There's something so rare in your veins
Not a single thing I would change
And oh, if you only knew
How I see you
Would you come alive again
I need you to understand
I don't mind your shadows
'Cause they disappear in the light
I don't mind your shadows
'Cause they look a lot like mine
And listen to me
It's okay to be afraid
Just walk like you're never alone
Shadows – Sabrina Carpenter
Things over the next week fell into a rather monotonous routine. I woke up, fed from my month-old blood stock and cleaned my house. I wasn't generally a tidy person, but over the month I had been away, my house had been left untouched. The food in my kitchen had gone off, leaving a terrible smell to waft through the house any time I opened the door, and a thin layer of dust coated everything, making my nose itch when I breathed in.
I cleaned at a human's pace, trying to make the work last, knowing otherwise I'd have it done in less than a day; then what would I do with myself?
Nobody came to visit me. Not Scott, not Derek, and certainly not Stiles.
It was better that way – or at least, that's what I kept telling myself.
I didn't want to go back to school, not even a little bit. I was planning to stay home, watch some TV and train, work on my reflexes and strength – because, like anyone, even a vampire was improved by exercise.
It wasn't until January 3rd that I changed my mind, or rather, that it was changed for me.
I hadn't been expecting anybody to knock at my door, much less Lydia Martin. I blinked at her in surprise, foot tapping at my floorboards as I waited for her to say something. What could she have possibly wanted?
"Yes?" I finally asked after a long minute of deafening silence, during which she did nothing but stare at me, her large eyes careful and calculating.
"May I come in?" she asked politely, her voice gentle. Strawberry-blonde hair glinted in the sunlight, and she had a light pink colour smeared over her lips. She smelled faintly of cherry-blossoms, and I felt myself salivate ever so slightly before I bit my tongue until I tasted blood.
I said nothing, stepping aside and allowing her entry, pushing the door closed with a soft click before turning and following her further into my house.
She came to a stop in the middle of my living room, eyes sliding over my furniture as though assessing how I lived. As far as I could remember, she hadn't ever visited my humble abode before. I wandered what she thought of the knife collection hanging like treasured mementos along the far wall. "What are your plans?" she asked without preamble, spinning on her heel and fixing me with a tense, searching look that I wasn't used to seeing from her. Perhaps she'd grown more in the past few months than I'd given her credit for.
I wasn't exactly sure what she was asking, so I elected to remain silent, eyeing her cautiously.
"Are you staying in Beacon Hills, or are you going to get scared and run again?" she questioned harshly, and defiant glint to her usually soft eyes.
My eyebrows raised in surprised interest at her sheer nerve. "Excuse me?" I asked her carefully, my own eyes glinting with challenge.
"If you're going to go, then just go," she said, her voice was somehow calm and sharp in the same instant. "Don't dangle hope in front of Stiles' face just to rip it away when you get sick of small town life," she growled, an awkward edge to her body language. I got the feeling she didn't do this often. She was strong, but she definitely wasn't confrontational.
"I'm not dangling anything," I told her with impressive calm, crossing my arms over my chest. "This is my home."
"And what are you doing here?" she pressed. "You don't have a job. You haven't left the house since you got here. Nobody's heard a word out of you. We weren't even sure you were alive."
"Concerned?" I teased through a smirk.
"Pissed off," she corrected sharply, and my eyebrows raised curiously.
"Why are you so protective of Stiles, anyway?" I asked, a sudden jealousy – which I knew I had no right to feel – rearing it's ugly green head from deep inside my gut. "Are the two of you..." I trailed off, the implication obvious. He'd loved her before he knew what the word meant, he'd wanted her since forever, perhaps he'd finally gotten his wish.
"He's my friend," she snapped, chin tilted up intransigently, eyes just daring me to question it. I wasn't sure whether that was true, even though her heart didn't so much as stutter as it would have were it a lie. "He's been there, through thick and thin. He's been reliable. Unlike you."
"I'm not going to apologise," I told her darkly, growing irritated. "I did what was best, for everyone."
"You don't get to make that call," she replied tersely. "Not alone."
I considered her carefully, my eyes sweeping her form, taking in her black skirt and dark red shirt, observing the way she stood, her body language screaming annoyance and perhaps a hint of indignation. "And you're an expert, are you?" I asked, my voice silky smooth.
She narrowed her eyes, contemplating the situation and how to respond. I could practically hear the cogs in her mind turning over, and there was a sudden spark of something in her eyes that I couldn't place.
