Lamb
He hissed, as she roughly jabbed at the bubbled blots along his neck. Evelyn scoffed. Gavin's eyes glowered at her from beneath his greasy hair. Despite his growing dislike for her in that moment, as she silently cleansed his heated wounds, Gavin's lips upturned slightly with reminiscence.
"You recall when our roles were reversed?" he lowly asked, hands moving to grasp her shaking pair. Bloodied and cold, her palms twisted away from his touch. Evelyn bit her lips deeply, as a gasp erupted from her mouth. Gavin barked with laughter, knowing he had dragged her from thought.
Her dark eyes, littered with flecks of lustrous red, lifted from their joined hands. She gazed into his bright eyes and was stricken by sour nostalgia. They were very much like the sky she used to know; a large blue mass. A light breath escaped Evelyn as she leaned closer, losing herself in the promise of a good time. She did not know though, if it were his eyes that drew her near or the blood ebbing slowly from his sweaty skin.
Gavin pulled away. Evelyn blinked, startled awake.
"Yes," she softly replied, as her brain eventually translated the words his voice had spoken. As he picked at the bindings in the first aid box, she quietly continued, "The first time we did this."
Gavin let out a short laugh, grimacing as hunger scratched at the sides of his stomach. The organ moaned, longing.
Evelyn rose from his side and tiptoed to the sink of the bathroom. Gavin remained on the edge of the bathtub, hands rustling through the first aid box sat atop the closed lid of the toilet.
"You were new back then." Gavin slightly sneered.
Evelyn glared, "I'm not that old yet."
"No," Gavin agreed, looking up from the bandages to watch her figure douse a flannel with warm water. "You are still like new I suppose… considering how long we vampires tend to linger in this world."
"How would you know?" Evelyn boldly challenged, "You're still quite young yourself, aren't you?"
Gavin smirked, brows narrowed with dislike, "So Peter insists."
Evelyn smiled a little, biting her tongue to refrain from chiding him for his negative attitude. "You cleaned me up," she verbally redirected, "After my first night."
Lips lifting widely, Gavin beamed at her. He childishly ran a scorched hand across her lower back, "You used to like me then."
Evelyn loudly laughed, edging away from his hold. "Aye," she giggled, "Back when I didn't know what an arse you really are!"
They quietened, as she stretched the flannel along his flesh. Gavin drew the bandages over his cleaned injuries. He gazed up at her from time to time, watching her nip at her lips and brows furrow with concentration.
"I said I would protect you then," He suddenly reinstated. Evelyn, wide eyed, swiftly stared at his face. Injuries forgotten, Gavin reached out to her. He clasped Evelyn's cheeks, thumbs stroking her fair skin. "I protect you still," Evelyn's eyes moistened and she clasped caringly at his wrists. She took in a quivering breath, holding Gavin tightly, "My dearest sister I will always protect you."
A choked laugh escaped her, as she threw her arms round his aching body. Evelyn responded, voice thick, "I said I'd lick your wounds, as you did mine," she withdrew and gazed into his eyes, "I lick them clean still and I will always take care of you Gavin." Evelyn sniffed, chuckling with him as she said, "Lord knows someone has to, ha!"
"I just worry," Gavin burst, grasping for more bandages, "You've been so weak lately without much explanation and I," Evelyn turned away to the sink again, drowning the flannel. She winced, fists clenched around the material as he confessed, "You're health is something I and John and even Peter can't protect you from. Ivor is too tired, too time-worn to help us and I really don't think she would be able to or we would be capable o-"
"Please don't," Evelyn whined, "I'll be okay in a while – I'm sure of it!" She looked to his hunched form, grimacing, "I just need to feed fresh rather than on the stock we keep for so long."
"You always have been expensive," Gavin chortled, rubbing at his tired dry eyes.
"If you're done playing house," A firm voice disturbed, "Ivor would like to speak with you, Gavin."
Peter sauntered into the small bathroom. Arms crossed, as his hardened gaze held Gavin's peeled skin in focus. "John has gone to search for the beast that attacked you Evelyn," he lowly said, eyes straying to her as she dried her hands. "I'll be taking you out to eat tonight instead."
Gavin scowled, as Evelyn happily meandered round Peter to collect her shoes and coat from downstairs beside the front door.
"You won't always have such a grip on her." Gavin grumbled, his bright eyes fixated on Peter.
Smirking, Peter smugly retorted, "My blood runs through her veins," He snatched at Gavin's wrist, squeezing the complaining flesh. "Just as it does yours and John's and thanks to the two of you," Peter sneered, eyes flashing dominantly. Gavin slinked back, teetering on the edge of the bathtub rather precariously. Peter revealed, "I'll always hold enough sway over all of you to drag you back to me."
Evelyn sighed, hands in the pockets of her black jeans. Peter, short but lean, tottered beside her. To anyone peering from between the folds of their curtains the pair would appear as child and babysitter. To knowing eyes, eyes trained in the supernatural, they were hungry beasts prowling the residential streets for sustenance. Peter grunted indignantly, as his eyes took in the darkened windows of the homes. His ears heard elderly snores and as he titled his head slightly - satisfying sex. From the muffled exclaims, motions of the bodies and the scent that wafted from cracked windows, Peter could tell they were newlyweds. He snorted, listening intently as the young husband banged into a chair. The kitchen tiles waned under the weight of the two-backed beast. Evelyn's nose crinkled with disgust, as Peter stepped away from her.
