I tremble

They're gonna eat me alive

If I stumble

They're gonna eat me alive

Can you hear my heart

Beating like a hammer

Help I'm alive

My heart keeps beating like a hammer

Hard to be soft

Tough to be tender

Come take my pulse the pace is on a runaway train

My regrets are few

If my life is mine

What shouldn't I do?

I get wherever I'm going

I get whatever I need

While my blood's still flowing

And my heart's still

Beating like a hammer

Help I'm Alive – Metric


I spent the afternoon gorging on blood and lifting weights, preparing myself for the night ahead. I remained dressed in my holey jeans and long top, but changed into more practical shoes, knowing the night would possibly involve fighting and/or running.

I gathered the old chains and restraints that I had lying around my house from my days as a Mistress in France (it was a long story) and shoved them in an old bag, heating up another packet of blood then tipping it into the thermos Stiles had given me what felt like a whole lifetime ago, now.

The walk to the lake house would have been long, but I ran it and got there quickly, coming to a stop outside the beautiful home. I was the first to arrive, it was just beginning to grow dark, and I leaned up against the outside, sipping at my blood and humming to myself as a distraction against the dark urges that always seemed to hang just off the coast of my sea of thoughts.

I figured I was miles too early, because it wasn't for a whole half hour before the Jeep was pulling up and Lydia, Malia and Stiles were climbing out.

"Have you filled them all in?" was the first thing I asked, and he nodded, keys clutched in a steady hand.

There was a beat of silence, and I pushed away from the wall, heading closer to Malia, who was staring up at the sky in thought.

"How you holding up, pup?" I inquired lightly, but instead of answering, she shot a disgusted grimace at my thermos, the scent of aging blood filling the space between us like a smog.

"Do you have to carry that around with you?" she asked, nose crinkled at my dinner.

"Keeps me from chewing on anyone's neck," I replied tightly. "So, yeah."

Malia's lips twitched up in some kind of strange, dark humour, and I had to smirk back as I leant back against the Jeep, the cool metal comforting under my exposed skin. "I see you brought the chains," she commented.

"Trust me," I said with a small smirk. "These babies will hold. I know from experience."

Stiles looked like he was a split second away from groaning when the sound of a small engine met mine and Malia's ears. The two of us snapped to attention, turning our stares to the road where a motorcycle was approaching, sputtering with every few feet that it moved.

"I just talked to Kira, she's on her way. She said it's all going fine," the alpha was quick to tell us, taking in our grave expressions with a hint of panic. He was the only one who didn't yet know what we did about Liam, and it was obvious who got the job of telling him. We all looked to the human, who sighed but accepted the task put upon him.

Stiles stepped closer, a wary look on his handsome face. "Yeah, it's not that," he began slowly. "I have to tell you something." Stiles' heart stuttered from beneath his ribs, and I took a deep sip of rapidly cooling blood to distract myself. It didn't work. "Jules and I, we poked around in Liam's file. We know why he got kicked out of his last school."

Scott was perceptive, eyes sliding amongst the group carefully. "This is going to be bad, isn't it?" he asked, a look of dread appearing on his boyish face.

"He kind of got into it with one of his teachers," Stiles approached the situation like it were a bandaid he could quickly rip off. "And, well, the kid's got some serious anger issues."

"How serious?"

"Well, that's his teacher's car after he took a crowbar to it," he revealed hesitantly, holding up his phone and showing him the photograph he'd snapped of the file before I'd had to get rid of it.

Scott stared down at the picture in shock. "Guys," he began, swallowing thickly. "What the hell are we going to do?" He looked up, brown eyes glinting with trepidation.

A car engine cut through the still night, the rumbling clear through the dark, empty forest. "We don't have time to discuss it," I said quickly. "They're here."

"Okay," Stiles said bracingly, "everybody inside."

We began to file into the lake house, but I noticed Malia glance warily up at the full moon. I placed a gentle hand on her back, subtly urging her forwards. The only human of the group dropped back so he was in line with me, a frown marring his features.

"What?" I asked as we got to the door.

"Are you sure you should be here?" he questioned cautiously. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed, defeated before I'd even opened my mouth. New record. "Nothing I say will make you leave, will it?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

He sighed once more, stepping through the door, leaving me the only one still standing outside.

"Guys?" I prompted with a hint of irritation, and the group turned back to look at me confusedly. "Forgetting something?" I asked, gesturing pointedly at the threshold.