"You did some awful things; I get it," she finally spoke, and her words had me locked down faster than she could react. I clenched my jaw, my gaze turning dangerous as my hands balled into white-knuckled fists. I stopped breathing altogether, watching her every move, monitoring every blip of her steady but racing heart. "But guess what? The world doesn't revolve around you."
"Be very careful, Lydia," I warned her in a growl, but she didn't so much as blink an eye, too used to running with wolves to be worried by a vampire.
"You've hurt people," she continued boldly. "So have a lot of us. We don't let it ruin us, we move forwards. You need to own that shit," she said strongly, and I blinked in surprise at the harsh language, "instead of sitting here, stewing in your guilt like a pathetic little child."
I had the sudden urge to laugh, but it was coming from a hysterical place, rather than from any kind of actual amusement.
The indignation in her eyes suddenly dropped, giving way to a sort of pity that made me feel like pure shit. "You need to keep moving, Jules," she said gently, as though we were actually friends. "This isn't healthy, and it isn't helping things." I wasn't sure what to say, staring back at her unblinkingly. "The school thinks you're either a drug addict or dead, they filed a police report when you stopped showing up, but the Sheriff made it go away, so you're in the clear," she informed me softly. "Come back, compel them to believe whatever cover story you decide to contrive, and blend back into society."
"That's not a good idea," I'd spoken without thinking, the refusal more an instinct than an opinion.
"Says who?"
Stiles, I wanted to say, but I wasn't sure that would help my case. It would be hard, seeing him every day, living life, without me. I wanted to be close, but I couldn't handle being that close.
"He wants to see you," she said, and my gaze snapped back to her sharply.
"What are you now, a mind reader?" I hissed defensively, but she seemed unbothered by my whole tough-guy charade.
"Nope, still a banshee," she replied lightly, like we were discussing something as inconsequential as the weather. "Things will go back to normal, given time," she assured me gently.
"What if I don't want them to?" I countered quickly, a scowl sitting uncomfortably on my face.
"I think we both know that's a lie," she responded, a soft smile on her lips. I felt the urge to hit her, do something, anything that might relieve the angry tension building in my body. But I would never, I was better than that, and she didn't deserve it. Not really. "The only way to heal, is to move forwards."
I chuckled in a sharp, unamused bark. "Can't heal what's already scarred over."
Lydia cocked her head. "I don't think it has scarred over, not yet," she told me, a knowing glint to her luminescent eyes. "I think it's still an open wound – and the wound is the place where the light enters you."
"Jalaluddin Rumi," I recognised the quote instantly, picking it from my extensive memory with a surprised hum.
Lydia looked just as shocked that I'd known it's origin. "Yes," she nodded, a smile beginning to grow on her lips. "You will move passed this, Juliet," she said softly. "And you're not alone."
I grit my teeth again. "I certainly feel it," I told her with a scoff, immediately horrified that I'd admitted as much, biting my tongue again in punishment.
The look in her eyes turned pitying, making me bite down harder. She seemed to sense my stricken feelings, smoothing her hands down the front of her outfit as though it weren't already perfectly pressed. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?" she finally asked.
I wanted to say no, but the girl was smart – much smarter than I ever wanted to admit. I did want things to return to how they were; not necessarily between Stiles and I, but I longed to be part of the pack again. I knew that wasn't going to happen with me cooped up in my house like an agoraphobic hermit. I exhaled sharply through my nose, reaching up with a hand to irritatedly brush my long, raven hair from my face, gripping it tightly like an anchor, tethering me to sanity.
"I'll see you at school tomorrow," I agreed with a reluctant grumble, and the banshee smiled, the expression surprisingly lacking a victorious glint, instead presenting nothing but pure happiness, like she would be happy if I were happy. That was odd. We'd never even been close to the realm of 'friends'.
"Do you need help picking out an outfit?" she asked suddenly.
I grimaced. "Let's not push it," I murmured, and surprisingly the banshee gave a little laugh, the sound lighthearted. I realised I hadn't heard her laugh much. She was refined and contained, but when she smiled she lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. I could suddenly see what Stiles found so charming about her.
Despite months and months of blatant hostility, I couldn't help the way my lips curled up in a small smile in response to her laugh. Maybe we could make friends of ourselves yet.
