Chapter Three: Her Shadowed Silhouette
Stiles catches up to her easily, zeroing in on her sloshing heartbeat and defined foot steps that travel out the school and towards the woods. The trees paint a pretty picture of sublime beauty, the airy chill, rich dirt, and dark forest green colors falling together in hypnotizing patterns.
His senses are flighty with capricious undertones, his deep furrowed brow fixed above his steely pair of eyes.
"Are you following me, Stilinski?" He hears a whimsical notion of a question from behind him. He's on immediate alert, turning from left to right in erratic movements, but she's vanished as if she'd never been there at all. He stops and looks around, trying to catch any trace of her, but her scent is everywhere flooding his nose. "Maybe it was a little impulsive to come here without an actual plan." He thinks to himself before a pair of razor blade teeth trail down his neck, causing him to shiver.
His mood changes like quicksilver.
A growl rumbles deep in his chest, a wayward cacophony of discordant sounds that vibrate together and crumble the catacombs of his mind's patience.
"Come out and face me, She-wolf. I'll show you who the real Alpha-male is." He dares, a sweet and seductive lilt in his voice that drips of honey and promise. He knows a woman as dauntless as her couldn't resist the urge to challenge his authority.
With a blur of movement, she stands before him, an unearthly glint in the charcoal eyes that stare back him soullessly. The wildness in them temporarily paralyzes him, leaving him shaken to the core. He can sense nothing, not an ounce of anything remotely human in the recesses of them. Her stance is hard and unforgiving, her hair disheveled as it billows around her. A wicked smirk paints her lips and the casual head cock she sports leaves him a bit antsy. No one has ever left him so shaken. But something about her unwillingness to show weakness makes him almost respect her.
He can't help but let his mind wander to a section of poetry they had been studying in his English class the past week, Virgina Woolf being the focus. One line had read. "She was like fate- a consummate mistress of all the arts of self preservation: hair rolled and lustrous; eyes so nonchalant; nothing could startle her; people going and coming all the time; she not looking, yet knowing, fearing nothing, expecting nothing." The quote embodied the essence pertaining to the storm of a woman standing before him with confounding clarity. Nothing about her was muted, but all was magnified.
She wiggles her fingers, flexing them until her claws elongate to a sharpness that could cut down to the bone. With a quick flick of her wrist, she slashes the tree next to her bristled with grooves and splintered bark, sharping her nails. He believes that it was meant to be intimidating. And it kind of was.
"You said you wanted to show me something?" She teases, her sharp canines peeking up from beneath her lips. "Please do, I'd love to become acquainted with your... Stamina." Her voice dips at the last word, leaving an abundant of inappropriate meanings behind that he didn't have time to process. Instead he feels his eyes bleed red, his glistening fangs drop from his gums, and his sharp claws follow suit.
His shallow breathing is ragged from his fury. He can barely get the words out without choking on them in between spewing saliva and his hateful glare pointed at her."You fuck with my pack, you fuck with me, princess." He snarls before he lets out a loud roar, charging at her.
Malia dodges his first attack, moving out of the way with expert skill at the swipe of his claws. She catches her balance and ducks down low, swiping his legs out from underneath him. Her brown hair whips around her like a machete and her swift kick to his lower body causes his back to arch and a pained howl to rip through his body and echo out to the expanse of trees. He lands on his back with a thud, hearing the distinct crack of bones. Without warning, Malia's sharp heeled boots press hard against his sternum, stabbing down with enough pressure to snap the end of it off if she went just a little bit deeper. She leans down to pet his inky black hair that dripping in sweat but she pulls back just in time for his teeth to miss her hand when he snaps at her like a rabid dog.
She grins fondly at the beast before her. "You know, I warned you. I could just kill you now and make an example out of you for your little friends. If I murder their Alpha, what else will they have left to lose? Maybe the added effort to reap revenge for their fallen leader will make this game all the more interesting. Lord knows I could snap your spine in half and reapply my lipstick at the same time. Or maybe I'll try that on Allison." She suggests. "Or maybe I'll just make you my little bitch, instead." She laughs at the glower that pulls down the corners of his mouth. She leans down a little further close enough to where her breath tickles his ear. "Would you like that, Stiles? Would you like to be my bitch?" She threatens innocently, laying a careful kiss on his cheek that leaves a red stain from her lipstick.
Stiles eyes burn into hers as he gargles out a reply. "No, I don't think I'm cut out to be anyone's bitch, but I'd love to kill one." He smirks, grabbing her by the ankle and snapping it in half. Malia lets out a guttural groan, falling to the ground in pain. Stiles takes hold of her throat in a tight grip, pressing hard to cut off her airway by crushing her windpipe. He speaks with a promise, "I'm going to strangle this pretty little throat of yours" he begins, stroking her long, luxurious neck with the tips of his fingers, appreciating it's silky quality. "I'm going to watch the life drain from your eyes-" He continues in a rapturous timber, each word gilded in seduction. "-and then when I'm done I'm going to rip your throat out and deliver your head on a sliver platter for your lover Theo and the rest of your pack of abominations." His voice bites hard at the closing, staring her down with the weight of a thousand sun's fury blazing behind his eyes.
