Chapter Five: Awful Things
Malia feels the crisp sheets beneath her finger tips. Her hair is a lion's mane, skin smelling of sex and honey, red angry lines running down the expanse of her otherwise smooth back. The whirlwind of anger, resentment, and hate come circling back around when her eyes flutter open and she remembers how she ended up here in the first place. Theo lays next to her, his muscular arm laid sprawled across her naked torso. She looks at him for a long time, searing his flesh with just her stare. She wishes that this could be enough: empty promises, empty passion, empty satisfaction. But it's not and it never would be, she knew this. He is handsome, she won't deny that. With his ashy brown hair, light gray eyes, and that rough, tortured ruggedness that instantly makes panties drop. He has that dream-like wonder that other women would go to war for if you can overlook some glaringly obvious psychological issues he holds.
But not her.
He is not for her.
No one is.
She moves out of his grasp, throwing on her underwear and not even bothering to slip on the wet dress from last night.
In a groggy-trance he turns and looks at her. "Malia, where are you going?"
Her body stills, "I think you already know."
Silence follows but she swears she can hear his heart break. She knows the sound all too well. She should feel bad, another thing that she knows. But she just... doesn't. There are too many things to feel in this world to waste any valuable time on remorse, not like she's capable of it anyway.
The sun is still low so Malia changes into a comfortable shirt and shorts, lacing up her running shoes, and decides to get in a morning jog before school.
The sky explodes in watercolors. Dark purples and pastel oranges chase each other in uneven lines with no end in sight. She hums to herself, a whimsical tune as her legs carry her down sepia roads. She's not sure where she's going, but in retrospect, when has she ever? She moves without thinking, like a tugging, bending her to it's will as she finds herself outside a two-story red brink house with a towering tree resting against the side of it. She doesn't even know where she is until she smells him.
Scuffed leather. Old Spice. And a hint of whiskey.
Stiles' house.
She's not sure how she even got here, the path and time having escaped her. She can hear whispering and the creaking of floorboards as footsteps move over them. She listens in on the heartbeats that saturate the room making a grand total of two. She smells her before she realizes who it is and she can feel something dark simmering underneath her skin. A gargled growl threatens to spill from her lips but she pulls it back, biting her tongue until she draws blood.
She climbs the tree, careful not to alert them of her presence. At a time she believed herself to be so sturdy, a brimstone fortress built so high that nothing could pass through. But then she peeks in on a mere shadow of Stiles' life through the dusty window that sits so still, and she's bursting at the seams.
The Banshee sits at his bedside. Lydia, she believes is her name. Malia feels her eyes cut deeply to her hand that is placed so casually in his. He's soft for her, she can tell. If not by the lazy circles he draws on her palm, then the crooked smile that falls underneath his too gentle eyes. She can't help thinking that gentle doesn't suit him. The man she witnessed was thunderous and born of lightening, his sordid waves crashing around you until there is no choice left but to drown in it. He could be Poseidon if it pleased him, wielding his wrath and destruction like a trident in his hands. But instead he settles for Hades. A man who could breed darkness with the air he breathes, however choosing to hold a steadfast fondness for a red-haired Persephone.
It makes Malia sick.
She hollows herself out until she can no longer hear her heart stampeding through her ears. She could have been sitting there for minutes, hours, days. She never really knew. Malia wasn't one to chase after time. Instead, she ghosted it, cheating death, spilling blood, and living life on her own clock.
Her eyes are deep-set, hollowed, troubled. And the dull brown fades to charcoal in measured spades, devoured by darkness like a moonless sky.
He turns suddenly, almost catching her watching by the window.
But she molds to her surrounds. She's had enough practice in the art of blending in. But she swears for a moment, a slip of a second, he caught the tail-end of her eyes, the last passage of brown bleeding into black. And that excites her. To know that she's there and that to think that maybe, possibly, on the off chance... He did see her and it excites him, too. And it would give Malia great pleasure to know that she is the last thought gravitating through his mind while he holds Little Miss Persephone's hand.
It was a gamble, that's for sure. A risky dance of her eyes to his. And perhaps when she sees him at school that whisper of eye contact will lead to long, drawn out glances. But they won't speak, that's the game. But they'll know, it will be their secret.