"I'll leave you alone," she told me a moment later, turning and stepping passed me, heading for my font door. I remained in the doorway, watching her leave cautiously. "You're going to be okay, Jules," she assured me, her hand still on the doorknob. I wasn't sure what to make of the comment, so I merely stared back unflinchingly until she smiled like I'd reacted exactly as she'd expected, turning and leaving my house with a straight spine and a satisfied smile.
My encounter with Lydia left me shaken somewhat, I didn't like conversing with people when I didn't have the upper hand; I didn't like the vulnerable position it left me in. However disconcerting the conversation may have been, it also left me with an odd sort of peace, like a part of me actually believed everything she'd said.
I spent a lot of that night in the bath, listening to jazz and sipping cheap wine, refilling the tub every time the water dropped below 98˚, only enjoying it when it was scolding hot – the only temperature my chilled skin could feel.
I didn't sleep, instead drinking the last of my blood supply and finishing the last touches on cleaning my house. It was spotless, so much so that you couldn't even tell that a good dozen people had died within it's walls. If I believed in God, I may have sent a prayer to heaven for those lost to my weakness.
I dressed in a pair of worn red jeans, forcing my feet into my shabby old boots and throwing on a simple black tee with some kind of logo on the front, then running a brush through my hair. I couldn't be bothered to do more, merely scrubbing my teeth and checking I had at least one pen in my bag before leaving the house.
I ended up keeping the car I stole. Walking around town didn't seem as appealing as it once had, not without Stiles offering to drive me places. So I switched the plates to keep the cops off my ass and kept it. I hadn't driven in a long time, but my journey from Mexico to Beacon Hills had more than warmed me up.
The misappropriated car wasn't the best machine ever built; it was rickety and rusted, and every now and again it backfired loudly, but it got me from point A to point B, and it kept the rain out, so I was happy to keep it.
Though, it was without a doubt the shittiest car in Beacon Hill High's parking lot. I tilted my chin up as the exhaust gave a deafening bang, stubbornly sliding a pair of worn sunglasses onto my face and climbing out. I didn't bother locking it, if someone cared enough to hot wire the thing, they could have it.
People stared as I arrived, my mostly-empty bag swinging against my side as I strode with faked confidence up to the front doors. I could hear the whispers echoing around me like gunshots, but I grit my teeth and suffered through it, strutting through the doors with forged dignity.
"I heard she got hooked on crack and moved to LA to be closer to her dealer."
"I heard Isaac Lahey knocked her up and she followed him to France to birth their lovechild."
"Monica told me she got caught doing underage porn..."
"But did you hear how she totally broke that Stiles guy's heart? Yeah, she like, hooked up with another guy or something. He was a total wreck. I guess that's what he gets for fucking around with a certified skank like her-"
The last one made me crack, I couldn't rein myself in. With a snap that humans couldn't see, the girl was held up by her shirt, pressed against the wall in a way that was the exact opposite of sexy. She had short blonde hair and her blue eyes were more than a little terrified as she whimpered from under my tight grip.
"You ever talk about Stiles or I like that ever again, I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to feral dogs," I threatened without blinking, and she whimpered again. The sound was entrancing, and in a flash my attention was dragged to the steady but fast thumping of her pulse – so delicate her jugular was, just millimetres beneath soft, thin skin...she smelt faintly of coconut...
"Jules!" a voice, quite literally, barked and with a loud gasp I dropped the nameless bitch in my grip. She collapsed to the ground in a heap, and was quick to stumble to her feet and scurrying away like a rat. I took a deep, calming breath, steadying myself before I slowly turned around, meeting Scott's warm brown eyes.
"Hey," I greeted him quietly, unable to hold his gaze, too ashamed of myself.
"What was that?" He didn't seem angry, but he didn't see all too pleased, either.
"She made a remark about Stiles..." I admitted reluctantly, reaching up to rub at my eyes, glad I hadn't bothered with makeup that morning. "It was stupid," I hissed, gritting my teeth for a beat, hoping the guilt would fade. It didn't. "Sorry," I said sincerely, finally glancing back up at the alpha, who was watching me through sympathetic eyes.
He glanced over his shoulder and the small crowd that had gathered quickly dispersed. He stepped closer, reaching up to squeeze my shoulder in a way that was surprisingly comforting. "Are you sure you're ready to be back at school?" he asked gently. "If it's too much for you, you can always take some more time-"
"I'm not sure I'll ever really be ready, Scott," I told him quietly. Crossing my arms over my chest and taking another unnecessary breath. His wet-dog scent was comforting, like a brother's might be, and I felt nostalgic for the old days when it was just him, me and Stiles against the world.
