That little kiss you stole
It held my heart and soul
And like a deer in the headlights I meet my fate
Don't try to fight the storm
You'll tumble overboard
Tides will bring me back to you
And on my deathbed, all I'll see is you
The life may leave my lungs
But my heart will stay with you
Deathbeds – Bring Me The Horizon
Judging by the clouds of breath puffing from Malia and John's lips, it was a cold evening. I couldn't tell, for obvious reasons, but I pretended to act chilly for performance sake.
"Ten bucks on the rival team," Malia said in my ear, and I turned to cock an eyebrow at her.
"You're betting against us?" I asked dryly.
She shot me a look of utter exasperation. "Scott isn't here," she told me, jerking her head in the direction of the players. She was right, Scott was suspiciously absent – but he was getting laid, and fuck knew that was more important than a game with a bunch of sticks. Still, I knew it was important to Stiles that they won, so I was mildly irritated by Scott's apparent carelessness. "Are we on or what?" she asked impatiently.
"Yes, fine," I muttered, rolling my eyes as she grinned happily, obviously believing herself to be ten dollars richer before the night was through. "I'm gonna go wish Stiles luck," I added, and she gave a distracted wave of her hand. John smiled at me from where he sat on Malia's other side, and I nodded back before stepping from the bleachers and heading to the bench where I could see Stiles and Liam conversing in low tones. "Hey, love," I greeted Stiles, and he gave a violent gasp, throwing himself back and holding a hand over his racing heart.
Once he'd somewhat recovered, he glared at me in irritation. "What have I told you about-"
"Yeah, yeah – I should wear a bell," I waved him off lazily, shuffling closer, the warmth of his body intoxicating. "Just wanted to wish you luck," I added with a sweet smile. His expression melted into one more affectionate. "Besides, I've got ten bucks riding on this game, so don't screw it up."
"But Scott isn't here," Liam interjected from his other side, a worried look on his face.
"You need Scott to win a game of lacrosse?" I asked, wry and unimpressed. "Do you need him to heat up your milk for you too?" Liam grumbled back unhappily, and I smirked my victory. Turning back to Stiles, I leant close enough that I could feel his heat against my skin. "Good luck out there," I told him in a low, warm voice. "Remember all the practising we've been doing. You're going to do fine."
He smiled, nodding surely. "I've got this," he said confidently.
"Hell yeah, you do."
"Cooper!" Coach's voice barked from a few feet away, and it took a beat for me to realise it was me he was talking to, using my fake name. Near perfect recall and 200 years, and it was still difficult to remember my current alias. "I don't see you wearing a uniform," he continued in a sneer once he knew he had my attention. "And if you're not wearing a uniform, you can't be here."
"Just rallying your troops, Coach," I told him with a faked brightness, fluttering my eyelashes at him sweetly, but it was for naught.
"Just get off the bench," he snapped impatiently, and I rolled my eyes before ducking in and capturing Stiles' lips with my own. He gave a small grunt of surprise at the sudden contact, but quickly kissed me back for one long, blissful moment, until finally I pulled away and grinned at him sappily.
"Sexual deviants," Coach was muttering to himself under his breath, and my grin only widened.
"Good luck," I said quickly, the amusement obvious in my voice. "Love you," I added.
"Love you," he replied, sincere but tense, nervous for the upcoming match.
I smiled, leaning against him for another moment before climbing to my feet and wandering back towards the stands.
"You two are disgusting," I heard Liam mutter to my boyfriend bitterly.
"Someone sounds jealous," was Stiles' haughty reply, and my smile remained unnaturally wide as I reclaimed my seat with Malia and John.
"Why're you doing that with your mouth?" the were-coyote asked suspiciously as I adjusted the collar of my jacket.
I paused, turning to cock my head at her curiously. "You mean smiling?" I asked in a saccharine voice.
"Well, stop it," she mumbled, scrunching her nose as me before turning back to her phone.
My grin melted back into a wry kind of smirk, which was much more my usual speed. John's lips were pulled upwards, but he kept his gaze on the field as the game abruptly began. I followed Stiles with my eyes, tracking him as the first play was made.
We really had been practising. Sometimes, Stiles would drag me to his backyard where I'd recline on the stairs and read a book, half my energy focused on tossing balls at him at human speeds. He was good, but obviously lacked natural talent. I knew that would change when I turned him – but then again, that was a whole different can of worms.
Did Stiles still want to become like me? Did he still expect it? Since our reunion those few short months ago, the topic hadn't so much as been mentioned. I wondered about it, late at night while I stare up at the ceiling, listening to his soft, human breaths beside me.
It was what I wanted: forever with Stiles, an existence that was parallel. It was amazing now, but it could be even better. It could be something epic; and I wasn't just talking about the sex.
Those thoughts were never far from my mind, but I was distracted when Stiles began to taking hits. The players on the other team cared little for his physical safety, and I watched on with a pained wince as my human boyfriend was battered and tackled into the mud. Perhaps I should have done more than throw lacrosse balls at him while I read.
By the point of half-time, it was fairly obvious the match was a lost cause. Stiles was leant over his phone, frowning at the screen anxiously, before finally he said, "Jules," in a perfectly calm tone, knowing I would hear even over all the noise.
"I'll be back," I told Malia and John, who looked confused by my abrupt words but didn't argue as I stood and made my way over to Stiles.
Heedless of Coach's wrath, I dropped onto the bench beside Stiles, who pocketed his phone with a worried frown. "They aren't answering," he told me in an undertone.
"Scott or Kira?" I asked, concern gripping me.
"They can't still be..." he trailed off awkwardly.
"Not even they are randy enough to screw their way through a lacrosse game," I muttered, scanning my eyes over the tree line in the distance as though the pair might stumble out of it.
"Did you just say 'randy'?" Stiles asked, and I turned the full force of my glare onto him at the distraction. Wincing, he lifted his hands in surrender. "Right. Focus," he said emphatically, turning back to his phone, expression twisting into one burdened with worry. "But if they're not here, or at least answering their phones..."
"With everything going on, we might have to assume the worst," I finished reluctantly.
He swallowed loudly as he began to shove his things in his bag. Liam bounded over just as we were climbing to our feet. "Where're you going?" he demanded, brow furrowed in confusion.
"Lover boy and the vixen aren't answering their phones," I told him quietly, giving the field another pointless scan.
"So you're going to go find them? Now?" he hissed at us, incredulous. "We're in the middle of a game! What am I supposed to tell Coach?"
"You don't tell him anything," Stiles said calmly, but Liam's expression was quickly melting into one of sincere anxiety. "Hey," he said, soft and reassuring, and Liam looked up at him bleakly. "You're gonna be okay," he promised, but the kid didn't seem to believe him. "Maybe Jules can stay here with you," he added hesitantly.
"Like hell," I snapped back, and the human's shoulders slumped in response. Turning to Liam, I slapped him reassuringly on the back. "You'll be okay, kid," I said in a more comforting tone. He didn't looked particularly convinced, but in that moment I considered Scott and Kira's safety to be more of a priority than Liam's stress levels, so I slapped him once more before turning and heading over to John and Malia, who were staring at us all in confusion.
"Scott still isn't answering," Stiles told his dad the moment we reached them. "Neither is Kira."
"So you're going to go look for them?" John asked with a heavy frown.
"I have a bad feeling, dad," he replied quietly, making sure nobody else would overhear.
"Are you sure it's safe?"
"I'll have Jules with me."
John still looked reluctant to agree, then his eyes sparked with an idea. "I'll come with you too," he said, and Stiles' expression twisted with reluctance. "I'll feel better if you just let me, okay?" he pressed, and Stiles relented with a huff.
"Do you want me to stay here, incase he shows up?" Malia asked us.
"Yes," I told her hurriedly, the metal of Stiles' keys tinkling in his shaking hands. "Call me if you see him."
She nodded, and I reached out to grasp Stiles' hand, letting him lead John and I back to his Jeep. As we approached, it hit me that I was being ridiculous.
"I'm going to run there," I told the men beside me, squeezing Stiles' hand tightly.
"You're going to run there?" John repeated incredulously.
"It'll be faster," I said with a shrug.
"You can run faster than a car?" he asked, doubtful.
"Stiles will answer your questions on the way," I told him hurriedly, pressing my lips to Stiles' cheek. "I'll see you there," I added, and he nodded with concern in his eyes before I disappeared from view, all but vanishing into the wind.
I tried to pick up Scott's trail on the off chance I'd come across it, but I was unlucky. The air was clean and fresh, no sign of any werewolf, let alone Scott. Derek's loft was at the top of the building, but stairs weren't a problem, and not a full ten seconds later I was bursting through the open door.
