
"He asked you first," Stiles said, sounding surprisingly confident considering how his heart was stuttering.
I turned my head in his direction but kept my eyes focused on Scott. "I asked him second."
"That's not-"
"We're looking for Derek," Scott answered me, familiar puppy-dog eyes glistening with emotion as he watched me.
"Derek's missing?" I asked, surprised by the information.
"He's not here?" he questioned in shock, like I would know.
I shrugged unhelpfully. "I haven't been inside or anything, I'd just been keeping tabs from the alley outside. I honestly wouldn't know."
"And is that why you're here? To keep tabs on the Calaveras?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but at the last second glanced up at the camera blinking at us from the corner. I hesitated, wondering how to reply without saying anything the hunters would understand.
"A not-so-friendly-friend cornered me in Brooklyn," I told them, meeting Scott's eyes pointedly. "Asked me to come keep an eye on things."
"And you just came?" Scott asked doubtfully, knowing me well enough to know it wasn't in my nature to do as I was told.
I smirked, but I was too tired to make it anything more than a quirk of my lips, the expression never reaching my eyes. "Let's just say that I owed him a favour," I said meaningfully, and instantly two of the four tensed, realising the weight of what I was saying.
"What does that mean?" Malia snapped impatiently, arms crossed over her chest as she glared at me suspiciously.
"It doesn't matter," I retorted quickly, not in the mood to explain, particularly with a camera listening to my every word. "What does matter is that I'm here, and so far, so good."
Kira shifted awkwardly, looking over at me warily. "So you're not...evil anymore?" she whispered the word like it was a curse.
A stab of pain ricocheted through me, and I couldn't stop the wince from travelling across my face. I rolled my shoulders, schooling my features, aiming for nonchalant. "That depends on your definition of evil, Vixen," I threw in a wink for good measure, hoping it masked the pain in my gaze.
"What did you just call me-?"
"So you...you're you again?" It was Stiles who spoke this time, surprising me greatly with the strange vulnerability in his voice.
I didn't want to look at him, but I found I couldn't help myself. I met his honey gaze, honesty overflowing in my own. "Yes," I answered him gently, eyes flickering over his smooth skin, more pale than usual, and melted at the sight of the constellations of moles littered over his cheeks.
He didn't seem to know how to answer me. He swallowed, and my eyes followed the dip of his adams apple, breathing in and identifying his scent in the room so packed with other people.
I waited for him to speak, giving him the time he so clearly needed to collect his thoughts.
He eventually opened his mouth, finally prepared to respond, only for footsteps outside the heavy door meeting my ears. I cut him off with an urgent hiss, and he stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes before I spun around, fixing my gaze to the door.
It was yanked open, a group of men barging into the room, weapons in hand.
"Can we help you, gentlemen?" I asked them casually, and the one in front – clearly the leader – shot me an ugly sneer.
"The kitsune and alpha are coming with us," he growled, voice accented and scratchy.
"Will we get them back?" I countered quickly.
He smirked, and I realised that on the wrong person, that particular expression could be really fucking ugly. "More or less," he spat, leer in his beady black eyes.
I stood to my full height – it wasn't that much of a difference, I was on the shorter side as it was, but I added effect by barring my fangs threateningly. "If you want them, you're going to have to come in here and take them," I told them simply, the words snarled around my fangs.
The two gooneys behind him pulled out handguns that I had no doubt were filled with wooden bullets. I held back a sigh, but I was prepared for this fight – because like hell was I going to let them take Scott out of my sight. Who knew what kind of creepy torture shit they were going to subject him to?
"Jules," the alpha himself spoke up from behind me, and I took a risk as I peeked over my shoulder, taking my eyes off the thugs for one long moment. His puppy dog eyes were focused on the men, intelligence sparking in his gaze. "It's okay," he said reassuringly. "We'll go with you," he clearly spoke to the hunters now.
"Uh, Scott," I murmured through gritted teeth. "What are you doing?"
"We need to do this," he said calmly, reaching out a hand to Kira, who took it with shaking fingers. "We'll be back soon."
I sensed more than heard the order, and a stubborn part of me reared it's head, demanding that I do the opposite of what I was told. That part of me wasn't easy to silence, but it was for Scott, so I pushed it down and stepped away, allowing my fangs to disappear though I continued to glare warningly at the hunters.
The men grabbed the teens roughly, shoving them from the room and shooting me victorious sneers before the doors once more slammed shut in our faces.