"Oh, right," Lydia muttered, stepping closer and folding her hands together. She opened her mouth, then paused, eyeing me thoughtfully. "It's okay to be doing this, right?" she asked, suddenly wary. "You're not going to do anything-"

"Would you just invite me inside?" I snapped impatiently, and though her eyes narrowed in obvious indignation, she complied.

"Come in, Juliet," she said formally, and with a roll of my eyes I stepped over the threshold, letting the door click shut behind me.

"You're a doll," I said in way of thanks, and she shot me an unimpressed look before we both moved over to the fireplace just as the shine of headlights cut through the thin curtains, telling everyone that the guest of honour had arrived. I dropped the chains and restraints that I'd brought onto the table with the rest of them, the clinging of the metal resonating around the small living room.

There was muttering from outside, and I kept a close eye on the new puppy's pulse as they entered the house. The moment he spotted us was obvious, and he glared through the darkness. Stiles lifted a hand in a wave, but I nudged him reproachfully. He dropped the hand as though chastised.

"Sorry," Kira apologised sincerely as she shut the door behind them, sealing him, and all of us, inside.

Liam sighed heavily, gritting his teeth and turning to face us again, a glare fixed into place on his face. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, heart speeding up in his chest.

"Think of it like an intervention," Stiles piped up lightly. "You have a problem, Liam."

"And we're the only ones that can help," Scott added, and I'd never seen a teenager look more dubious than Liam did in that moment. "Okay, here goes," our alpha began bracingly, hands moving as he talked like a lecturing professor. "I'm a werewolf."

Liam didn't react other than the speeding up of his heart.

"I know it's hard to believe, but it's true," Scott insisted. "I'm a werewolf; the alpha, actually. Kira? She's a kitsune, which is pretty much just a fox-spirit, or a Trickster, as some call them. Uh, Malia? Were-coyote, still very new at this too. And Lydia is a banshee, she predicts death. Oh, and Juliet? This one's a bit hard to process, but she's a vampire." He explained all this very quickly and not very thoroughly at all. Liam's expression didn't so much as twitch as his eyes slid over each of us slowly. "I know it's scary, but this is reality, and we're all here to help you."

Liam was silent for one very long minute, then cleared his throat and began speaking. "Werewolf," he said, pointing at Scott carefully. "Were-coyote," he gestured at Malia, who nodded her head innocently. "Banshee," he listed with a narrowed eyed glare at Lydia, who clicked her tongue and reluctantly nodded in confirmation. His stare landed on me, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Vampire," he said slowly, and I flashed him a toothy grin that was probably in no way comforting. He looked away from me quickly. "Fox?" he attempted, glancing back at Kira.

"Kitsune," she corrected easily. "But fox works."

He looked back at the only one remaining in the group, the human who stood to the side. "And what are you?" he asked Stiles critically.

"Uh, for a little while I was possessed by an evil spirit...it's was very evil," Stiles responded, as though it were some kind of competition. I understood how he might feel out of place, being the only human in our little rag-tag pack. I wondered if he still wanted to be a vampire, but the thought was brushed from my mind; we had more important things to focus on.

Liam nodded like he were going along with the whole thing. "What are you now?" he asked with fake curiosity.

"...better?"

I breathed in through my mouth before deciding I needed another sip of blood, lifting my thermos and casually gulping down a mouthful of the delicious substance. Liam's eyes continued to slide between us, like he was trying to decide who exactly the most crazy of us was.

Finally he focused on the items spread across the table, taking in the heavy chains and thick restraints. "Those for me?" he asked, thrusting his chin at the offending objects, his pulse quickening. Were I not in the know, it'd probably freak me out too.

"No, they're for me," Malia spoke without hesitation. I felt the shift in energy in the room as she flashed her eyes, and Liam flinched back, gasping at the sight.

"How'd you do that?" he demanded with a hint of fear.

"You'll learn," Scott promised calmly. "But first you need to get through the full moon."

"The moon's already out."

"And you're starting to feel something, aren't you?" the alpha asked him knowingly.

"I feel like I'm surrounded by a bunch of psychotic nut-jobs," he snarled venomously. His heart rate was beginning to climb to the level I knew would trigger the shift. I cast a wary glance at Scott who shook his head subtly, telling me not to act. "You guys are out of your freaking minds! I don't know how you did that eye thing, and I don't care! I'm walking out that door right now, and if any of you try to stop me, I swear to God I'll-"

The new wolf collapsed, hands pressed to his ears as he groaned in agony. I felt Stiles shift so he was in front of me, one hand held out as though to protect me, and I couldn't help but soften at the action.