Derek and that woman, Braeden, were crouched over a mess on the floor; shattered glass, small strips of torn clothing and puddles of freshly spilled blood. The room stunk with it, and I had a flash of a second where I wondered how it would taste before I forced the thoughts from my head and barrelled deeper into the room.
"How long have you two been here?" I asked, stoic and dark.
Derek for some reason hadn't sensed I'd been there, which I found to be strange but had no time to contemplate, and he flinched at my unexpected words. Braeden on the other hand turned to look at me dully. "About three minutes," she told me flatly before turning back to survey the scene of the crime with narrowed eyes.
"Picking up any scents?" I asked Derek as I stepped closer to the pile of evidence, inhaling quietly, frowning over the myriad of scents that accosted me. The blood was definitely a combination of Scott's and Kira's, and I could smell the unfortunately familiar stench of death and decay that seemed to cling to the berserkers like a never-ending cloud. There was an added scent too, one almost feline in type.
"Are you?" Derek asked, and I found it odd he'd met my question with a question, but there wasn't time to ponder it.
"Berserker, definitely," I said with a nod. "And also something else, something...feline."
"Feline?" Braeden asked with a blink.
"Kate," Derek said with a sigh of frustration.
"Why won't this bitch just die?" I asked with an aggravated huff.
Footsteps on the landing met my ears, and I spun around in time to see Stiles and John stumble into the room, looks of concern on their faces.
"What the hell happened?" Stiles demanded from us with a frightened glower.
"It was supposed to be a date," Derek said weakly.
"They were both here?"
"And they're both gone," Braeden told him gravely.
A persistent buzzing filled the room, and Stiles fished his phone from his pocket, holding it up to his ear. "Hey," he greeted whoever was on the other end warily.
"Scott's been taken," said Lydia's familiar cadence.
"Scott and Kira, we just don't know where," he told her, reaching up to tug at his hair in anxiety.
"Mexico," a new voice spoke up – Deaton, if I wasn't mistaken – and I blinked in shock at its sudden appearance. "And if you want to save his life, that's where you're going, too."
John didn't seem particularly gung-ho about us traipsing off to Mexico to confront Kate and her psychotic lap dogs. I couldn't blame him really, it wasn't exactly the greatest plan we'd ever concocted, but we weren't exactly swimming in alternative options.
"He can't stop us," I was saying as Stiles held open the door for us. The air-conditioning was on full blast in the sheriff's office, and goosebumps broke out across the exposed skin on Stiles' arm at the change in temperature.
"I know," he replied, keeping his voice low so only I could hear as he waved politely to the officer at the front desk. "This is really more of a curtesy call than anything else," he added, and I was reminded of the duffel bag full of supplies stuffed under the back seat in the Jeep.
"Worse comes to worst, I can compel him to give his okay," I told him casually as we passed the small kitchenette in the office.
"You're not compelling my dad," Stiles hissed back, exasperated. I curled my lip at him in displeasure. "Besides, he's on vervain."
I huffed in irritation, but the reaction went unnoticed as Stiles caught his father's eyes through the open blinds of his office. The sheriff was holding his desk phone to his ear, and his face dropped into something drawn and tired before he muttered a hurried excuse to the person on the call and hung up, moving to the door and cracking it open.
"Stiles, we've already talked about this," he hissed impatiently the moment we were within earshot, then glanced self-consciously across the room behind us before waving us through the door to his office, shutting it behind him with a sharp click. "You are not going to Mexico."
"Dad, Scott and Kira have been kidnapped and taken to Mexico," Stiles reminded him seriously, "I think that's a pretty good reason for a trip to Mexico."
John sighed like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Okay," he began after rubbing at his eyes in exhaustion, "even if Deaton is right about this, the best thing to do is to go through the proper channels-"
I couldn't help giving a loud, derisive scoff turning away to focus my blood-filled eyes at the window, if only to save the poor bloke a minor heart failure. It was spoken like a true human, particularly one in law enforcement. They actually thought that pointless, broken system of theirs was worth a damn. It was as noble as it was vexing. Even Stiles seemed frustrated, turning away and rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Come on, dad-" he argued fruitlessly.
"That means," John continued, raising his voice to be heard over his son's complaints, "calling the right law enforcement agencies, border patrol, putting out at all points."
"Dad," Stiles hissed, "we can't just wait around for the wheels of bureaucracy to spin in five different government offices, okay? Someone needs to go down there right now, find them and rescue them. Okay? I'm going."
John's eyebrows crept up to his hairline. "I can keep you from going," he said, slow and serious.
"I'd find a way."
"I could throw you in a cell," he threatened.
"Juliet can bend steel bars with her bare hands," Stiles replied, unflinching as he motioned to me pointedly. "So, somehow I don't see that working, either."
John's expression was torn between infuriated and exasperated, and I crossed my arms over my chest, a look of stormy stubbornness spreading across my delicate, elven features. "We're going to Mexico, Sheriff," I told him coldly, the ice in my eyes never melting. Even knowing it would do no good, I still poured compulsion into my voice, pupils dilating as I drew him under my hold.
He blinked, thrown by the inexplicable pull he suddenly felt.
"Jules, cut it out," Stiles muttered with a hiss, and I reluctantly broke eye contact, turning to stare at the window with a glare.
"Border Patrol can't do shit against the supernatural, and you know it," I said, keeping my dangerous stare off of the Sheriff, lest I do something I'd regret.
"What else am I supposed to do?" he asked, sounding helpless.
Unable to help myself, I looked back at him sharply. "Let us go and get them back."
"Can't you go alone?" he challenged me pointedly. Stiles gave a cry of indignation from beside us, but neither of us broke our stare. "Why do you need Stiles with you? Wouldn't it just be putting him in danger? How could he possibly help?"
"Scott's his best friend," I said, voice like ice. "Neither of us could stop him if we tried. And neither of us has the right to."
John sighed, heavy and exhausted as he ran his hands down the length of his aging face. "Stiles look," he began, apparently deciding not to bother arguing with me, which was probably for the best, "please just give me a little more time to verify something slightly more concrete than a psychic vision from some guy with a third eye!"
Stiles swallowed, dropping his eyes to his shoes as John stepped closer, his expression imploring.
"Look, I will call every law enforcement agency all the way down to South America if I have to," he promised, and I shuffled closer to Stiles, slipping my fingers through his and gripping his hand tightly. He squeezed back, a silent but clear reassurance. "If nothing turns up, then I'll book three flights to Mexico," John continued, surprising the both of us.
We look back up at him, and what I saw in his eyes was unexpected. His blue irises glittered with sincerity, expression full of genuine honesty. He meant what he was saying.
"We'll all go. All three of us," he said, a peace offering if I'd ever seen one. "Okay?"
"Okay," Stiles agreed without so much as a pause. "But do I get a gun?" he continued in the same breath, eager and hopeful.
Both John and I stared at him, incredulous. "No," deadpanned his father.
Stiles deflated, but it wasn't exactly a priority at the moment. "I've got some warlock friends," I said, my words careful but still matter-of-fact. John looked up at me with raised eyebrows. "In the meantime, I'll put my feelers out, see if we can get a more exact location from one of them."
The expression on John's face was hesitant and awkward, like he wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to that without hurting my feelings. "...Great," he finally said, uncomfortable under my stare. "Where're you two off to now?" he continued, eager to change topics.
"We'll just go home," Stiles told him without so much as a blink. "I guess we'll distract ourselves by studying or something."
John's face turned sympathetic and understanding. "Sounds good," he said, gentle.
"Bye, dad," said Stiles quietly, but John didn't pick up anything strange about it.
His desk phone began to ring again, and he grew distracted. "I'll see you two later," he told us offhandedly, and Stiles nodded, squeezing my hand again and leading me back towards the door. "And guys," the Sheriff said, mouthpiece of the receiver held against his palm. He smiled reassuringly. "It'll be okay."
I pasted a convincing smile on my face and nodded, then turned as Stiles pushed his way back into the main office. We said absolutely nothing, no sound between us but the quiet slaps of Stiles' shoes against the cement as we made our way back to the car. We didn't speak until both doors had slammed shut after us, sealing us into the warmth of his Jeep, like our own safe little bubble.
It was Stiles who broke the silence first.
"We're definitely still gong to Mexico, right?"
"You bet your fucking ass we are."
He gave a throaty chuckle before starting the engine, pulling out onto the road and heading for Scott's house. Malia was meeting us there, so we could both get a quick refresher of Scott's scent before we took the drive down South.
Stiles fell back into silence as we made our way through the streets to Scott's place. I wondered what was going through his mind, but I didn't end up having to wait long to find out. "What if that's the last time I ever see him?" he asked, gentle and vulnerable.
Frowning at the concern, I turned in my seat to look at him properly. "Stiles, we're going to survive this," I told him without a shred of doubt.