I sighed, letting my tense, coiled muscles relax. There was a beat of silence and I focused on the sounds of two racing hearts from behind me, suddenly realising the less than savoury situation I was suddenly and abruptly thrown into.
I was stuck in a room with Stiles – no Scott to use as a buffer. I slowly turned around, my gaze falling on Stiles, who was staring back at me with wild, confused eyes. I glanced over at the one person left in the room with us. Malia didn't appear awkward, instead she seemed irritated, glaring fiercely across at me, arms crossed over her chest.
"So," I began, crossing my own arms if only for something to do with my hands, "how've you been?"
Stiles seemed to explode all at once, disbelief and outrage appearing on his beautiful face, honey eyes lighting up with barely contained fury.
"How have I been?" he hissed incredulously, and I actually had to stop myself from flinching back at the icy venom in his tone. "That's what you choose to go with?"
"What else am I supposed to say, Stiles?" I demanded defensively, feeling my own pride rear it's head in my chest; that basic instinct telling me to maintain the upper hand.
"It's been over a month, Juliet!"
"I know that."
"And you've been, what? Living it up in a deluxe suite in NYC? Hanging out with Klaus?" he asked bitterly, almost like he was jealous, which made a spark of hope ignite within me. Maybe he wouldn't hate me forever; how could he if he was feeling jealous over me?
"That's not what it was like, Stiles," I murmured, the pride in my tone and in my voice dropping from existence.
"Tell me then!" he insisted loudly, still riled up. "Tell me what the oh so great vampire, Juliet Adams, was doing on her vacation to the windy city!"
"What happened to the messages of love and hope? What happened to begging me to come back?" I snapped, rearing back defensively, a pained frown on my face and an immovable ache in my hollow chest. "Suddenly all that positivity's just gone? And what's left in it's place? Anger? Betrayal?" I demanded furiously, feeling betrayed by myself when my eyes began to burn with unshed tears.
"Yes!" he spat, and I wasn't sure whether the fact that his eyes were watering made me happier or sadder.
"What do you want me to say?" I pressed desperately, my feet moving of their own accord, taking several large steps in his direction, my eyes focused on his glistening eyes and taking note of his heaving chest.
"An apology wouldn't be a bad start."
"I'm sorry!" the words were screamed more than they were spoken, but that only made them all the more sincere. With them, the floodgates were opened, and finally a tear trailed down my left cheek. I didn't wipe at it, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention to the embarrassing slip up. "I'm sorry," this time the words were quieter, murmured to my old lover earnestly. My lips quivered, and I cast a glance over Stiles' shoulder at Malia who was watching us through narrowed, suspicious eyes.
Her presence made me uncomfortable, but there was little I could do, so I decided to ignore it for the time being, turning my focus back to a trembling Stiles. He looked torn between heartbreak and outrage, and neither were my desired reaction. I wanted to step closer, wrap my arms around him and hold him to me until he pushed me off.
I almost did, too. I reached out my hands, but paused as I caught sight of them in the painfully bright overhead lighting.
To a human's eyes there was nothing amiss, but vampire eyes were different – and if there was one thing they could see beyond anything else, it was the stain of spilled blood. My hands were covered with it, I'd spent weeks under the spray of a shower, trying to rid myself of the stains and smells of bloodshed, but they remained, as stubborn as myself.
Hands as dirty as mine belonged nowhere near a soul as pure as Stiles'.
"I don't think that's going to be enough this time," the kid himself finally spoke, lip trembling before he sucked it into his mouth, hiding it from view as he reminded me of the conversation currently taking place.
"I wouldn't expect it to be," I responded honestly, feeling as though my already shattered heart was breaking into even smaller shards than I thought possible. My voice was as hollow as me, my throat raw and dry. I swallowed, yet it did nothing but irritate me more.
Stiles was silent for a beat, watching me closely as though looking for signs that I was going to make a run for it or something equally as stupid. "What were you really doing in New York the past month?" he eventually asked, nostrils flaring with restrained emotion.
"Moping, hiding, licking my wounds," I listed bitterly, reaching up to brush my hair from my face. "Take your pick." I paused, considering the boy carefully. "How are you?" I couldn't help but ask, the concern showing in my anxious expression.
"Terrible," he answered honestly, pain in his whiskey eyes. It killed me, it truly and honestly did. The worst part was that I didn't know how to fix it; I didn't know if it could be fixed. I didn't know if I wanted to. "So you didn't come here for me – us?" he corrected himself quickly, brow furrowed as he swallowed against the emotion.
"I would have, if I'd known you'd be here."
"Is that a lie?"