"What's wrong, Liam?" Scott was asking the kid calmly.

"You don't hear that?!" the pup demanded in an unnecessary yell.

Focusing my attention passed the moaning kid, I zeroed in on the sound of tires over gravel from just down the road. "We have a problem," I said with a huff of irritation.

Headlights shined into the room from outside, and Lydia frowned. "Did you tell someone about this?" she asked slowly. Could things really get any more difficult for us?

"My friend Mason," Liam groaned out. "You said it was a party!" he cried, pressing his hands harder to his ears, clearly in pain.

"Who did Mason invite?"

"Everyone," Kira murmured in something like horror.

"You idiot!" I hissed, infuriated. "Do you have any idea how many lives you're endangering?"

"Jules!" Scott muttered back scoldingly. Though furious, I merely clenched my free hand into a tight fist, hoping the bite of my nails into my own flesh would be enough of a distraction to keep from lashing out violently.

The scrape of claws on wood met my ears, and Lydia leapt into action. "The floors," she barked in a panic, and I remembered the house was her family's, and probably very expensive. "Get him off the floors," she hissed, darting down to force him up, only for him to thrust his head up, massive fangs protruding from his mouth as his eyes glowed a fluorescent amber.

"We need to get him to the boat house!" Scott shouted to Kira warningly. "Now!"

I dove forwards, slipping around the pup's back and wrapping my much smaller arms around his middle. "Jules, no!" Stiles shouted from over next to Malia, but I paid him no mind.

It wasn't until Scott stepped in that I decided to listen. "Help Malia!" the alpha ordered me as he and Kira began to attempt to drag Liam away. I reluctantly let the struggling kid go, very carefully sidestepping his snapping jaws. "Go, Jules!" he growled, charging from the room, snarling puppy in tow.

"Stiles," Malia said from behind me, and I spun around to lay eyes on her, taking in her glowing blue eyes and gnarled canine claws.

"Okay, basement, now!" the human wrapped an arm around Malia, while I dove for the bags of chains, throwing them over my shoulder.

"What am I supposed to do with the hoards gathering outside the door?" Lydia demanded.

"Lydia, who throws the best parties in Beacon Hills?" Stiles asked impatiently.

"What?" she asked, incredulous and exasperated. "Me. Obviously."

"Okay, then throw a party!"

He spun around and began to lead Malia away, nodding for me to follow them. I kept close, letting them lead me down a set of stairs and into a dark basement. My eyes adjusted to the low light, and I watched as Malia made a beeline for the corner; clearly they already had a routine sorted out.

Stiles crouched by her, fishing my old bondage equipment out of the bag. He paused, looking down at it with an odd kind of expression before Malia gave an impatient grunt and he leapt into action, quickly securing her to the wall.

"Too tight?" he asked, the sound of chinking metal echoing around the large, concrete room.

Malia's head rose, revealing an animalistic brow and glowing blue eyes. "Tighter." Stiles was clumsy, and we weren't getting anywhere fast, so I brushed his hands out of the way, ducking down and securing the restraints in one smooth movement. I stood back up, blinking down at the were-coyote warily. "You guys can leave if you want," she said, the words pushed out around a mouth full of fangs.

"I'm not going anywhere," Stiles insisted stubbornly, grabbing an old trashcan and tipping it upside down, making himself a seat, "and to be honest I'm probably safer down here than at a party with fifty freshman and a very pissed off Lydia."

"I'm staying too," I said, leaning my weight against the wall and staring down at Malia, whose breathing began to pick up as she struggled with the pull of the full moon. "You're crazy if you think I'm letting you go through this alone," I added, not even sure who I was really talking to; her or Stiles.

The boy turned, casting me a thoughtful glance back. I met his eyes, unable to decipher the emotion within them before he exhaled slowly and turned back around to face Malia.

Music began to bleed down from upstairs, some kind of electronic hogwash that made me scowl. The were-coyote gave a sudden grunt, yanking at her restraints with dark vigour.

"Actually, maybe you should go," Stiles said abruptly, keeping his eyes on Malia as he spoke.

Blinking in surprise, I stepped closer, arms crossed over my chest as I stared down at him with narrowed eyes. "Excuse me?" I asked, my voice flat and emotionless.

"We don't need you here, Jules," he continued, sounding impatient. He waved a hand in dismissal, barely lifting his head to look at me, like he was shooing off a mere animal.