He cleared his throat, pulling himself from his self-inflicted stupor and shaking his head as though to clear it. "Yeah, of course we are," he agreed, the previous vulnerability gone form his voice.
Still, there was something wary in his voice, something unsure and thoughtful that made me strangely nervous. He turned the radio up, the sound of drums and a terrible bass line filling the car, and we remained quiet until we pulled up outside the McCall residence.
Stiles turned off the engine, and the radio died, leaving us in a deafening silence that seemed to scream with everything that wasn't being said. I kept my eyes on the still house before us, listening to Stiles' racing heart and wondering what was running through his head. He made no move to leave the Jeep, so I remained still until he gathered the courage to speak his mind.
"I think now might be a good time for me to drink your blood."
Blinking in sheer shock, I turned to stare at him wordlessly. He looked nervous but determined, a stubborn look on his face as he spun in his seat to face me properly. I said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate, as he was so surely planning to.
"I know it isn't likely that anything will happen," he said, meeting my eyes through the rays of sunlight filtering through the windscreen. The UV rays tickled my skin, not quite painful but still present, and awareness that it wasn't natural for my cells to be exposed to it, a reminder that the only thing between me and a fiery death was a small, magic ring, gifted to me by a crackpot witch. "But I think...I think I want your blood in me, so that, if anything does happen..." he trailed off.
"You want the reassurance that you'll be okay," I finished knowingly. I knew that if I had a pulse, it would be racing. He looked vulnerable again, like I might actually deny him. Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I reached out and grasped his hand. His skin was warm and pliant under mine, and a squeezed tightly. "Are you sure that's what you want?" I asked, tentative and trying not to sound too hopeful.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, considering it for a moment as he breathed deeply, before opening them and nodding his head. "Yeah," he said, Adam's apple dipping as he swallowed and looked up at me properly, his eyes shining with sincerity, "yeah, it is."
My mind raced as I considered it. I knew it was what I wanted, but still, the act of feeding him my blood, it was awfully symbolic. It was an act of devotion, a declaration of my love, one that promised him I wanted forever by his side.
The thought both terrified and thrilled me in the same instant.
Before I could work myself into a panic, I untangled our fingers. Keeping myself from hesitating, I lifted my wrist to my mouth, looking up and meeting Stiles' eyes as the whites of my own flooded with blood. My gums tingled, fangs sliding into view, and he watched with bated breath as I curled back my lip and sank my fangs into the delicate skin of my inner wrist.
There was a burst of pain as I sliced through the layers of skin to get to the vein, but it was fleeting, and I pulled back, glancing down to see blood trickling down my arm in small rivers.
Looking back up at Stiles, I took in his grimace with a wry smirk of amusement, then held out my bleeding wrist for him to take. He grasped it gingerly, like it might bite him back, and slowly lowered his mouth to the wound. He paused before reaching it, eyes flickering back up to me from behind his dark lashes, and I tried to keep my face looking as supportive as I could.
Gulping again, he nodded to himself in reassurance, then squeezed his eyes shut tight in disgust as he pressed his lips to my wrist and reluctantly sucked.
The feeling was euphoric for me, and I had to chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from making an embarrassing noise. Gaining enthusiasm at the rush of power my vampire blood no doubt gave him, he began to drink with gusto, grasping my forearm in a human-tight grip and trying to drag the source of blood impossibly closer to his face.
I could have let him drain me, but with a reluctant huff I gently extracted my wrist from his grasp, pulling it out of his reach and smirking when he tried to follow it. He blinked his eyes open, seeming to take a moment to realise it was over, and then he focused his gaze on me, surprised by the pleasure of the whole exchange.
"You've got a little blood..." I trailed off, pulling my hand up to his lips and running my thumb across them, collecting the smears of my blood before poking it back into his mouth, where his tongue swirled around the digit enticingly.
I was about six seconds away from straddling him and having my way with him in the driver's seat of the Jeep when there was a sharp rapping at the window. Stiles flinched, whirling around guiltily, and I look up to se Malia cringing at us through the glass.
"Will you two stop being so mind-numbingly disgusting?" she asked, unimpressed. As far as I could tell, she hadn't seen the exchange of blood, only the sucking-on-fingers part, which I counted as a win, and I was quick to roll my eyes at her before glancing back down at my wound, which was already healed over, only a few smears of blood left as evidence of the event at all.
Glancing over at Stiles, I took in his still-dazed expression before cracking open the passenger side door and slipping out into the day. Malia had already trudged up towards the front door, and I noted that she had Liam following her like a sad-looking puppy.
Meeting Stiles by the front of the Jeep, I wrapped my arm through his as we headed towards Scott's front porch. "How d'you feel?" I asked him under my breath, blinking up into his eyes with barely-concealed hope.
"Strange," he murmured back, brow furrowed, deep in thought. I would have killed to have been privy to his exact thoughts, but we were approaching Malia and Liam, and I knew there was no time to discuss it at length.
Sometimes I felt like there were two versions of me – the side I would show to Stiles: warm, understanding and affectionate; and the side I showed everyone else: cruel, derisive and dry. It didn't typically keep me up at night, but even I had to admit it was enough to give anyone whiplash.
"What are you doing here?" I asked Liam snidely as Stiles let me go, fishing out his spare key and moving to unlock the door. "Shouldn't you be at home, drinking juice and staying out of trouble?"
"I want to help," he argued valiantly.
I turned to look at Malia, unimpressed. "He wouldn't leave," she explained with a huff, casting the kid a scowl that might as well have been water off a duck's back for all the impact it had.
"Liam, just go home, okay?" Stiles ordered him as we moved inside the house.
"But-" he tried to argue.
"Now, Liam," I barked, having no patience left to hold onto. Liam's shoulders slumped sadly, but I wasn't about to be convinced. "Come on, we'll have to go up to Scott's room for the best scent," I told Malia, shooting Liam one more disapproving glower before turning and walking up the stairs.
Scott's room was silent and still, and as I paused in the doorway, I was struck with a sudden, unexpected fear. Scott was in Mexico, kidnapped by a psychopathic were-jaguar and her berserker lackeys, having God knew what done to him. Who knew what we'd even find when we got there? Would there be anything left to find?
"What?" Malia's voice was sharp from behind me, breaking me from my stupor. Realising I was stood useless in the middle of the doorway, I stepped deeper into the room, heading straight for the stack of books on the bedside table. I ran a fingertip down the titles, smiling gently to myself as I found my first-edition copy of Gone with the Wind amongst them. I'd lent it to him when he mentioned being short on reading material. The memory made my cold chest feel warm.
"Here, try that," Stiles said from where he stood at Scott's closet, and I turned in time to see him throw a t-shirt at Malia, who caught it deftly then held it to her nose to sniff.
"Fabric softener," she told us flatly, and Stiles huffed in exasperation.
He spun around, looking for something with his scent, only to abruptly disappear inside the bathroom. Curious, I followed Malia over, the pair of us pausing in the doorjamb and looking on with raised brows as Stiles rifled through Scott's dirty laundry.
Finally he held up a worn pair of boxers, holding them up towards us. I glanced over at Malia, who looked back at me in the same moment, and we exchanged a grimace of reluctant disgust.
"Remember, Scott's life is on the line," Stiles said in gentle reprimand, shaking them at us pointedly.
I grunted, stepping forwards and holding out a hand for the boxers before suddenly Malia stepped away. I looked back to see her lifting the wolf's pillow to her nose, and she grinned triumphantly, waving it for Stiles to see. Snorting, I plucked it from her grasp so I could inhale the familiar scent, imprinting it onto my brain.
"Yeah, that works too!" Stiles called lamely. I couldn't quite manage a smile, so I settled for rolling my eyes as I led the way downstairs, footsteps silent on the landing. Malia followed behind me, and Stiles' footsteps were loud and clunky as he tripped down after us.
Stepping onto the first floor, I was met with the scent of young, wet dog, and I narrowed my eyes at Liam, who was leaning against the counter, anxiously tapping his foot against the tiled floor of the McCall kitchen.
"For fuck sake, Pup," I growled, unable to quell my irritation. We had too much on our plate without needing to worry about babysitting the town's newest wolf.
"Liam, go home!" Stiles said, exasperated and tired. "You're not coming with us," he added sternly.
"Why not?" Liam asked with just the smallest hint of a whine.
"Because, it's a full moon and I don't feel like driving all the way down to Mexico just to have you rip my throat out," my boyfriend responded flatly, arms crossed over his chest.
"But Jules can protect you!" Liam said as though this were actually a clever solution.
"First of all, that's incredibly emasculating," Stiles told him evenly, levelling him with a grumpy sort of stare. "Second of all, the last thing I want is your full-mooned-up, werewolf teeth anywhere near my vampire girlfriend's skin. That's just a recipe for disaster."