"You can't just attack anyone who ticks you off, Jules," he told me seriously, ducking down to look in my eyes. More ashamed than ever, I nodded like I were a chastised toddler. "What are you doing here?" he asked, keeping his hand on my shoulder, his grip anchoring me to the moment.
"Trying to get back to normal," I told him.
"I don't know if things will ever be the same again, Juliet," he said it like he regretted the fact, but that didn't make it any less true. "I think you need to find a new normal," he suggested softly.
Fear struck me like lightning, and I swallowed against the stab of pain I felt. "You want me to leave?" I asked hollowly, blinking up at him, willing myself not to cry like a pitiful human. Dammit, I was stronger than this!
"Of course not," he told me hurriedly, his other hand coming up to join the one already on my shoulder. He held me at arm's length, ducked down slightly so he could see into my eyes. Reluctantly, I held his gaze. "None of us want you to leave, Jules," he assured me, squeezing me to make sure I got the message. "You're family, and we want you here, no matter what."
"Even if I'm a soulless, bloodlust-driven, serial killer?" I asked bitterly, and though the mention of my recent blunder made a hint of awkwardness worm it's way into the conversation, he remained firm, squeezing my shoulders again and keeping his eyes on mine.
"You're healing," he told me, sounding as confident in his words as he possibly could given the circumstances. "You relapsed, it happens to every addict at one point or another." I didn't agree, but I also didn't argue. Probably because I so desperately wanted to believe him.
That's what I was, I remembered with a grimace of self-loathing: an addict.
"We want you here," Scott repeated gently, pulling me from my thoughts before they could spiral. "But Jules, nobody else can die," he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice to ensure the humans wouldn't overhear. "No one person. Okay?"
I nodded instantly – I would have agreed to anything to get permission to stay.
"Don't be a stranger," he told me as the bell above our heads began to ring, the sound uncomfortable and jarring, making Scott remove his hands and step back, adjusting the strap of his backpack on his shoulder.
"Get to class, teen wolf," I prompted him as lightly as I could manage, giving him a tiny nudge in the other direction. He smiled at me, eyes shining as they so often did. He turned and disappeared around the corner, heading for his English class.
I had Art class next; it was slow going, but it was an excuse to zone out for three quarters of an hour, so I happily endured it, humming to myself as a distraction from my own thoughts while I sketched a profile that looked remarkably like Stiles in the moonlight.
I was out soon enough, making my way to Econ – which I loathed – and that was when a figure slammed into my back, the person having been running full force down the hallway, not watching where they were going.
"Sorry!" Stiles' voice called, spinning around to fix me with an apologetic glance, only to comically freeze into place when he realised exactly who he's knocked into. "Oh, my God," he muttered, his already racing heart picking up even more, his eyes going wide. "Jules," he said, blinking in shock as he tried to process who he was seeing.
"What's wrong?" I decided not to beat around the bush, I was more interested in knowing where he was heading in such a desperate hurry.
"Um...I-" he stammered, rapidly blinking again as though he were checking I wasn't just an extremely realistic mirage.
"Stiles, what's going on?" I pressed, taking a step closer.
This was step one in getting things back to normal: pretend nothing was wrong, ignore the conversations needed and continue business as usual. Maybe not the most mature method of dealing with things, but 'mature' wasn't something I'd ever claimed to be. Besides, I was technically frozen at nineteen, it wasn't my fault I'd never fully grown-up.
"Uh, triple homicide," he finally answered me, seeming to get over the shock of my presence at school, though his heart continued to race, whether from the homicide or me, I couldn't tell.
"Who?" I asked, hoping it wasn't anyone he knew.
"Just a family in town," he revealed, glancing over my shoulder and jumping into action when he saw the person he'd no doubt been originally looking for. "Scott!" he exclaimed, and I spun around, watching as he bounded over to his best friend, who was making his way leisurely down the hall with Kira, both of them with shy little smiles on their faces.
"Guys, we have a problem," he said without preamble, startling both of them as they turned to look at him with wide eyes. "There's an axe murderer on the loose," he divulged as they continued to walk, and Kira's heart began to race.
"An axe murderer?" the young kitsune asked skeptically, clutching at the straps of her backpack tightly.