"I beg to differ," I responded, brow furrowed in a frown as I stared down at him.

Malia snarled, tugging desperately as the chains holding her. "Seriously, Juliet, just go," he snapped impatiently.

"Don't tell me what to do," I hissed back with familiar indignation.

Stiles scoffed, shooting to his feet and spinning around to glare at me. "For once would you just listen?" he asked as Malia howled, growling like a feral coyote as she yanked at the restraints. "What if she gets free and bites you?"

"What if she gets free and bites you?!"

"I'll survive," he countered sharply. "You won't!"

"We don't know that!"

"I'm not willing to take the chance!"

"Guys!"

We spun around, staring down at Malia, whose luminescent blue eyes were bright and dangerous.

"You both need to leave," she growled through a mouth full of fangs.

"We're not leaving you, Malia," Stiles insisted, taking a seat on the overturned trashcan once more.

"What if I hurt you?"

"You're not going to," he sounded pretty confident about this fact.

"But I want to!" she snarled, wrenching at her chains. "I want to tear open your face! I want to feel your bones crack beneath my hands!" She jerked again, this time getting awfully close to Stiles, too much for my liking. In a smooth move I tugged Stiles out of the way, ignoring his annoyed grunt. I crouched before the were-coyote, my gaze calm and understanding.

"You wanna feel his blood, hot as it drips over your skin, right?" I asked, and Stiles gave something of a squeak from behind me. "You want to squeeze at his throat until he stops kicking. You want to sink your fangs into his neck until he stops struggling and taste his blood on your tongue."

Malia gave a furious snarl, my words egging her on.

"We're the same, you and I," I said calmly. "I understand how you're feeling, and I know from experience that it will pass. You just need to get through the night. You can do this, Malia."

"You don't know a thing," the furious beast roared, wrenching at her bindings once again.

"We're not going to leave you," Stiles dove back in, crouching beside me and staring at the were-coyote with only a small hint of fear. "And we're not going to let you hurt anyone."

She roared again, pulling at her restraints. A ripping sound echoed around the concrete room, and my gaze shot to her bindings, taking in the obvious tear in the material. "You don't have a choice," she gasped, staring at the rip with pained fury.

She jerked again, and I stepped in front of Stiles forcing him back. "Stiles, go!" I barked, hovering over the out-of-control coyote.

"You're crazy if you think I'm leaving you here alone," he snapped in response, his front pressing up against my back. Had the circumstances been different, I may have sighed at the contact, but as it were, our lives were currently in danger, and I had no time to indulge in the sensation of his body on mine.

"I'll be fine!" I yelled back over Malia's animalistic snarls.

"But what if you're not?!"

"I will be!"

"I'm not taking the risk!"

"Stiles!" I roared, giving him a gentle but firm shove back just as the restraint on Malia's right arm snapped in two. She bolted to her feet, reaching out with a roar, going for Stiles. I stepped in the path, hissing in pain when her claws caught my arm, ripping through my thin shirt and shredding the pale skin underneath. "Fuck!" I cursed, flinching away and pressing a hand to the bleeding wound, ducking out of the way of her next attack to give myself a moment to recover.

"Jules!" Stiles' voice was panicked, his hands pressed to my side.

"Stay back!" I warned him when he got too close to Malia's snapping jaws. I glanced at him, giving him a good look at my bloody eyes and glistening fangs before I leapt at the were-coyote, dodging her attack with ease as I reappeared behind her, wrapping one arm around her throat while the other I threaded around her middle, holding her in place. "Stiles, run!"

"I won't!" he yelled back stubbornly.

"Stiles, she's strong!" I shouted over her furious snarls. A were-creature on a full moon could rival any vampire in strength, except perhaps that of an Original, but that was a whole different story. "I don't know if I can hold her!" Malia bucked like a wild animal, throwing me back against the wall thoughtlessly. My back connected with the concrete and gave an awful crack. I grunted but tightened my grip, refusing to let go. The thought of her getting to Stiles was far too terrifying. I would hold on for dear life if it meant Stiles had a chance to get away.

"Malia, I don't think you're going to hurt me!" Stiles was saying gallantly. I grunted, tightening my hold on her neck when she ducked in an attempt to bite me. One bite and it was all over – Klaus wouldn't come to save me a second time. "I think that maybe you're so afraid of hurting me because of what you did to your family!"