Liam frowned, the expression twisting into desperation. "You can lock me up, right?" he suggested hopefully. "Chain me down in the back seat or something?"
"You tore through the last chains, remember?" Malia reminded him dryly.
Stiles gave a loud scoff. "We would have to freeze you in carbonite to get you down there," he told the kid blandly.
"Okay," said Liam with a nod. "Then where do we get carbonite?"
There was a long, pregnant pause.
"Seriously?" Stiles asked bitterly. "You haven't seen it either?"
He shook his head, disappointed in the youth of today, but it suddenly clicked in my mind. "I understood that reference!" I exclaimed, falling into step with Stiles with a small smile.
"And we're all incredibly proud of you for it," Malia deadpanned from behind me, but my pride refused to be desolated.
"Wait!" Liam exclaimed desperately from behind us just before we could reach the door. I huffed, coming to a reluctant stop with a frustrated glower settled comfortably on my features. He jogged over to us, stepping in our field of vision, brow furrowed as he scrambled for a solution. "What if you...put me in the trunk?" he suggested with a wince.
"You'd get out of that too," Malia immediately shook her head.
The kid hung his head. "Liam," said Stiles, gentle and imploring. "You've been a werewolf all of five minutes. You don't have to do this," he told him reassuringly.
Liam squeezed his eyes shut tight before opening them with a renewed determination. "I know I don't – but I want to," he muttered, voice thick with conviction. "There's gotta be bigger chains, a bigger trunk, or something – there has to be!"
We were silent, and looking into the Pup's eyes, I suddenly found I couldn't hold it against him for wanting to help.
Apparently Stiles felt the same. "Maybe there is," he murmured, glancing over at me for a beat before turning back to Liam. "Are you sure you want to do this, Liam?" he asked, serious.
Liam gulped rather loudly, but still nodded his head. "Scott would do it for me," he said with unwavering faith.
Stiles stared back, but seemed to eventually find what he was looking for, nodding his head as he fished his phone free from his pocket. "I've gotta make a call," he told us, turning to leave. "Make sure you have everything," he added over his shoulder. "As soon as I'm done, we're leaving!"
Liam looked about ready to drop to his knees in gratitude, but thankfully he refrained, merely nodding his head at Stiles, who huffed and stepped outside as his call connected.
"I'll pack some snacks," Malia said, already heading for Scott's fridge. "Things always seem to take longer when I'm hungry."
I remained focused on Liam, who appeared uncomfortable under my penetrating gaze. "This isn't some field trip, Liam," I said, voice serious and dark, ignoring the clinking of bottles as Malia rifled for food. "This is life or death."
"I know," he insisted with a nod.
"Do you?"
He hesitated, and I saw him wipe his sweaty palms on his pants. "I've fought the berserkers before," he told me, chin raised in an effort to appear brave and unaffected.
"And suffered the consequences," I finished flatly. He wilted, and I felt suddenly guilty, even though I knew what I was saying was right.
"The other day, in the locker room," he began, and to his credit, his voice didn't even shake, "you said that now I was a werewolf, I was part of a community and that I had a responsibility. You said bad things are our fault if we don't step up and stop them."
"No I didn't," I argued.
"I'm paraphrasing." Inhaling, I took in the scent of puppy-dog in the air. I felt hungry, but shelved that need for the time being. "You said Scott taught you to always do the right thing," he continued once he was more confident I wasn't going to rip out his tongue for the words. "I want to do the right thing," he finished with a nod.
I considered him through narrowed eyes. I didn't have any right to stop him, he had just as much right to save Scott as I did, as any of us did – Scott was his Alpha. There were risks, but weren't there always?
Stepping closer, I listened with satisfaction as his pulse jumped with fear. I lifted a finger, holding it in his face threateningly. "If you lose control and bite anyone during this full moon – especially me, I'll rip out your pathetic little teeth one by one and sell them for a pretty penny on the black market. And that will just be the foreplay," I warned him darkly. He swallowed again, the gulp loud and telling. "Do you understand?"
He winced. "Yes," he said in a pitch a little too high to be normal.
"Brilliant," I smiled, large and chilling, and then the moment was broken when Stiles stepped back into the room, hanging up his call and pocketing his phone. "All good, love?" I asked, stepping away from Liam and meeting Malia, who was smirking in dark amusement and snacking on a half-empty bag of Doritos.
"Braeden can get us a prison transport van," he told us as he locked the door behind him.
"Like the one we trapped Jackson last year?" I asked, snatching a handful of chips from the packet.
"Yeah, only better," he replied.
"Who's Jackson?" asked Liam in confusion.
"Homicidal lizard Lydia used to date," I said, the words muffled by my mouthful of cheesy Doritos. Liam didn't look any more enlightened by my explanation, but I hadn't really expected him to.
"Can we go?" Stiles asked, impatient. "I said we'd meet her and Derek down in the old industrial district."
"Good, let's go," I commanded, already heading for the door. "Sooner we get on the road, sooner we'll be able to get to Mexico and find Scott."
"And Kira," Stiles reminded me pointedly.
"Right. Her too."
Liam was thankfully silent on the drive. I wanted to talk to Stiles, but both Malia and the Pup would hear no matter how quietly we whispered, so I kept my lips sealed and tuned the radio to my favourite jazz station, hissing at Malia when she complained.
The industrial district was empty, almost hauntingly so. I knew we wouldn't be seen or heard down there. Braeden and Derek arrived only a few minutes after us, and I moved towards the large van as it came to a sudden stop before us, Braeden climbing out fluidly, her boots slapping the floor firmly.
"How'd you get a prison transport van?" Stiles asked, curious and in slight awe.
"I'm a U.S. Marshall," she replied evenly.
"Right, yeah," he nodded even as he frowned, "I just always thought that was, y'know, a cover."
Braeden didn't seem to react, staring at him stonily for an extra moment before the door to Derek's car slammed as he climbed out. "Are we really bringing him?" the beta wolf asked, unimpressed as he pointed to a nervous – but determined – looking Liam.
"We really bringing him?" Stiles countered, gesturing at Peter, who strolled towards us, a smug sort of smirk pasted across his face.
"We're bringing everyone that we can," Peter replied sassily. "And considering Scott and Kira were taken the night before a full moon? We should probably get going."
We were quiet, staring at him wordlessly before Malia spoke up. "What's that mean?" she asked flatly.
"If Kate took Scott back to the same temple she took Derek, how do we know she's not planning to do the same thing to him?" Peter asked, and even I had to admit it wasn't a completely unintelligent point.
"She wants to make him younger?" Liam ventured confusedly.
"Or take him back to when he wasn't a werewolf," Derek added thoughtfully. I wondered what the whole point of that would even be, but Peter answered before I could voice my questions.
"A werewolf can't steal a True Alpha's power, but maybe a were-jaguar with the power of Tezcatlipoca behind her, maybe she can," he told us matter-of-factly. "So if everyone is sufficiently freaked out, I say we get going," he added in a faux-cheerful kind of voice.
"We can't," said Stiles before any of us could move. Brow furrowed, I turned to look at him curiously. "Not without Lydia."
There was a beat. "Well? Where is she?" Peter pressed impatiently.
Stiles was already fishing his phone from his pocket. "She's at the school, but I'll call her now and check she's on track," he said, walking away to make the call, the ringing of the phone echoing in my sensitive ears.
The call went unanswered, and eventually went to voicemail, Lydia's feminine voice washing over those of us with supernatural hearing. Stiles pulled an uncomfortable face under everybody's scrutiny and redialled, beginning to pace in his anxiety.
"What's she doing at the school, anyway?" Derek asked us, brow twisted in confusion.
"We got Kira's sword, but we need something with a stronger scent," said Malia, tapping her fingertip against the hilt of Kira's katana. "Lydia went to get a jacket out of her locker."
From across the room, the call went through the voicemail again. Stiles sighed, face clouded with reluctance and worry as he padded back towards us, frowning at the phone in his grip. "Nothing," he said, as though we weren't already wildly aware.
"If she has a car, she can catch up to us," Braeden told us matter-of-factly.
"That's a good point, we'll call from the road," interjected Peter blithely.
"No, what if something happened?" Stiles contested him sharply, the concern in his eyes never fading. "What if she's in trouble?" he asked, eyes sweeping over the group to land on me.
"The Wailing Woman can look after herself, Stiles," I said. Lydia meant a lot to me, sure, now that we were tentative friends – but it was an undeniable fact that Scott meant more. Besides – real threat won out over hypothetical threat any day of the week.
"The leach is right," sneered Peter, and I curled my lip at him in irritation that went unacknowledged. "If you're so worried about her, you stay, you find her; we're going to go on without her," he continued heedlessly, and even I had to agree with him for once.
"I could call Mason – he's at study group at school, maybe he could look for her," Liam suggested, hoping to help.