"Maybe."
He sighed, leaning his weight against the tiled pillar behind him, pressing his fingertips to the bridge of his nose.
"So, why did you leave again?" Malia was the one to speak up now, her words blunt and unashamedly curious. "I tried asking Stiles, but he clams up whenever anyone says your name. And the others just tell me I need to ask him. It's getting annoying as fuck. I want a straight answer."
I appraised her closely, considering her words as I saw Stiles wince in my peripheral vision. "You know I went dark?" I spoke just as bluntly, crossing my arms over my chest and drawing myself up to my full but not quite intimidating height.
"You lost your soul, right?"
"Something to that effect." She was silent, waiting for my answer impatiently, foot tapping against the dirty tiles covering the floor. "I did some shitty things. Killed a whole bunch of people – ate most of them, started a whole lot of fights, joined forces with a demonic spirit possessing my human boyfriend," I listed off my trespasses casually, as though every single word wasn't a stake to the heart. "Imagine how bad things could get, then times it by eighty."
"Bad like 'locked-in-a-creepy-basement-in-the-middle-of-Mexico-while-half-our-group-gets-tortured-by-psychotic-hunters' bad?" she asked, quite obviously more than unimpressed by my explanation.
I suppose that did put things into perspective. Maybe up wasn't the only place to go from here. What a depressing thought.
"I like you," I said in place of any sincere thoughts, forcing an amused smirk to flicker at my lips, though it was short lived.
"Thank God," she responded dryly, the picture of apathy. I snorted, eyes flickering over her form, wondering what sort of progress the girl had made since turning back into a human.
"Are the others all okay?" I asked Stiles, deciding to give the brilliantly sour girl some space. "Melissa and your dad? Chris and Isaac?"
"Melissa and my dad are fine, they think we're camping," Stiles told me, voice rough like he was suppressing emotion, which I decided to overlook. "But Chris and Isaac-" he paused, pain twisting his face into an agonised frown. "They couldn't stick around; not after..."
I swallowed my own emotion, feeling a wave of pain that may as well have been liquid vervain travelling through my veins, clenching my teeth together so tightly that it made my jaw ache. "Not after Allison," I finished, biting down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted my own blood.
I wanted to dive into a pool of gasoline then light myself on fire. I wanted to drop into a pit of vervain laced stakes. I wanted to toss my daylight ring into the Mariana Trench then wait for the sun's rays to consume me. But more than anything, I wanted to switch off my emotions. I wanted to go back to feeling nothing but pleasure and lust.
One look at Stiles was all it took for me to realise that wasn't an option.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice hoarse. "About Allison," I added as though he didn't know what I meant. I choked up, but thankfully stopped myself from making any pathetic sounds. "I'm so sorry." I thought of my friend's dark ebony hair – so like mine – and her patient brown eyes. I thought of her spirit and her bravery.
I thought about how I didn't get to say goodbye.
I was a monster.
I didn't meet Stiles' eyes, I couldn't. I couldn't face him; I was filled with too much shame. He took a breath in, as though he was going to speak, but suddenly we were plunged into darkness as the lights flickered off, staying that way for a beat before flickering back on, only to repeat the process over and over again.
I tilted my head as I reached out with my mind and ears, searching for Scott's familiar presence. I'd been so caught up in Stiles that I'd forgotten to keep tabs on the others.
"It's Scott," I mumbled in a panic, wincing as I listened to him scream along with the irritating hum of electricity.
"They're killing him," Malia added with a frown, clearly struggling to hear through the thick walls. She dropped to the floor, grimacing as she collapsed under the weight of the sounds.
The scream got louder and louder, until finally it crescendoed into a furious roar, Scott howling with unrestrained power.
"Say the name, Scott."
There was a pregnant pause, then Scott murmured, "Kate."
Malia glanced up and met my eyes at the same time I met hers. She looked nothing but bewildered, whereas I was certain I looked shocked to the core.
"He said, 'Kate'." Malia was the one to tell Stiles, and the kid, who was crouched at her side, sat back on his haunches. He took a moment to suck in a breath before he turned his gaze to me. I met his eyes, nodding my head ever so slightly in affirmation.
"That's impossible, that can't be what he said," he wanted to deny it as badly as I did.
"Why? Who's Kate?" Malia demanded confusedly.
"She's a hunter," he responded hoarsely. "An Argent."
"An Argent?" she repeated dumbly. "As in...?"
"Exactly as in. She's Allison's aunt."
"Not to mention," I added, my tone as cold as ice, "we were there when she died."