"Stiles!" I yelled as she threw me into the wall again. My spine gave an unpleasant crunch, and I began to feel numb, my hold relaxing on the were-coyote as I slid down the wall. I was lucky in the way that she didn't go after me, more intent on yanking at her restraints in an attempt to get free.

"I know what that's like, Malia," Stiles continued on bravely, and I pressed a hand to my shredded arm, my own cold blood trickling over my fingertips, a sign of unacceptable weakness. "I remember everything I did," he said with watery eyes. My gaze snapped up to him, but he was staring resolutely at Malia, who continued to snarl, tearing at her bindings. "And the worst part is? I remember liking it. Because I felt powerful, I felt fearless, and most of all, in control."

His words hit me like daggers to the chest. I hadn't considered that maybe he remembered everything I'd done or said to Void. I felt ashamed, like we didn't deserve to be breathing the same air. The urge to get up and run, run far away from everything and everyone in this town, was so strong that I whimpered, squeezing my stinging eyes shut and bowing my head.

"But when I came through it," Stiles continued boldly, "I learned something else; control is overrated."

I heard the chinking of metal and opened my eyes in time to see Stiles slipping the key into the padlock of the restraints.

"Stiles, no!" I shouted in terror just as Malia dove at him, snarling hungrily as she tackled him. Fighting past my temporary paralysis, I threw myself to my feet, but before I could launch myself at her there was a sudden silence.

I froze, hands outstretched to stop her, only to find she'd managed to stop herself. Malia gasped for breath, and I looked down to see her fingertips free of her animalistic claws.

"It's okay," Sties said aloud, and though I wasn't sure which of us he was talking to, it calmed me and I relaxed back against the wall.

"You controlled it," I murmured in slight bewilderment, but Malia didn't acknowledge me. She exhaled shakily, folding into Stiles like he was her everything, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. Instantly, bitter jealousy bubbled up from my gut like a poison, leaving a sour taste on my tongue and making my eyes sting traitorously. "I'll, uh, I'll go check on the party," I murmured, moving my gaze away from the embracing pair and climbing unsteadily to my feet.

Neither of them made a move to stop me, so I fled the basement, escaping up into a sea of drunk, grinding teenagers and making a beeline for the door.

Maybe it was childish, and maybe it was irresponsible, but after the bombshell Stiles had just dropped, I had to get some space. Not to mention I was starved, the attack weakening me, making my body scream out for a feed.

Malia was fine, and I was sure Scott and Kira had Liam under control, so it was with a heavy heart that I disappeared into the night, unable to stand the thought of Stiles and Malia still embracing in the basement, Stiles' mind heavy with images of the atrocious things I'd done with Void, back when I was soulless. Back when, for one horrifying moment, I hadn't loved him.


I knew it was immature to lock myself in my house and pretend the world outside didn't exist, but that wasn't enough to stop me from doing it. I slept a lot, as well as fed and listened to jazz, falling back on old habits in an attempt to find some sense of normalcy.

It wasn't until Sunday night that I finally pulled myself out of the childish funk I'd regrettably fallen into.

It was time to stop being such an antisocial idiot, so it was with great effort that I took a scolding hot shower and dressed in something other than pyjamas. I had school the next day, and things would only stay weird unless I cleared the air with Stiles – no matter how much the thought of doing so made me want to throw up.

I ran a brush through my hair and threw on an unnecessary sweater, it was a dark grey colour that made me think of hazy mornings spent in the mountains.

The sun had long since gone down, and the walk to the Stilinski residence was spent mostly staring up at the stars, hands tucked into my pockets as I strolled along the footpath, trying not to think about the impending conversation.

His window was open, and for a beat I pretended like he'd done it on purpose, as though he'd known I was coming and it was some kind of subtle invitation inside. I knew that was wishful thinking, and stopped myself before I let that fantasy grow any larger.

I settled myself down on his window seat, keeping a close eye on his back, watching him move as he taped evidence to his board, breathing deep and steady. I twisted my hands together in my lap, staring at the back of his head while he worked. I knew I should have alerted him to my presence, but I said nothing, content to selfishly watch in silence like some kind of fucked up supernatural stalker.

When he noticed me, I was expecting him to flinch or jump or scream at least a little. Instead, he did none of these things, merely casting me a glance, nodding to himself when he spotted me before turning back around to his task.

I was confused, and couldn't help but ask, "you knew I was coming?" Maybe it wasn't such a stretch to think he'd left his window open for me after all.