How is she to know the ins and outs of the prophecy if she doesn't expose herself to the ins and outs of Stiles Stilinski?
She leaps from the tree with the prowess of a feline. She makes her way back to her place to get ready for the day. Deciding to take the long way, she walks through a canopy of trees, kicking up dirt with the bottom of her feet and closing her eyes as the chill of the air hits her face.
"Malia Tate, a pleasure." A soft-spoken voice speaks.
Malia's eyes flash open and is instinctively on the defense. Her claws extend through her nail buds, her canines drop, and her red eyes bore into the stranger.
A deep-seeded snarl echos through her chest, the vibrations rattling her throat.
She assesses the frail, rounded woman who exhibits a sickly pallor. "You have a lot of nerve confronting me all by your lonesome, witch." She spits out, saliva dripping from her razor sharp teeth. "It isn't wise to sneak up on someone like me."
The old woman's cherub face holds a smile. "I wouldn't exactly call it sneaking up, child. I was right under your nose, but it seems that your head was up in the clouds. May I ask why?" She gloats with an all-knowing snark. She's a sassy, old thing.
Malia holds a dry smirk. "You know, prying into things you have no business getting involved in isn't very becoming of a woman your age."
The woman titters. "You are the one who came to us for help, don't you remember? You have us to thank for your Desert Wolf problems."
How could she forget? She's dealing with the aftermath of that decision at this very moment.
Malia rubs her chin, "I vaguely remember your face. You helped me kill my mother and I paid my debt. I always do." She pauses, giving the lady a once over. Unfortunately, she isn't falling prey to Malia's intimidation tactics. When she realizes there's no scaring the witch off, she gives in to her curiosity. "What do you want?"
"You've found him."
Her ribs shiver. Her spine straightens. Her heart stops.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The witch gives her a disbelieving look. "You try to be so cold. But that hardness, it's melting, isn't it?"
Malia stares back with a soulless glint shining in her blank orbs. "I think you should watch who you're talking to." She warns, voice dripping in poison the same way it swims through her veins. "I am the Devil's daughter, and you'd do well to remember that." Her voice takes on a raspiness. It's guttural and inhuman. Black, bloody pools take over the whites of her eyes, the demoness awakened.
The witch has the decency to look away from her. "I apologize, Aurora. I do not mean any disrespect. I only came to warn you."
Malia grabs the tiny woman by the shoulders and shakes her hard. "Warn me of what? Speak witch before I rip your tongue from your mouth!"
The old woman tremors in her hands. "The boy will be your undoing."
Malia's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"
"The Devil has been watching you, my dear. And he is not happy. He knows why you are here."
Her teeth clench hard. "I don't even know why I'm here."
The witch's eyes soften. "Yes you do, dear. You must of felt it. He's the beacon drawing your here. For years now you've felt a tugging, haven't you? That insufferable knot in the center of your chest. It's been pulling you closer and closer to this place. To him. You know it to be true."
Malia lets go of the woman but holds her ground. "I resisted this place like a plague ever since I met up with you and your coven. I almost killed him yesterday but something unconsciously held me back. If I had stabbed him a mere centimeter's difference, I would have impaled his heart. And he would be dead." Her eyes blink rapidly, alternating between red, black, and brown. "I need you to fix me."
"It is too late, child. What is done cannot be undone."
"The Prophecy cannot come to light. I have my own responsibilities to my pack and to myself. He will only get in the way."
"You can't run from your Mate, dear. Fate, the Universe, whatever you want to call it... Won't let it happen. It is destined, meant to be. You can't outrun this."
"Then I really will have to kill him. I need the Devil for the power to conceal myself and my pack from the Dread Doctors and any anyone else who tries to separate us. In exchange, he gets my soul and I run an errand for him every once in a while. With Stiles around, he could be the key to getting it back. But that can't happen, it can't be both ways." Malia blows out a breath. "Killing Stiles stops any chance of him pulling me back. It's a loss I'm willing to live with. I don't need someone to save me or to love me, all I need is my pack. Besides, you can't miss something you've never had, right?"
"Killing Stiles may solve your Mate problem, but do you really think the Devil will eventually let you go once you've rid yourself of the Dread Doctors? There will always be an ultimatum, a loophole, another burden for you to carry. The list will never end,"
The witch looks on her with sympathy. "You'll give and give and give. And He'll take and take and take, until there's not a piece of the girl you once were left. You may have gave up your soul, but he didn't take everything from you. It's not too late to get it back before your own pack doesn't even recognize you."