"A family murdering axe murderer," Stiles corrected in a rush.
"I...already heard about it," Scott admitted quietly, keeping his voice down so they didn't attract attention from the currently-oblivious humans passing us. I kept behind Stiles, breathing through my mouth in an effort to keep my hunger buried, listening intently and wondering how we were going to go about this task.
"What? You did? How?" Stiles demanded, dodging the oncoming foot traffic and coming to a stop near a bay of windows, natural light pouring into the crowded hall.
"Yeah, well mom called me – she knew we'd see it on the news," the teen wolf replied calmly.
"Perfect. Let's go."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Scott stopped him from leaving, a hesitant look on his face. "We've got Econ in five minutes."
I leant against the lockers, arms crossed as I kept my eyes focused on Stiles' face, watching his reaction. He blinked in surprise, not understanding what Scott was saying. "Right, did you forget the part about the family murdering axe murderer?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"Did you forget that your dad's the Sheriff?" the alpha countered dryly. "They want us to stay out of it," he revealed with a reluctant frown.
"Are you guys kidding me?" Stiles exclaimed. "There's a family-murdering axe murderer and we're not going to do anything about it?" he demanded furiously.
"Maybe we should just let the adults handle it?" Kira suggested hopefully, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
"So the two of you, you just wanna stay here...school...go to class...?" Stiles spat incredulously. "Never heard anything so irresponsible in my life." He spun around, storming off with impressive force.
"See you at tryouts?!" Scott called after him, but Stiles only responded with a flippant wave of his hands. I shot Scott a smile that was half faked, turning and rushing after the irritated human, catching up with laughable ease.
I said nothing for a long minute, merely walking alongside him silently, listening to the beating of his heart, the sound calming me better than any song ever could.
He glanced over casually and jumped back when he noticed me, not having realised I'd remained with him. "Sorry," I murmured apologetically, wincing as his pulse picked up again.
"Just, breathe or something," he told me frustratedly. "At least act human, would you?"
The words stung, although I wasn't totally sure why. I recoiled, head tilting down to my feet as I found myself unable to meet his eyes. His heart stuttered in his chest, but I didn't mention it or look up. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and sending his unique chocolate-and-mint smell swirling around me. I stopped breathing again, not wanting his delicious scent to tempt me.
"What's up?" he asked with forced politeness, crossing his arms and leaning back against the lockers. I noticed the crowd around us begin to thin, but I remained focused on him.
"I just wanted to let you know that...well, anything you want to do...in relation to the family murdering axe murderer, I mean...I'm in," I told him weakly, wincing as I spoke, hearing how horribly pathetic I sounded as I stammered through my words.
I didn't look up, not sure I wanted to see his reaction. Would he be pleased or annoyed by my involvement? Did he want me around at all?
He didn't do as I expected – he rarely ever did – and instead of recoiling he laughed, sagging down further like he was tired. "At least someone seems to care," he said bitterly. "Awfully ironic that it's you, though," he added, and again I winced, seeing the jibe for what it was – a dig at my blood-soaked past.
We said nothing for a long minute, the silence suddenly deafening, and I realised the halls had completely emptied, leaving entirely alone. I adjusted the strap of my bag, clearing my throat but finding I had no idea what to say.
"There's this kid, transferred this year," he began, surprising me once more. "He's crazy good at lacrosse. I'm talking supernaturally good." I nodded, finally dragging my eyes from his sneakers to his face, watching as he animatedly explained his predicament. "Maybe...maybe you could come to tryouts this afternoon? See for yourself, maybe you'll pick up on something that we missed."
"Okay," I agreed instantly. I'd been planning to go anyway, but it was even nicer to have a proper invitation.
"Good," he nodded.
"Good."
We were silent again.
"Come on," he said, turning on his heel and beginning to march in the other direction. "You can compel Coach to let us out of detention for being tardy."
Despite the awful tension, I laughed, following after him quickly as I smiled to myself. Maybe my life here wasn't as over as I'd once believed it to be. Maybe one day I would finally find redemption.
The bleachers were fairly empty when I appeared, but I figured I was early and more people would arrive eventually. I took a seat on a bench near the front, fishing the Twizzlers from my bag and beginning to chew on one absently, eyeing the empty field with boredom.
People began to arrive, all of whom giving me a wide berth, none keen on getting too close to me – not that I blamed them, my display in the hallway this morning was proof enough that I was mentally unstable. Plus, I was just kind of creepy.