It was just about as close to a solution as we were likely to get, and even Stiles knew it. He relented with a sigh. "Alright, fine," he said reluctantly, and as though commanded, everybody began to move, heading for their stations.
Stiles nodded at me, and I drifted to his side, the pair of us coming to a stop beside Malia, who was frowning.
"I need to be back there with Derek and Liam," he told the were-coyote with a nod at the transport van. "I've got some experience dealing with out of control teen wolves," he added with just a hint of bitterness. "Will you be okay riding with Peter?"
Malia considered it. "He is my father, maybe we can do some bonding," she muttered through a grimace.
"No, no bonding," Stiles deadpanned, not liking the thought of that any more than I did. "Play the radio. Play it loud." Then he turned to look at me. "Besides, Jules will go with you – kinda hard to bond with a cranky vampire making snide comments from the backseat."
"Excuse me?" I asked dangerously. "I'm not going in Peter's car," I added, sharp and stern, "I'm going with you and Liam."
"Uh, no, you're not," he replied with just the tiniest hint of amusement, as though I'd said something funny.
"You don't get to decide what I can and can't do, Stiles," I hissed, even knowing it was pointless with all the canine ears listening on.
"I do when it's the logical thing to do," he whispered back. "What if Liam gets free, Jules? One bite, that's all it takes."
"Maybe it's a risk I'm willing to take-"
"Can we leave the domestics at the door, please?" Peter interjected, smooth and even but still wholly unimpressed. I snapped my head around to glower at him, gaze tinted ruby red with blood. He smirked back at me, utterly unbothered, then turned to address the group as a whole. "Remember what we're dealing with here," he said with the intensity of a military man giving a rousing speech. "It's not just Kate. It's berserkers – you might see human eyes behind those skulls, but don't assume there is any humanity left," he paused, beady eyes flickering over to me, "something our Juliet knows all about."
Lip curling back, I flashed my fangs at him warningly, but he only smirked back like he'd just won. His eyes passed over Stiles and landed on Liam, and I would have had to have been deaf not to notice the way the kid's heart was trying to leap out of his chest in his fear.
"Oh, this little one is terrified of them, aren't you?" Peter asked in a belittling kind of voice. I glanced over at Liam to see him shift uncomfortably under the attention. "Don't worry, my friend, it is that fear that will keep you alive," Peter added with a sneer. "A reminder to everyone! You do not fight the berserkers to survive. You fight to kill."
He turned away, heading for the car, but I wandered closer to Derek, who began to load Stiles and Liam into the back of the transport van. "I still don't like this," Stiles whispered to me, fighting to maintain the illusion of privacy.
"It'll be fine," I assured him without conviction. I had no way to know if it would be fine. All I could do was pray to the stars that I wouldn't find myself on the receiving end of a werewolf bite. I knew, however, that there was no way in hell I was going to let Stiles sit in the back of that van without me. I'd rather risk my death than his. At least this way I could protect him.
"You don't know that, Jules," Stiles replied dully, like he'd read my mind.
Liam was on the phone, muttering into the mouthpiece to his friend, but I tuned him out, caring little for his words. Reaching out, I grasped his hand in mine, threading our fingers together in a familiar move.
"Whatever we face, we face it together," I said, and he met my eyes as he exhaled slowly. I could see him weighing my words in his head, and I allowed my lips to curl upwards into a smile as I ducked closer, pressing a gentle, affectionate kiss to the corner of his frowning mouth.
By the time I pulled back he looked less conflicted, and I smiled more genuinely as Liam hung up his phone call, climbing into the back and taking a heavy seat on the bench supplied. "Stiles, go get the cuffs from Braeden," Derek said sharply, and Stiles nodded once as he moved around to the front of the van to complete his task. He turned to me, and I cocked an eyebrow expectantly. "Sure it's a good idea?" he asked mutedly. "I can protect Stiles well enough on my own, you know."
"Aw, Derek," I cooed sarcastically, "I didn't know you cared so much."
His mouth turned down in a frown, and I knew I'd won this round. Stiles reappeared in the doorway, climbing back inside and handing the cuffs off to Derek, who leaned forwards to secure Liam. "All good?" he asked, tightening the handcuffs around Liam's wrists, fastening him to the metal bars.
Liam yanked his arms upwards. The cuffs gave a metallic clink, but gave no sign of breaking. Face scrunched, the Pup nodded his head. I could see the echo of fear in his eyes, but it was coupled with a searing determination, and I knew it was worth the risk.
"Good," said Derek with a nod. "I brought something to help you," he added as he thrust a hand into his pocket. From beneath us the van gave a lurch as Braeden began to drive. Stiles slid slightly into me at the movement, and I caught him, leaning against the wall of the van and watching the exchange between Liam and Derek with mild interest. "This has been with my family for centuries," said the older werewolf, pulling out a familiar, small wooden disk. "It's a very powerful supernatural talisman," he continued imploringly, and I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from snorting in amusement. "It can teach betas how to control themselves under the full moon," he said, handing off the useless trinket with reverence, as though it were made of gold.
Liam took it, staring down at the disk with wide eyes, and once his attention was diverted, the older wolf turned to Stiles and I with a meaningful stare.
"Yes, it's powerful," Stiles echoed once he understood. "Very powerful," he muttered unconvincingly. Thankfully Liam wasn't the sharpest tack in the pile, and he nodded seriously, running his fingertips over the Triskelion in awe.
Hours passed, the sun travelling across the sky, sinking low behind the horizon. It wasn't the usual road trip, this one was taken mostly in tense silence, the weight of the danger ahead too heavy, too stifling for us to bother making conversation.
Stiles grew uncomfortable, and I leant into his side, soaking up his warmth even as Derek glanced at us disdainfully from our left. Ignoring him, I curled closer into him, letting the familiar, soothing rhythm of his heart lull me into peace.
The sun soon disappeared, and with a glance out the windscreen, I could see we'd reached the desert. The large, waxing moon hung high above us, casting its eerie silver light across the never ending expanse of dry, cracked earth.
It was almost easy to forget the danger I was currently in. That was, until Liam suddenly snarled, his restraints cracking loudly as he flinched, struggling to keep control. Stiles flinched, shifting so he was somewhat in front of me, as though it would be any help should he attack.
"You said you were gonna teach me," Liam panted, and I glanced down at the triskelion in his grip to see his deadly, grotesque claws glinting in the low light. He looked up, and his eyes glowed an unnatural amber. "I think you'd better start."
He began to sweat, face coated with droplets of perspiration. His eyes continued to glow, and something deep within me, something primal, told me to get away. Forcing myself to remain still, I watched on with caution.
"Liam, you with me?" asked Derek sternly, and the Pup gave a weak nod. "We have a mantra that we use. You repeat it and you focus on the words. It's like meditating," he explained evenly. "You say the words until you feel the control coming back to you."
"Okay," Liam gulped loudly, "okay, what are the words?"
"Look at the triskelion, see those swirls? I have a tattoo on my back, it's the same thing," Derek told him seriously, voice calm and smooth. I briefly wondered how many times he'd been in this exact same position. "The spiral means something."
"Alpha, beta, omega," Stiles answered, and I glanced over at him with narrowed eyes, taking in his serious expression.
"It represents the idea that we can always rise to one and fall back to another. Betas can become alphas-"
"Alphas can become betas," Stiles finished. Derek pressed his lips together, and I wondered whether the comment hit a little too close to home for comfort.
"Can alphas become omegas?" Liam asked, breathing only growing heavier with every passing beat. Derek nodded, and the kid's face scrunched as he fought for control.
"All you have to do is say the three words, and with each one you tell yourself you're getting calmer, more in control," Derek told him gently. Liam gave a sound that wasn't quite a sob, more of a grunt, and I cringed at the pain written across his face. "Go ahead," the beta wolf encouraged the Pup, and Liam's features twisted in his agony.
"Alpha, beta-" he began to chant.
"Slower," Derek interrupted him without pause.
Liam inhaled shakily, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and speaking around gritted teeth, "alpha, beta, omega."
"Good, say it again," Derek commanded. "Remember, ever time you say the words, you're getting calmer."
"Alpha, beta, omega."
"Say it again."
"Alpha, beta, omega," repeated Liam, only this time the human quality to his voice was all but lost, replaced by a guttural, animalistic growl that was anything but calm.
Stiles gulped, curling his legs up onto the bench, folding himself into me. Whether for my benefit or his own, I couldn't tell. "Derek, I don't think that, uh, power talisman of self control is working," he said dryly, eyeing Liam warily.
Liam's breathing only got heavier, eyes glowing brighter, teeth getting longer. He gave a loud snarl, tearing desperately at his restraints, trying to get free.