Malia shakes her head vigorously, spewing a string of words over her tongue to calm her breathing. "I-I can't get it back. The Dread Doctors will find us. I won't let them take my family from me."
The woman chastises her with a crook of her wrinkled finger. "Then you will fall from grace one final time. There won't be a single place on this earth where Hell won't find you."
With a flick of her wrist and a few ancient Latin hymns, the old witch is gone.
Malia fidgets in the passenger seat. Theo drives, keeping his eyes on the road, but every so often he looks over at her in concern.
"Would you stop looking at me like that!" She snaps, looking out to face the window.
Hayden, Corey, Tracy, and Josh all quiet in the backseat.
Hayden lays a tentative hand on her shoulder over the seat. "Mal, are you okay? You seem... Tense."
Josh butts in. "Yeah... like- way more than normal."
Malia cuts him off with a glare. He gulps audibly, falling back into silence.
"Yeah Hayden, I'm fine, just not really in the mood for school today." Is all she supplies, shrugging off her hand and looking down at her lap.
If Hayden is hurt by the brush off, she doesn't say anything, simply scooting back in the seat and reapplying her seat belt.
The gang pulls up to Beacon Hills High School and gets out of the car. They walk in pairs. Malia and Theo, Corey and Hayden, and Tracy and Josh. They have a buddy system, never going off somewhere alone, that includes class. The huddle around a group of lockers, unloading their backpacks and mingling for a bit before the start of the day. Hayden is in mid-laugh when she turns her head and catches eyes with baby of the Stilisnki pack, Liam Dunbar. Her eyes twinkle for just a split second and his do the same, but just long enough for Malia to catch it.
She pulls Hayden aside when he passes and squeezes her wrist to get her attention. "What the hell was that?"
Hayden plays dumb. "What was what? It's just that stupid Liam kid. He's in my biology class, were partners."
Malia can tell she's lying but she lets it go for now, deciding that it's best to not draw attention to her suspicions. She'll just watch her closely, striking at the first sign of weakness. She taught her girls better than that. Where Hayden always had a dreamy look in her eye and reeked of helpless romanticism, Tracy was a far cry from that. She excelled in the art of seduction, using it to her advantage when she lured men into her bed only to inject them with her kanima poison and make them talk. She loved each girl in a different way, but Tracy was more like her. Tracy aimed to please her.
Josh and Corey look on with disinterest, waiting for the bell to signal first period.
They head off to their first class with Hayden and Tracy in tow, while Theo joins them in an effort to get away from her for a while. She didn't mind. While he was light on the eyes, his puppy love and sickly sweet stench was suffocating her. No one likes a pouter.
She turns her head and she sees Stiles. And Lydia.
The pesky, little wannabee Ariel was really starting to give her a migraine.
Stiles though, he had her attention. His steps are calm and confident, a demanding gait and swagger about him that screams sex on legs. His pale arms flex deliciously underneath his black tshirt and his jeans hang a little lower than usual, exposing the prominent V of his hips. Her tongue peeks out on command, licking her bottom lip in sexual hunger.
Her eyes ravish him, drinking in every chiseled contour of his body from the angled jaw, heightened cheekbones, the ripple of his muscles, his toned little butt, and his strong, ample thighs.
A thousand sinful thoughts run wild through her brain.
His wolfish eyes meet hers.
He knows, there's no doubt about it.
He had seen her. The revelation sears her skin and ignites her bones.
He's not even listening to the mindless red head anymore. All attention is on her, fixated, undressing her with his eyes.
This is what the kids call eye-fucking.
He cuts himself loose from the Banshee, leaving her gaping like a fish, as he takes purposeful steps towards her.
He stops about an inch shy of intimate distance, a quizzical question in his eye.
"You came to visit me at the hospital. Why?"
The question catches her off guard. She was sure that he was sleeping.
Malia treads lightly. "Insurance, I suppose. I have to keep all my ducks in a row."
He looks at her like he doesn't believe her. "Really... You sure that's it?" He smirks, his gaze drifting shamelessly to her lips and back up to her face.
"Maybe there was something else." She teases, suggesting... hinting that there could be more than she's letting on.