"Been waiting all weekend," he replied quietly, tearing off a piece of tape and sticking some kind of newspaper article to his see-through evidence board. "You left."

It was clear he meant on Friday, and I grimaced from behind his back, my stare sliding to the floor in shame. "I had to go home. I needed to clear my head," I admitted softly.

"At least it wasn't the other side of the country this time," he muttered, the words bitter, and I recoiled like he'd slapped me, though he wouldn't have known; he hadn't turned to look at me since spotting me there. "That's something, I suppose."

I grit my teeth against the emotional pain. It was like scolding hot vervain water trickling through my gut, and I exhaled shakily, hanging my head in defeat.

"I'm sorry," I apologised weakly.

"For what?"

I wasn't sure this time. "For everything."

Stiles hummed like I'd merely commented on the state of the evening.

"You remember, then," I began, my voice a mere whisper. For the first time since I arrived, Stiles gave up the pretence of being distracted, his hands freezing and his shoulders tensing. His heart stuttered from within his chest, and I sighed silently at the familiar sound. "I was hoping you wouldn't," I admitted, my voice quiet and dejected and so very filled with self-loathing.

"Yeah," he laughed without a trace humour. "Me too."

I let the crushing silence encompass us once more, considering my next words with care. Stiles' heart beat like a hummingbird's from beneath his ribs, and I took a moment to bask in the comfort the sound brought me.

"Do you hate me?"

I wasn't sure what made me ask the question, not having been something I'd consciously thought about since my rather unceremonious return. Stiles' heart stuttered at my weak inquiry. He sighed, gathering himself and turning, setting down the marker in his grip before gently padding over to me, his bare footsteps silent against the plush carpet.

My fingers were steepled beneath my chin, my eyes glued to the floor in an effort to avoid his blissfully familiar, penetrating gaze. He crouched in front of me, but I didn't look up, too afraid of what I might see.

"I don't think there's anything on Earth you could possibly do that would make me hate you," he whispered, voice overflowing with sincerity.

I exhaled shakily. "Considering I'm a serial killer, that's pretty fucked up," I murmured, attempting lightheartedness. He let out a soft huff that wasn't quite a laugh, but it quickly turned into a sigh.

"You're an addict, Jules," he said gently, and though this wasn't new information, it made my eyes sting with traitorous tears. "Maybe...maybe you just need some help."

"From who?" I spat bitterly, defensiveness rearing it's head in my gut. I hadn't come looking for a fight, but I sure as hell wouldn't say no to one. Resentful acid bubbled up from my stomach. "You want me to go to an AA meeting, Stiles? Sit in a circle and tell people about how I like to chew on human necks?"

"If that's what it takes," he nodded calmly, not falling for my trap but keeping a level head. "Maybe you need to talk to other addicts, people who can understand."

"Unless you've got a flyer for a supernatural AA society hidden somewhere in this room, I think it's safe to say those people will not understand."

Stiles sighed, tired as he brought his hands up, running his fingers exhaustedly down his face. I mirrored the sound, the fight leaving me instantaneously. Bringing my hands up to my head, I pressed my fingertips against my temples in an attempt to alleviate the ache growing there. I was hungry, my body felt like I hadn't eaten in days, when it had barely been a few hours.

My fall off the wagon had left me just short of insatiable, like there was no amount of blood in the world that would satisfy my hunger.

"I don't mean to be difficult," I murmured to Stiles apologetically, again unable to meet his stare, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the stretch of carpet between us.

"I know," he hummed back, slowly and hesitantly reaching an arm up. I watched it move in my peripheral vision, following it as his hand hovered over my forearm for a moment before finally clasping me softly. The sleeves of my sweater were shoved up to my elbows, leaving my arms uncovered.

The feeling of his warm, smooth skin against mine was like my own personal spot of magic. My eyes slid closed, and I gave yet another unnecessary sigh, the air leaving my lungs in a huff that was more born from relief than any kind of pleasure.

The unbearable ache in my head receded to a mere dull throb.

"What can I do to help you, Juliet?" he asked, and the way his mouth caressed my name made me want to shiver. "Please, tell me," he begged, reaching up with his remaining hand and grasping at my uncovered wrist. His skin slid gently over mine until our hands were folded together, a completely innocent but still meaningful connection. "What can I do?"

"I'm no good for you, Stiles," I murmured regretfully, but my hands remained wound around his, a contradiction to my words.