"And then I'm going to pick them off one by one. Isn't that what you threatened to do to my pack? I think that would be the best way to go about it, poetic justice and all." He says mockingly, using the same words against her that he'd witnessed her speak the first time he saw her dancing around a fiery mound of rotting corpses.
Her mouth opens to scream but he shushes her and throws a hand over her mouth. He titters manically, "No no, don't scream. That only makes this more enjoyable for me. You see the fear... It excites me, leaves me starving for more. I guess you could say I'm an adrenaline junkie. And normally I wouldn't tell you this, but since you'll be dead soon it doesn't really matter." He ponders. "You were right, you know. I wasn't always the way I am now... Noble... Honorable. I was a monster. My heart bled as black as my soul, or what little bit of soul I had left. I did eventually find my humanity but you of all people should know how fickle emotions can be, and occasionally I lose control. And when I do, honey, I'm insatiable."
Malia shivers involuntarily at his admission, actually having the sense to show some fear.
Trembling in disgust, she spits in his face. He laughs loudly, wiping the saliva off his cheek. He loves her fire, it crackles and ignites in a way that the old him would have been addicted to. He runs his fingers over her forehead, smoothing out the crease that had formed there. "Your fear is enough to temper my cravings for at least a fortnight. With that in mind... Maybe it is best that you scream."
He lays a gentle kiss on her lips and surprisingly her mouth feels supple and sweet as she reciprocates.
She tastes like every dark thought he's ever had and the pleasure of it all consumes him.
Her lips mold against his: fitting perfectly, her sighing at the right times, nibbling just where he liked it. She is this hybrid mix of a woman and a monster who couldn't contain herself. Stiles finds himself enjoying her, licking the honeyed nectar of her quintessence right off her lips.
She's saccharine in the lowly smile she gives him.
Stiles grins. "You're quite happy for a girl with my hands around her throat."
She chuckles darkly. "Don't threaten me with a good time, then." She murmurs, laughing at the hazy look that swims in his eyes. She reaches up and touches the bruises beneath his eyes, "Red looks good on you, Stilinski." She acknowledges softly, completely forgetting about the position that they are in.
Stiles finds himself at a cross-roads. "Aren't you the least bit scared?" He questions, realizing that he's loosened his grip on her.
Her eyes roll. "I'm divine in my own right, lesser men and women cower at my feet. I'm a harborer of death shadowed in a celestial body. I could tear you apart if I wanted to." She says, matter-of-fact.
"Don't lie to me, I saw your fear." Stiles quips, but underneath the facade he's sweating bullets. Her nonchalance makes him uneasy.
She quirks her eyebrow in amusement. "Did you ever think that maybe you've mistaken my desire for fear?" She questions boldly. "Maybe I just like the shape of you. Maybe I wanted to know what you feel like pressed against the curve of my hips" She breathes, thrusting up until she's flush against his thigh. "Or the smell of you, so rugged and sexy." She groans, running her nose up the column of his neck. "Or the contours of your chest." She continues her exploration, fingers sprawled across his upper body before following the naturally-lined path down his abs until she reaches the waistband of his jeans. "Maybe I just wanted to see what kind of man you are, because that tells me what kind of Alpha you are." She grins a pearly white smile when his breath comes out in puffs and spurts, giving into the feel of her hands on his skin. He shivers and tremors rack his body with an electric feel. It's as though her hands are everywhere at once.
"You boys are so predictable..." She mutters, but Stiles doesn't register what she says until it's too late. In a cool second, she's flipped their positions and Stiles is once again on his back. Malia forcibly breaks off a jagged branch from the tree, snapping it over her knee and impales Stiles through the stomach. Stiles roars in unimaginable pain, choking on the blood that spills from his mouth and down his shirt.
"You're weak." Malia reprimands, walking around him tauntingly in a circle. "You lost your shit just from a little feminine attention? I guess it's good I didn't travel down too far." She jokes, eyeing him like a lab rat. "I mean, I knew I was good, but damn... I must be really good."
Stiles can hardly breath, the blood is heavy and thick as it escapes his gorge in large quantities. His body feels dead and his eyes droop in exhaustion. Malia stands there before him, but his vision blurs to the point that there's three of her. Her tickling laughter crashes against his ears and his skin crawls at the loudness of it.
A piercing scream parts the sky like the Red Sea.
Lydia.
"I guess you're pretty close to death if the banshee can sense it. I'll see how you fair out here all by yourself. Hopefully your friends find you in time. But if not-" She bends down, giving him one final bloody kiss, the redness coating her lips. "I'll see you in Hell." She winks and then she's gone.