"Liam, say it again!" Derek demanded as Stiles shuffled back into me. I gripped him tightly, my cat-like eyes focused intently on Liam, who was losing more control with every passing heartbeat. He threw his weight around, and for a moment I felt the van tilt, one half losing contact with the ground, the whole vehicle swerving dangerously before Braeden managed to right it again.
"Derek?!" the Marshall shouted through the divider between us.
"I think we're going to need to go a little faster!" Stiles yelled back just as one of Liam's cuffs snapped clean in half.
"Fuck," I cussed, grabbing Stiles by the shoulder and shoving him behind me. It was difficult in such a small space, and he complained immediately, crying out in protest as I shoved myself between them, using my body as a protective barrier.
"Jules!" he exclaimed in objection, but he was ignored as the last remaining cuff broke apart like jello. Liam thrust a hand at Derek, who flinched back to avoid getting an eye clawed out, and I slipped closer, grabbing onto Liam's hand and squeezing his wrist with enough force to make him cry out in pain. The bones creaked under my grip, but didn't yet break.
"Keep going!" Derek shouted to Braeden, who shouted out as the van tilted dangerously.
"We're almost there!" she yelled back desperately, telling us to hold on just that little bit longer.
Liam gave a furious snarl, spit flying from between his elongated canine teeth. "Liam!" I growled back, letting my eyes swamp with blood, face switching from human to monster in the space of a heartbeat. "Liam!" I snarled, animalistic and venomous. He tore away from me, and while on any other day of the month it would be enough to scare a baby beta into submission, tonight he only howled back, slashing at me with his claws.
"Focus!" shouted Derek desperately.
"Jules!" cried Stiles as Liam slashed at me again. With the limited space I had it wasn't easy, but I managed to dodge the attack, slipping out of range before he took out a chunk of my skin. "Derek! I don't really think 'alpha, beta, omega' is really resonating with him," my boyfriend hissed to the wolf behind me.
"Do you know any other mantras?" Derek snapped back impatiently.
Liam caught hold of my arm, his claws slicing through my pale flesh. I cursed loudly, throwing a punch into his face that only seemed to make him angrier.
"Yeah, yeah I do!" exclaimed Stiles from behind me. "Liam, what three things can not long be hidden?" he shouted over the beta's furious snarling. Liam didn't seem to respond, growing more violent. He snapped his jaws at me, and I flinched away, trying not to think about how close I was to death in that moment. "Liam! Liam, what three things can not long be hidden?!" Stiles shouted over the Pup's animalistic snarls, a desperate edge to him voice. "What three things?" he demanded.
One of his clawed hands was curled around Derek's throat, and the poor guy looked to be close to passing out. It was only be the grace of God, or perhaps just Stiles' unusual brand of magic, that Liam's hisses and growls petered off, replaced by pained hyperventilating as he fought for control.
"The sun...the moon...the truth..." Liam panted through his pain.
"Say it again," Stiles insisted.
"The sun...the moon...the truth..."
"Derek?" Braeden asked shakily from the front seat, and for the first time since I'd known her, there was a hint of fear in her voice.
Derek took a moment to collect himself, then looked through the bars at her with a nod. "We're okay," he assured her, and she swallowed before turning back to the road.
Liam continued to mutter his mantra, gaining more control with ever breath that passed his lips. Finally feeling it was okay to let him go, I shuffled back until I had returned to my place beside Stiles. We said nothing, allowing the young pup to continue his chanting, heartbeat returning to normal.
Stiles took my hand in his, running his fingertips over the place Liam had torn through my skin. The wounds were healed now, only the stain of my blood as proof any had been spilled.
I leant into him, calm but still cautious, one eye on Liam as he continued to speak, eyes squeezed shut in his concentration. I was focused on Stiles, the drag of his skin against mine. So involved was I in his presence and my own relief that I didn't notice we'd arrived until the van came to an abrupt stop, brakes squeaking loudly, cutting off Liam's chants.
We'd won a battle, but we certainly hadn't won the war; the one we were just about to step into, consequences be damned.
"I can't believe I did it," Liam murmured, still caught up in his relief, clearly not realising what I just had. "You know, for a minute there, I thought I was gonna tear the two of you apart," he added with a halfhearted smile.
We were all silent, staring back at him as we processed this information. Stiles was the first to speak. "Yeah, that would have made for an awkward ride home, so thanks," he muttered sardonically. My lips twitched upwards at the comment.
"Think you can bring the same level of control and strength inside La Iglesia?" Derek asked evenly.
Liam paused a moment, considering it, then flicked his wrist, his claws reappearing on command. "Alright," hummed Stiles with a small edge of satisfaction, "we might actually be able to do this."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet," I said, cracking my knuckles and straightening my jacket, preparing to begin as Derek reached across us to open the doors. There was a calm, silent beat, and then a guttural growl as a berserker appeared, grasping the front of Derek's shirt and yanking him violently out of the van.
Stiles let out a loud shout, as did Liam, but I could only watch in silence as Derek was slammed down onto a nearby boulder with a sickening crack. It took me a moment to react, but as the berserker's monstrous spike pierced Derek's chest, I leapt from the van.
"Jules, no!" Stiles cried out from behind me, a desperate, anguished note to his voice, but I ignored it, throwing myself at the berserker, knowing Derek's life was on the line.
It snarled darkly, attempting to throw me off, but I hooked my arms around its head and twisting. As usual, nothing happened, it didn't die. There was no flesh for me to bite into, no weakness I could find.
Then there was the loud, deafening bang of gunfire and I felt pain in my side. My grip on the berserker weakened, and I fell to the ground with a grunt. A bullet had gone straight through my middle, and I huffed as I climbed to my feet, stale blood staining my shirt and my insides aching significantly.
Looking around, I saw it was Braeden, not out of the van and firing her shotgun at the berserker repeatedly. It didn't kill it, but it was enough to make it flee, and within moments it had disappeared from sight, its heavy footsteps vanishing all together.
I didn't hesitate to dive down to Derek's level. One of my hands pressed to my own wound, the other to his. "Hey, Sour-wolf, you're okay," I said, unsure who I was trying to convince as I applied pressure to the hole in his chest. From behind me there were gasps and footsteps, but I ignored them in favour to keeping Derek's insides from spilling out.
Braeden dropped to the dirt beside me, gently pushing aside Derek's shirt to reveal one of the wounds in his flesh.
"How bad is it?" Peter's voice asked from behind me, but I didn't care enough to answer, my attention focused on my old friend's vitals.
"I'm fine!" Derek insisted stubbornly, eyes clenched shut against the pain. "Just get to Scott!" Expression hardening, I pressed harder against the gaping hole in his chest, but blood only continued to spill over my fingers. There was a pregnant silence, nobody knowing what to do. "Just find him – we'll be right behind you," he panted with difficulty. "Go," he said as forcefully as he could. Nobody moved. "Go!"
One by one, the group reluctantly turned away, heading for the God-forsaken church. I couldn't move, hovering over Derek who had begun to shake, shock no doubt setting in.
"Juliet," Derek choked out, blood beginning to spill from between his lips. "Save Scott. Go, please," he coughed, face twisting in agony. He squinted, his eyes sliding to something behind me. Hands settled over my shoulders, clutching tightly as they guided me to my feet. I went with them reluctantly.
Once I was on my feet, I glanced back to see Stiles staring down at a dying Derek, looking like he were about to be sick.
I wasn't exactly the guy's best friend, but the last thing I wanted was for him to die. The very thought made my insides roll and guilt pool in my chest. "Save him," Derek breathed, and I knew he was right. We were here for Scott. We'd all already come to accept the fact that we might die along the way. Scott and Kira, that was why we were here. Save Scott and Kira.
Without pausing to second-guess myself, I spun away and marched back towards the church at a human pace, listening as Stiles hesitated only an extra few seconds before jogging after me.
The inside of the church looked like a war zone. Dust and rubble had settled over everything. Nothing about it seemed liveable, I couldn't imagine spending my time in such a place. But for Kate and the berserkers, I supposed it was fitting.
Stiles held a torch in his hand, really only for his benefit, giving him the ability to see through the dark while we already could. None of us spoke, stepping over shards of shattered glass and piles of broken bones. From the church led on a series of tunnels, and Peter was the one leading us, which even I knew to be a bad decision.
"Stop, stop, stop," the beta wolf finally hissed, bringing us to a sudden stop. "We need to figure out where we are, then we've gotta figure out how to find Scott and Kira."
There was a beat as we looked around, searching for some clue as to our location, and then there was an unwelcome, shrill ringing. Confused, Stiles patted his pockets until he produced his phone, holding it up and squinting at the light. "How do I even have service-?" he cut himself off with a huff and took a few steps away to answer it.