His heart stuttered from within his chest and he gripped me tighter, like he was afraid I'd run if he let go. "Did you love him?" he asked, voice merely a whisper.

Finally I looked up, meeting his eyes, revealing the hollow pain behind my own. He was staring at me with terror, as though my answer might very well be the death of him. I didn't answer right away, trying to pull my thoughts together.

"I asked you once before," he murmured, tone turning thoughtful. "Back in Derek's building, when we had you stuck there with mountain ash and vervain," he added, as though I may have forgotten. I felt too sick to respond. "You said you weren't even capable of feeling love at the time. Now that you're...you, again; did you love him?"

It didn't take a genius to figure out who he meant. I wanted to deny everything, tell him it was the draw of the blood, the thrill of being soulless, and absolutely nothing else.

That would be a lie.

"I loved the way he made me feel," I admitted, dropping my gaze again, too ashamed to look him in the eye. "I loved the way he embraced my flaws. I loved the way he was so like me." I sucked in a sharp breath, the cool night air bleeding in through the still open window. "I loved that, when we were together, I could close my eyes and pretend it was you doing all those things to me."

I wasn't sure what he was going to take out of that, but his grip on me tightened. "You think I don't embrace your flaws?" he muttered, and I had to chortle bitterly at his question. "You craving death and destruction? That isn't a flaw."

"What would you call it?" I challenged.

"I'd call it a weakness." And he was right, that was exactly what it was. "Do you wish I was still him?" he asked, voice fragile and wary.

I looked back up, spotting the fear in his endless caramel eyes. I let go of his hands, and for a brief moment his expression dropped with sadness. I wiped the look away when my palms pressed against his cheeks, his face heating up at the intimate touch. "I want you here," I promised gently, the sincerity in my voice overflowing. "Nothing and nobody else compares. I will choose you over and over again, without hesitation."

He breathed in, shaky and uncertain, his heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to escape. I focused on the sound, the wet pumping making my mouth water. Gritting my teeth against my urges, I shot him an unsteady smile and removed my hands, moving away from his blood-flushed cheeks. I sat back on the bed, shifting so the space between us grew, and I stopped breathing altogether.

Stiles noticed, as he always did, climbing to his feet and taking a few large steps away.

"You okay?" he asked quietly from over by his evidence board, but my eyes remained closed, my fists held so tight that my nails cut into the flesh of my palms. "It's gotten bad, huh?" he said, sounding helpless and making me wince further.

"Like a hot poker in my throat, and sea of razor blades in my stomach and someone punching me in the brain, all at the same time," I answered in a grunt, finally inhaling, trying to focus on Stiles' cologne rather that the irresistible scent of his blood.

"How long is it going to take to build your tolerance back up?" he asked gently, and I tried not to scoff.

"Years," I spat. "Maybe months, if I'm very diligent and very lucky," I muttered, uncurling my fists and reaching up to rub away my persistent headache once more.

"So...you're dangerous at the moment?"

I smirked in dark, dark humour. "I'm always dangerous, Stiles." He moved again, his heart stuttering, and I hissed in irritation. "Distract me, would you?" I snapped, desperate for something else to focus my attention on.

"Has anyone told you about what happened at the lake house?" he asked quickly, slipping into the task like he'd been born to do it.

"No," I said, latching onto the distraction eagerly. "Fill me in."

"Okay, so you know that code Lydia wrote?" he began.

"The one she transcribed without realising it?" I asked, vaguely recalling Scott mentioning it the other day.

"We found the cipher key needed to decode it."

"How?"

"Lydia."

"A banshee thing?"

"Apparently."

"What was the code?" I asked quietly, turning my eyes to him.

"A name." He shifted under my gaze, suddenly looking downcast and sad. "It was Allison."

I fell silent, staring at him without really seeing him. He was serious, and the knowledge of that made my chest ache in something other than hunger.

Myfaultmyfaultmyfault-

"Jules?"

"Hm?" I realised my gaze and attention had drifted, and with a frown and a stern mental beating, I turned back to Stiles. "So what was it?" I questioned, and though he looked concerned, he answered anyway.

"It was a dead pool."

"...a dead pool as in a hit list?"

"Yeah," Stiles nodded somewhat helplessly.

"Who was on it?" I asked, brow furrowed in worry.

Now Stiles hesitated, his heart leapt, and he reached over to a pile of loose sheets of paper, plucking one out and handing it over with a steady hand. I took it silently, my eyes scanning the print out of this supposed dead pool.