"Maybe you wanted to see if I was alive." He imposes, stepping closer, his slight height difference causing her to hold her breath. The air is electrically charged, the crackling of atoms in the air sizzle between them. She can feel him on top of her, around her, inside of her... And they aren't even touching.
She's so close that her mouth grazes his when she speaks. "Maybe... You're right."
A chill runs down his spine. "Why do you care if I live or die? You're the one who put me there in the first place."
She's rolls his response around in her head. "You threatened my pack."
"You threatened mine, first." He growls, his lip curling in a sneer.
"Hmmm" She nods. "I suppose we're at an impasse."
"I suppose we are." He says, throwing her words back at her as he tries to hold in a grin. She bites her lip, suppressing the same thing.
"Ceasefire... For now?" She proposes. It's best to throw out an olive branch when the situation demands it. Plus, it keeps any suspicion off of her when she finally does decide to strike. Malia has mastered the craft of patience. She could wait him out.
He rubs his stubble, thinking over her proposition. "And what do I get out of this?" He asks.
She grins, a full-blow smile showcasing all of her pearly white teeth. "You get the satisfaction of telling your pack that you were able to negotiate with the elusive Malia Tate. You and your pack get to sleep peacefully at night, coming in no harm from me or my family." She leans into his ear and whispers, "And just for you, Stilinski, you get the pleasure of staring at my lips when you think I'm not looking and don't have to feel ashamed of it." She finesses, letting out a little laugh at his stunned expression. She moves out of his space, putting some distance between them, both for her sake and his. Her eyes land on Lydia standing over in the corner, pretending that she isn't trying to listen in. "Strawberry shortcake over there doesn't even have to know."
Stiles blushes a deep red all the way from his cheeks down to his neck. The red is enticing. The sight makes her want to run her tongue over his skin that's glistening in sweat. She imagines the two of them in the thralls of passion, his body tasting of salt and rain, her mouth and fingers making trails between the valley of his neck and the indention of his collarbones.
It surprises her how hard and fast her arousal hits her, the smell perforating the air. His musky scent follows, mixing with hers when he smells it, too.
"You're a force to be reckoned with, Tate, I'll give you that." He swallows hard, trying to hold his breath so he doesn't get more turned on then he already is. The pheromones and chemo-signals make his groin ache and cause his dick to harden.
"I've been told that... once or twice." She banters, not wanting the conversation to end.
"But there's more than that."
Malia looks on in confusion.
"I saw you again at my window this morning." He states, no accusation or implication, just cold, hard fact.
Malia makes a noise in the back of her throat.
"You keep visiting me. Why is that? Does it have something to do with the prophecy?"
Malia's blood runs cold. "How do you know about that?"
"You mentioned it at the hospital."
No she hadn't. She was sure of it. She may have referenced it, but she never said it out loud.
"You're lying." She accused, pointing a finger at him.
"I'm not. I heard you." He explains, wondering why she appears so skittish.
No, it's not possible. Did he... Did Stiles... Get inside her head?
She was vulnerable, exposed, not careful. She should have covered her tracks.
Somehow he... Heard her thoughts. The Mating Bond... it's getting stronger. Soon enough he'll pick up on it if he hasn't already. She has to get away from him.
"I have to go." She says abruptly, turning on her heel.
"Malia, wait!" He yells, latching onto her wrist.
She pulls away as if he'd burnt her, all the while shaken to the core at how deeply his touch cut into her skin.
He looks at her with concern... his gaze gentle. There's that softness again. Her heart skips a beat.
He's already doing it without even realizing it... changing her.
She thought she was strong, immune to childish, paper-thin thoughts that haunted her when she let her guard down.
"Let me go." She pleads.
And he does.
He watches as she leaves, a once carefree flame now diminishing around her.
Author's Note: OK, so a lot was given away in here. What are y'all thoughts so far? Any questions that need to be addressed? I'm sure there are some, which I will try to get to as the chapters go on. What are you guys thinking about Stiles and Malia's dynamic right now? Was her jealousness of Lydia surprising or not? Like I said, we will see glimmers of her humanity shining though at moments of vulnerability. Please leave reviews and give me feedback for the next chapter. I have an idea of where I'm going with this but your opinions do have some influence. Happy reading!