It was his dad and he sounded pissed – which was understandable, I supposed. Stiles spoke to him in low tones we could all still hear. Once he'd calmed down, John agreed to go to the school and look for Lydia, letting Stiles go reluctantly. It lifted a weight from my mind, knowing somebody was looking after Lydia, when I couldn't be. Then again, I was fairly certain the friendly neighbourhood banshee could look after herself.
"What do we do now?" asked Liam once Stiles had rejoined us.
There was a pause as we considered the question. Then a gust of air hit me in the face, bringing with it the scent of rotting death, and I whipped around in the same moment Malia did, with enough time to just see a berserker appear, slamming it's near-indestructible fist into the wall, taking with it a large chunk of stone.
"Shit," I cursed, whirling back around to grasp Stiles by the arm, using it to shove him down the corridor.
"Go, go, go!" shouted Peter desperately, no doubt eager to save his own skin, and I pulled Stiles faster, using supernatural speed to drag him away from the berserker chasing us. Its footsteps were heavy, they made the ground tremble beneath my feet.
Bursting out into more of an open space, some kind of old hall probably once used for prayer, I spun around to face the berserker, shifting my weight so I remain in front of Stiles. "Go find Kira and Scott!" Malia yelled at Stiles, throwing him Kira's katana then turning to face the oncoming beast.
"What? No!" he protested wildly, even as his fingers curled around the covered blade.
"She's right, love," I shouted over the bangs of the approaching berserker, like it were destroying everything in its path. "Go, we'll be fine!" I added forcefully, glancing at him over my shoulder.
He swallowed, the sound loud even over the berserker's demolition. He reached out a hand, and I copied the action, revelling in his skin against mind before finally I pushed him away. Reluctantly he turned and tripped through the doorway in a flurry of movement, intent on finding Kira and Scott.
I knew he would, because he had to.
Stepping up beside Malia, I readied myself to fight. "Ready?" I asked her in an undertone.
"Only if you are," she murmured back, eyes fixed on the berserker as it finally appeared in the doorway, giving croaking sort of growl. Without looking at me, she held up a fist. Understanding the gesture for what it was, I knocked her fist with my own in a move that warmed my insides.
But I couldn't dwell, because then the berserker was running, its footfalls like miniature earthquakes. My fangs slid into place, my eyes went red and grotesque veins crept along my delicate cheekbones. It was my armour, and this berserker had no idea what I was capable of when it came to protecting my family.
It let out a guttural snarl, and Malia was the first to attack it. The thing batted her out of the way like she were nothing more than an irritating insect. Curling my lip back, I threw myself on top of it, grabbing at it's bony armour and ripping. A chunk of bond tore away, but before I could celebrate the small victory, its fist slammed into my face, sending me careening into the large column behind me.
Stone and cement shattered under my back, and I collapsed to the ground with a hand held to my face, grunting as I had to physically realign my jaw so it would heal properly. It cracked, pain ricocheting up through my skull. Groaning, I swore and mentally told myself to man the fuck up, pushing my way to my feet and diving back into the fray.
I hadn't been lying. I was prepared to die for Scott, if that was what it took. But I was ready to kill for him too – starting with this berserker.
"Take it, aim for the skull!" shouted Peter, throwing some kind of cracked claw at Malia, who plucked it from the air. Throwing myself at the berserker, I knew an opportunity when I saw it. Grasping ahold of the thing's arm, I used every ounce of strength I had left in me to force it backwards into a pillar, holding it down. It struggled, strong and powerful, but I was determined, and it only needed to be for as long as it took Malia to finish it. "Kill it! Kill it now!" yelled Peter furiously, a hysterical, bloodthirsty edge to his voice as he jeered with pleasure at the kill.
"No, wait! Malia, wait!" Stiles screamed at the top of his lungs, reappearing in the doorway with Kira who sliced her katana, forcing the weapon from Malia's grip. Everything fell silent, and we turned to look at the pair, who were staring back with horror-filled faces. "It's Scott," Stiles said, voice pained. "It's Scott."
My un-beating heart seemed to freeze further in my chest, and I spun back around to look at the berserker, peering at it more closely. And as I stared, looking through the slits in the eyes of the skull, I caught sight of a familiar pair of puppy-dog brown eyes.
"Shit," I cursed without heed, just as he gained a second wind. With one large swipe of his arms, Scott threw us off of him. Stumbling back, I coughed when I got a lungful of dust, then grunted when he struck, his fist falling on my face again, making my eyes burn with pain.
He attacked Malia next, but I forced myself to my feet, shifting closer and grabbing at his armour.
"Come on, Teen Wolf," I hissed at him, but he didn't seem to hear or understand, the giant spike attached to his fist piercing my middle with a blinding pain. He ripped it out, and its serrated edge shredded my insides.
Stumbling back, I could only hold a hand to my injury, struggling to breathe properly against the pain and the blood bubbling up my oesophagus.
"Scott? Scott, it's me!" cried Stiles' voice, the sound of it ringing in my ears, but he was cut off by the sound of bone hitting bone, and he grunted as he was forced to the floor.
It was hard to walk, but I could already feel it healing, and I stumbled towards Stiles, who was climbing unsteadily off the ground. "You good?" I asked him, spitting out a mouthful of foul tasting blood.
He coughed, nodding as he turned to see Scott slamming Liam up against the wall, one hand wrapped securely around his throat.
"Dammit," I cursed, hand still pressed to my wound as I stumbled forwards, needing to get closer despite not knowing what to do.
"Scott, listen! Listen!" Liam was begging his alpha tearfully. "You're not a monster! You're a werewolf. Like me."
And then the miraculous happened. Scott seemed to realise something, realise himself, and he stepped away from Liam, who sucked in air now that he could breathe. He staggered backwards, tearing at the gruesome armour that hid him away. I watched with bated breath, unsure if I could even let myself hope.
The gloves came off first, dropping to the floor lifelessly. Then the chest plate, revealing his double band tattoo, and then finally he grasped at either side of the skull used in place of a mask, tearing it in two, revealing that beautiful, wonderful, uneven face that I had come to absolutely adore.
He let out a mighty roar, his werewolf fangs glinting in the moonlight, his eyes glowing that powerful red. I expected him to talk to us, expression relief or gratitude, something Scott-like, but instead his eyes focused in on something behind us. Confused, I looked over my shoulder, catching sight of peter, standing there with a scowl on his stupid face.
"You," Scott said in a voice a might even describe as deadly. "The only one who knew as much about berserkers. You taught Kate, Peter. All for power."
I realised what had happened now, and I felt like an idiot for ever thinking Peter could actually be on our side. The prick had been working against us all along, and I hadn't even realised.
"For my family's power," Peter corrected him indignantly, an unattractive snarl curling at his lips. "To be rightfully inherited by me. Not usurped by some idiot teenage boy so incorruptible he won't shed the blood of his enemies even when justified. You don't deserve your power," he said, that monstrous growl reappearing in his voice, eyes turning a sad, glowing blue.
His head began to twist, snapping to the side, and when he looked back he no longer appeared human, his features morphed into those of a werewolf. Malia gave a vicious snarl from beside him, no doubt feeling slighted and betrayed by her pathetic excuse for a father. She attacked him, and I leant forwards, preparing myself to defend her, but I didn't move away in time, helpless to do anything but watch as Peter shoved her back into a collapsed column, stone cracking under her weight.
"I'm sorry sweetheart, we'll talk about this later," he drawled around his oversized canines.
Fury gripping me, my fingers curled into fleshy claws as my fangs flashed in threat. Bending at the knees, I prepared to launch myself at him, more than willing to tear out with throat with my teeth, but a large, warm hand curled around my bicep, pulling me to a stop. "Jules."
Snapping my head around, my bloodied eyes widened at the sight of Scott, whose red eyes glittered like rubies in the darkness, a look of serious readiness on his face.
Understanding the command, I stood from my threatening crouch and stepped aside, watching with keen eyes as Scott and Peter slowly began to circle one another.
This was down to them, now.
"You were my beta first, Scott," Peter growled around his teeth. "It was my bite that changed your life; and my bite that can end it."
Kira and Stiles' heart rates spiked, but I was calm, as was Scott, who stared back at the beta wolf patiently. "Then end it, Peter," he said, matter-of-fact, "because you won't get another chance."
There was a tense pause, then Peter opened his jaws and let out a furious snarl. Scott echoed him, eyes glinting as he snarled in response, his aura screaming 'threat'. Feet slammed against the stone floor as they rushed towards one another, and despite my every instinct telling me to intervene, I stepped away to give them room, one arm pressing against Stiles, pushing him back to safety.
The fight was brutal, clearly neither was holding back, a fact that ought to have been celebrated – it was long since overdue.
"Come on, Scott – fight like an alpha!" Peter goaded him stupidly. That wasn't his first mistake – but it might very well have been his last.