I was surprised, then, when two people took a seat on my right, collapsing onto the bench and pulling out a book each. I looked over, raising an eyebrow in surprise as I noted it was Kira and Malia, the former looking nervous while the latter seemed bored.
"Um, hello?" I asked politely, wondering if they wanted something or were just being unnecessarily nice. Oh, how I loathed people who were unnecessarily nice.
"Kira saw you sitting alone and thought we should come sit by you," Malia told me bluntly, scowling out at the lacrosse field flatly. "She was too scared to sit beside you though," she added, referring to the fact that she was the one next to me while Kira was safely on her other side. The kitsune's face went a blotchy red.
"And you're not?" I challenged Malia, deciding to spare Kira the embarrassment of mentioning it.
The were-coyote snorted like I'd told a mildly amusing joke. "Not even slightly," she told me casually, and I couldn't help the smirk that lit up my face.
"Good to know," I murmured, but she didn't respond, cracking open her book and staring down at the page through narrowed eyes before giving up and turning her attention to the field where the boys were beginning to run drills. My eyes focused on Stiles like he was somehow magnetised to my eyes alone. I watched closely as he ran, watching the way his lithe muscles moved under his clothes. It made me hungry, and not for his blood.
I didn't have a right to think that way anymore, I told myself sternly, biting my tongue against the unearned urges.
"He hasn't shut up about you since you left," Malia spoke indifferently, like she were commenting on the state of the day and not revealing something that made my dead heart leap to life as though shocked.
"Really?" I aimed for nonchalant, but by the twitch of her lips I figured I hadn't hit it.
"It's been annoying, to be honest," she muttered, sounding kind of sour. "It's all 'Juliet used to do this' and 'Juliet likes that'. Ugh," she grunted, narrowed eyes focused out on the boys beginning to run laps. "If I hear your name one more time, I might just snap."
I didn't want to ask, mostly because I wasn't sure I wanted the answer, but I couldn't help myself. "So then, you two aren't..." I trailed off obviously, never removing my eyes from Stiles who was falling behind the group, beginning to pant excessively. However, I kept my ears tuned to Malia's heartbeat, monitoring for any signs of a lie.
"God no," she snorted again, reaching into my cannister of candy to pull out a Twizzler for herself, chewing on it without glancing my way. Were it anyone else I would have snapped their wrist in two, but I had to admit I had a strange kind of respect for Malia. Maybe it was because she killed her own family; because she knew what it was like to be a wild animal. "Stiles is the one person I don't wanna rip to shreds," she told me casually. "Most days, anyway."
Kira looked wary at the admission, but Malia didn't acknowledge her nervous stare, making me smirk.
"Okay," I nodded, taking another bite of my Twizzler, chewing on it thoughtfully.
There was a long, drawn out minute of silence where Kira's heart pounded loudly from within her chest. I wondered if she was going into cardiac arrest, but she didn't seem in pain, so I figured she'd alert us if she needed medical attention.
"What's wrong with you?" Malia asked the kitsune abruptly, her voice flat and annoyed.
"Me?" Kira squeaked, her pulse speeding up. I leaned around Malia to pin her with a look, one eyebrow cocked as I watched her closely. "Nothing," she said unconvincingly.
"You reek of anxiety," Malia deadpanned. I hadn't been breathing in an effort to not rip an unsuspecting human to shreds, but now I warily inhaled, taking in the subtle scent of anxiety that, coupled with her racing pulse, only confirmed her nervousness. "It's distracting," the were-coyote continued. "What's going on?"
Kira's dark eyes flickered over to me, but my expression remained impassive, patiently awaiting her explanation. "Scott and I sort of had this thing happen," she admitted in a rush. "But it wasn't much of a thing...and I'm starting to think it never was anything at all..."
"What do you want it to be?" Malia asked flatly.
Kira considered this for a long moment. "More," she eventually answered, staring across the field at Scott like a lovesick idiot. Though I supposed I wasn't really one to judge, I thought as I cast my own eyes over at Stiles, who was unsuccessfully trying to catch a ball with his lacrosse stick, his arms and legs flailing about like a seizing octopus.
The boys were absolutely dying out there...it was actually atrocious, I felt kind of embarrassed just watching them.
"Isn't the team captain supposed to be the best player...or, you know, good?" Kira asked tentatively, and I couldn't help but snort, leaning back on the bench and watching as Scott missed yet another shot.