"The Walcott's were the first to go," the human told me in low tones, stepping closer and leaning over me to point at the first names. "Then Demarco Montana at the party on Friday. And finally, Carrie Hudson," he finished with a sombre frown. "She was killed earlier tonight, my dad just let me know."

"Stiles," I said distractedly, my eyes caught on the lower half of the paper. "We're on this list."

Stiles exhaled, "it's for all the supernaturals in town."

"So the Walcott's and Montana and this Carrie chick were all-"

"Mythical creatures, yes," he nodded, and I didn't even have it in me to snort at his phrasing.

"These numbers," I murmured, running a finger down the page.

"Symbolises monetary reward."

"So I'm going for twenty thousand?" I asked, attempting to maintain a lighter tone.

Stiles winced. "Twenty million," he corrected sheepishly. My eyebrows hit my hairline, and I had to swallow.

"That's some serious dough," I whistled casually, scanning the list one more time. "Whoever wrote it, they knew my real name," I added, holding it up and pointing to the plainly written Juliet Adams printed on the list. "Everyone in Beacon Hills knows me by the alias 'Juliet Cooper'."

"Well, except our pack," he told me, and I momentarily startled at the term he'd used. "It's not impossible to think that information leaked at some point," he continued casually.

I didn't reply, merely humming thoughtfully and putting the list to the side, laying it gently on the bedspread.

"This is only one third of the list," he told me quietly.

"They don't have the same key?"

Stiles shook his head. "Lydia's been at the lake house all weekend, trying to work her banshee voodoo and find the other keys," he said softly.

"Who's doing the killing?" I asked with a sudden frown. If I could get to them and kill them first, then that would both keep us alive that much longer and send a pretty violent message to anyone else thinking about giving it a go.

"The only hitman we know for sure at the moment is the Mute," he told me. "You know, that guy on the rooftop with an axe and no mouth?" he said, gesturing pointedly to his lips.

I was quiet a beat, considering this carefully. "Who the hell is funding this thing?" I suddenly questioned, realising the glaring hole in my information. "If I'm twenty million and Scott's twenty-five million," I said in a hiss, "that alone is forty-five million. Who the hell is rich enough and psychotic enough to do something like this?"

Stiles huffed. "We don't know who it is, just that they're called The Benefactor," he told me slowly. "But we do know they're funding it with the money stolen from the Hale vault."

"So this is all Peter's fault."

"Well, not really-"

"Yeah it is," I snapped irritatedly. "If that tool hadn't been such a weak prick, this Benefactor blokewouldn't have stolen the money and we wouldn't be in danger of assassination!"

"O-kay, you've gone British again," Stiles all but sang, stepping forwards and placing a hand on each of my shoulders, and I realised that at some point I'd stood to my feet. Sulkily, I sat back down, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm myself but wincing when Stiles' scent just made my head ache. "There's more," he said, sounding reluctant to go on.

"Brilliant," I muttered, watching as he let me go and stepped away, giving me room to breathe. "Go on, then."

"Demarco was killed at the party," he began, and I nodded impatiently, well and truly keeping up. "So whoever did it was someone at the party; meaning..."

"It was a student?!"

"It was a student," he confirmed with a defeated sigh.

I wanted to tell him not to go to school for the foreseeable future, but not only would that be irrational and unsustainable, I knew he wouldn't listen. I'd only end up sounding like a control freak.

There was a rumble of a car engine, and I heard a door slam from the driveway. "Your dad's home," I mumbled, and he nodded, a pensive look on his face. "I doubt he'd be thrilled to find me here," I added, attempting to sound playful, but failing. "I should go," I finished rather pathetically. I climbed to my feet, running my hands down the fabric of my jeans before tangling them together in front of me awkwardly.

"You-you don't have to leave," Stiles said suddenly, and my eyes snapped up to meet his, confused as I halfheartedly listened to the sound of John unlocking the front door from below us.

"I really do, Stiles," I replied through clenched teeth, because no matter how much I wanted to stay, I couldn't risk giving in; though to what, I wasn't quite sure. "I'll see you at school in the morning," I promised him quietly, reappearing by the still-cracked window.

I climbed out with grace, keeping ahold of the edges and peering up at him through the gap. Indecision warred on his face, like he had wanted to say something but didn't know what, or how.

I decided not to give him the chance to figure it out.

"Be safe, Stiles," I told him, and he opened his mouth to respond just as John pushed open his door, but I was already gone before he could say what was on his mind.