As Scott dived back in to attack, Stiles' hands balled into anxious fists. I reached out, grasping ahold of his hand and squeezing, trying to remain confident even as I held my breath. I had every belief in Scott, he would come out the winner – but at what cost? Because there was always a cost.
Peter's hand collided with Scott's jaw with a sickening crunch, and I flinched forwards, every instinct in me screaming to help, to defend my friend...my alpha. Stiles grasped onto my hand, a silent reminder not to move. This was Scott's fight, and we all knew it.
It was obvious Scott was trying to wound, not kill. That was why he couldn't seem to get the upper hand; he wasn't being ruthless enough.
"If you want to beat me, you're going to have to kill me!" Peter roared, grasping Scott by the hair and tossing him aside like trash. Gritting my teeth, my own fangs cutting into the flesh of my mouth, I could do no more than watch as he was flung into the wall, bones cracking along with the cement.
Unable to stand doing nothing, Liam stepped forwards, prepared to help.
"Liam!" I hissed, but Peter had already seen him, grasping ahold of a large wooden structure that at some point in the past may have been important. Now it was nothing but garbage. Peter threw it at the beta wolf like it weighed nothing, but Liam's reflexes were fast, and he ducked below the attack, the pieces of wood shattering above his head but thankfully leaving him unscathed.
For Scott, seeing Liam get attacked seemed to be the straw that broke the camels back. The alpha leapt to his feet, eyes glowing ruby red in the darkness, a snarl on his face. He approached Peter, a stoic ease about his walk, and Peter gave a desperate snarl as he tried to attack, throwing himself at Scott, who deflected the attack like he was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
A large, smug smirk pulled at me lips, and I leant forwards to get a better look, knowing Peter's end was near. With a brilliant uppercut to his jaw, Peter was sent flying, crashing into the wall with a dull thud. Scott stalked closer, claws glinting in the moonlight streaming in through the windows.
"You were never an alpha Peter," my alpha said, utterly calm. "But you were always a monster."
Peter gave a snarl, preparing to get up and fight, but Scott was having none of it, leaping into the air to deliver a final punch, one that cracked Peter's bones and knocked him out like a light.
Everything was silent for a long, drawn out moment, and then Stiles tugged at our joined hands, bringing me out from behind the pillar we were leaned again, out into the open. Scott stood beneath the detailing in the wall, moonlight spilling through it, casting an ethereal glow on his canine features.
I took my time to stare at him, absorbing the sense of raw power that emanated from him like a stench. And I was proud, of the man, and werewolf, he'd become.
LINEBREAK
Braeden dropped us off at the Sheriff's station. Stiles and John reunited, John handcuffed Stiles to his desk, then John threatened to shoot me if I ever let Stiles pull something like that again. All in all, it was rather a success. A success that ended in pizza, which was nice.
We all went back to the Stilinski household. While I would have loved to go home, John wanted Stiles to stay with him, and I wasn't about to leave Stiles, so I tagged along, intent on having a bath in their tub then waiting until John fell asleep to ravish Stiles until he could no longer remember his own name.
It was a good plan, so suffice to say, I was rather upset when things didn't appear to be heading in favour of this ending.
John's door was cracked. He was the first to notice, I was too busy making eyes at a blushing Stiles.
"Stay quiet," ordered John, already pulling his gun. Instinctively, I shoved Stiles behind me, standing in front of him protectively, prepared to attack whatever we found inside.
And it could have been anything. Some part of me shivered at the thought that it might be a rouge berserker, come to finish the job, but I discarded that immediately. It was fine, I told myself, probably just a home invader of the human kind. That, I could handle.
John stepped inside, the door creaking under his touch, and I was close behind, fangs already pressing against my lips, prepared to kill. "Hello?" John called, voice wary but also confident. "Is anyone here?"
"Why do humans always ask that?" drawled a cold, unfamiliar voice. "What do you expect me to say? Yes, I'm in the kitchen, come closer so I can kill you?"
John cocked his weapon, the sound foreboding in the worst way, and I flitted in front of him, gently pushing him back. We stepped into the kitchen, met with the sight of a tall vampire with blonde hair and an ugly sneer. "Who are you?" I asked, voice like ice.
"Nobody important," he answered me, and I noticed in his hand was one of John's knives, blade long and glinting silver in the overhead lights. "Just a minion. One of many."
"Minion?" I repeated sharply. "Minion to who?"
The vampire smiled, revealing pointy white teeth. "I think we both know who, Juliet," he said in the ultimate tone of condescension. My hands balled into fists, and I could hear Stiles and John's pulses race from within their chests.
"How'd you get in?" I asked, my whole body coiled like a snake preparing to strike. The unfamiliar vampire couldn't have possibly looked more relaxed, grinning at me wolfishly.
"He posed as a food delivery man," supplied John, his voice steely and full of self-hate. "I invited him in last night," he said thickly, clearly blaming himself.
"How unoriginal," I drawled. The vampire grinned again. "Clearly it's me you're looking for," I said, voice strong and smooth. "Why don't we let the humans go for a drive while we sort out our business?" I suggested, not merely suggesting it at all.
"I think I'd rather they stay," he said, simple and coy.
"What do you want?" I asked, refusing to dance around the issue. My skin prickled with awareness.
"Came to collect something that belongs to Klaus," he told me, twirling the knife in skilled fingers, an unspoken threat.
"The stone isn't here," I said immediately. "It's at my house. We can go get it now."
"I've already been there," he said, seemingly casual as he dragged a fingertip up and down the sharp blade. "Seems you had a visitor while you were away. The stone is gone."
"How do you know it's gone if you don't know where I'd hidden it?" I countered tensely.
"Loose floorboard beside the couch?" My expression flattened, dread filling my insides like a poison. The vampire smirked victoriously. "Thought so."
"Okay, so what are you doing here?" I pressed, intent on getting through this as quickly, and as safely as possible.
"Followed your scent," he told me with a lift and drop of his shoulders. "Wasn't difficult to track you here. This human residence reeks of your stench. Particularly the child's room. You naughty, naughty vampire," he tutted. "Figured it was only a matter of time before you came back."
"So? The stone's gone. What am I meant to do about it?" I asked, my voice holding just an edge of panic that made me want to cringe.
"Klaus doesn't like having his property stolen," the vampire drawled simply, but there was a wicked glint to his eye that made me uneasy.
"I was out of the country! What does he expect from me?" I demanded shrilly.
"He expects you to hold up your end of the bargain."
Pausing, I shifted my weight casually, my body ready to attack. "So, I suppose you're here to kill me, in recompense," I murmured, seemingly calm.
"What? No!" Stiles argued from behind me.
"Stiles, stay out of this," I hissed at my human, whose heart sounded like a hummingbird's by now. He reeked of fear, and I hoped whatever happened to me, he wouldn't be forced to watch.
The nameless vampire tutted again. "Klaus knows you don't value your own life, you see," he said simply, holding the knife with more purpose. His eyes glinted with hunger as he used the tip to point to Stiles over my shoulder. "But he knows you value his."
John fired his gun, the bullets flying into the vampire's gut, but he didn't so much as flinch. He looked rather disappointed by the attempt.
"Could you humans be any more pathetic?" he asked patronisingly before flashing his fangs and moving faster than sound, flicking the knife over my shoulder where I knew John and Stiles stood. The risk of it hitting either one of them made my insides swoop, and I didn't stop to think as I reached out, grasping ahold of the knife with my hand. It happened so fast, and I was so focused on gripping the blade in a bleeding hand that I didn't realise the vampire had moved.
"Stiles!" screamed John, and the bloodied knife clattered uselessly to the floor as I spun around to see Stiles in the vampire's grip, one hand on either side of my human's handsome, fragile face.
"Stop," I begged, panic seizing me. "Please don't do this," I pleaded with him, prepared to drop to my knees. I met Stiles eyes, and they were afraid – so, so afraid, flickering between me and his dad, who had stopped breathing from behind me. His heart was racing, and he was terrified, upset, pained. My insides were screaming with terror, but I was horrorstruck and frozen, unable to do anything but watch. I wouldn't get to him in time. I just wouldn't. Begging was my only option. "Please," I beseeched the vampire, hands clasped together in front of me.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he purred roguishly. "I have my orders."
His hands gave a violent jerk and a sickening, world-ending snap echoed throughout the house. And Stiles Stilinski dropped to the floor; dead.
A/N: Eighty chapters and four seasons! Wow guys, this has been such an amazing experience for me. There aren't words to describe how thankful I am for each and every one of you!
BUT – don't worry. It isn't over just yet. We have some original chapters coming to tie up the story. I won't say how many, but I will say they're still in the editing phase. If there's something you guys in particular wanna see before this story's done, now is the time to suggest it, because it will be coming to a close very soon.
Let me know what you think of this chapter! Cliffhangers are a bitch, aren't they?