"It's 'cause Scott's too much of a saint to consider using his...abilities...to get the shots," I said with a smirk. "And human Scott...let's just say he's not the most coordinated guy."
Kira sighed, staring over at a defeated looking Scott with worried eyes.
Stiles had been right about this one kid, however. He was good...too good. He made literally every single shot he took, and I was frustrated on the boys' behalf, watching through narrowed eyes as he continued to totally kick ass on the field. I inhaled, but was unable to catch any wolfish scents other than Scott himself.
The boys soon moved onto defence, protecting the goal – from what little I could tell – and Scott apparently decided he'd played enough Mr Nice Guy for the day. The amount of people he plowed down was impressive, and I didn't hold back as I cheered for them, easily the loudest person in the stands.
It wasn't until the 'perfect' kid took a crack at it that their streak ended, and I watched through narrowed eyes as the freshmen dodged the alpha with impossible skill, sending the ball flying into the net with a flick of his wrist.
I hissed, grinding my teeth together in frustration, wondering if Stiles would get mad at me if there was an 'accident' involving the freshman and a set of stairs, resulting in a few – non-life-threatening – broken bones. "That was luck!" Malia shouted, surprising me as she stood from where she was sat, waving her hand angrily at the Coach. "Do over!"
"Sweetheart, there are no 'do-overs'. This is practise," Coach smiled condescendingly. I sneered at him but he didn't look my way. My thoughts changed to physically harming him – surely nobody would think twice if he showed up to school with a black eye and no memory of it's cause.
"Ten bucks on Scott and Stiles!" Malia yelled back.
"Make it twenty!" I added enthusiastically, dropping my cannister of Twizzlers and standing to my feet, arms crossed defiantly as I stared Coach down, daring him to say no.
"I'll take that action," the teacher agreed with a leer, spinning around to the boys. "Hey! Get back in there, Liam!" he shouted at the kid, and I watched with bated breath as the freshman set himself up for another shot.
"Come on, teen wolf," I muttered as the boys prepared for battle. "Kick some ass."
He didn't respond, but by the twitch of his lips from underneath his helmet, I figured he'd caught it.
The Coach blew the whistle, and the kid I now knew to be Liam began to run at Scott and Stiles, shoes slapping at the dirt with force as he propelled himself towards the pair. He was fast, but definitely not to a supernatural standard – maybe he really was just that good...
Then Scott slammed into him loud enough for a crack to make it to my ears. My eyebrows hit my hairline as the freshman was catapulted over Scott's shoulder, slamming into the ground with a muted thud and a dull groan.
I cheered shrilly, clapping my hands loudly before registering that nobody else seemed as excited. "Shit," I murmured suddenly, realising he could have been seriously injured. Sometimes I forgot how fragile humans could be. I tilted my head and focused on the kid's chest, double checking that he had survived the encounter. His heart was beating steadily in his chest, and I sighed with relief.
"Don't touch him!" Coach bellowed as the other players crowded around the body. He was probably worried about spinal damage, which made sense.
With a grunt the kid climbed unsteadily to his feet. "I'm alright Coach! I'm fine," he was insisting, even as he winced against the pain. "Argh," he grunted, tripping to the ground before Scott caught him, tossing his arm over his shoulder, Stiles on his other side, the pair holding the younger boy up. "It's my leg," the freshman admitted warily.
"I think we better get him to the nurse," Stiles told Coach, who nodded weakly, pointing in the direction of the school. They hurried off, and I remained on my feet, watching them go. Coach was yelling at the players, but I paid little attention, wondering whether I should follow after the boys just to make sure everything was okay.
I noticed the sound of a ball whizzing through the air, but didn't realise it was in our direction until I heard a startled gasp come from Malia. I spun around, blinking down at the were-coyote in surprise, noting that Kira had caught the ball in the spare lacrosse stick she'd picked up along the way.
Figuring the danger was over, I once more considered following after Scott and Stiles, but ultimately I decided they probably wouldn't want me hanging around like some kind of creepy shadow.
"I'm gonna head home," I told Malia, who gave no more than a grunt in acknowledgement. Uncaring, I hefted up my bag and turned to head off the field.
The inside of my car was warm, and I started it up, grimacing when it backfired loudly. The ride home felt longer than it was – maybe it was because I was, once again, completely and utterly alone.