"Really Peter?" Evelyn stressed, skittishly running a hand through her hair.
"I'm hungry," he professed, crossing the void road and heading toward the house, "In more ways than one."
"You have the body of a child." Evelyn eagerly protested.
Stopping, Peter turned his head to look at her. Face thunderous, he passionately expressed, "I am not a child."
Though he now stood at the other side of the road, his voice low, Evelyn heard his tone. She backed away, ears boiling. The sound echoed in her mind, as she watched him walk.
"I thought you said the parties were wild in Beacon Hills." Peter casually continued with a much lighter tone.
Evelyn flinched, as the false sugar breezed over her like the spray of seawater. "They were," she struggled to say, "But they don't last forever… not like us."
His lips twitched at her terrible attempted at a joke. Evelyn never could be intentionally funny.
"Humans are strange." Peter said gazing at the house, as the two lovers went at each other in their darkened kitchen. Evelyn had to wonder if he truly meant humans or just adults whom he clearly deemed to be more privileged than he was. "They long to live forever with their one true love, but would be driven mad I reckon." He laughed, turning to look at Evelyn completely as she shook where she stood.
"I saw it once," he confessed, desperate desire in his eyes, "On the crossing from England."
"You came from England?" Evelyn uncontrollably rushed.
"Yes, much like you did Evelyn." Peter smiled at her, though the frown in his brow depicted sadness beneath the expression, "I broke from my master and came to America to begin anew. I found Ivor on the way – on the ship."
"Why did she join you?" Evelyn asked abruptly. She could not hold back. All the time they had spent together, the lot of them and still her, Gavin and John knew extremely little about their sires. The wind howled. The lamppost shining upon her quivered in the cold and a car was started one street over from the one they stood in. Evelyn coughed, re-approaching the subject with more respect, "I'm not trying to be rude, but surely she wouldn't have chosen a boy over her family when so young… she was only a child after all."
"A lonely child," Peter revealed, "Her parents died on the way – most people did actually!" He cackled, eyes dazed as he looked up to the starless sky. Clouds coveted the moon from view and Peter snickered madly. Evelyn shivered, but not from the cold wind that hollered at them from above. Peter sucked in a deep breath, collecting himself. He said, "Only the rich survived really." A sullen smile smeared over his visage, Peter swayed to non-existent music, "Her father remained on the ship." Peter twirled to the rhythm of violins, "She and her mother were placed in one of the boats alongside me and the other rich folk." Peter puffed his chest out, "'Children and women first!' the sailors had yelled." His chest sank and Peter's expression thickened with something Evelyn could not define. A touch of fright ebbed upon his face. The expression was not one she had ever known him to convey so honestly. "Her corpse wouldn't let go." Peter shook his head, laughing lowly, "Ivor's mother had already taken a dip in the ocean you see. The water was freezing and she died a few moments later, holding tight to her daughter." He snorted, "Ivor wouldn't stop screaming, even as I pried her mother's fingers from her bruising blue skin."
"That is horrendous." Evelyn wheezed.
"Ivor's world was gone with that ship." Peter jeered with a smirk. He threw his arms out wide, announcing proudly, "I gave her new life and together we were taken to a passing ship, then on to New York... That was in 1912."
"She was glorious back then," He revelled. Arms dropping, Peter almost whined, "But time has an impact on the human condition." He gazed sullenly at Evelyn who shifted her weight timidly, as though ready to run. She bit her lip, unsure of herself. "When a human is turned they either give in to the monster or lose themselves to their decaying humanity. They go mad Evelyn."
A shuddering breath escaped her, as Peter unveiled, "It doesn't happen instantly, oh no, over time. That is why you don't see vampires on every street corner, in every office building or every country even!" Almost painfully, Peter un-curtained, "Few of us that exist are pure blooded and those made must be killed when they lose themselves."
Evelyn frowned, as he seemed to hold himself back.
Peter back away, toward the house and away from her, as he finished, "Ivor will eventually be that way, as will Gavin, John and sadly… you."
Choking on tears, Evelyn cried out, "You'll kill me – you'll kill all of us?"
Peter shook his head viciously, smiling roguishly like a naughty child, "Of course not Evelyn," He held his arm out toward her, hand reaching across the wide space between them as he gazed maddeningly at her, "I'm not pure blooded."
He walked away, slinking in the shade of the home. He snuck round the corner of the building.
Evelyn hastily stepped out into the road, attempting to stop herself from shrieking, "I don't understand! What does pure blood have to do with not killing us? You turned us, taught us to turn… you could kill us just as easily…" Breathlessly, she whispered, "It doesn't make sense."
Irritated and confused Evelyn dashed down the street. She ran away from the house, from Peter and the shocked screeches of the naked couple. However, despite her eagerness, Evelyn was still hungry and hunger meant weakness. Gasping like an asthmatic, she stopped about five houses away. Hands on knees, leaning over and staring at the cement beneath her booted feet, her lungs tried to cling at the oxygen tumbling down her throat.
Evelyn shouted out, frustrated.
She heaved heavily. Evelyn quietened. Her nose wrinkled. A familiar scent trailed through the air, through her lungs and through her blood. Jessica… Evelyn's eyes squinted, her lips mouthing, "Impossible."
A sob invaded her ears, the high pitch echoing the catacombs of her mind. Evelyn's head turned sharply, neck spiking with muscular pain. Realisation struck her and Evelyn's hands smacked against her mouth. The shriek was muffled, but there nonetheless and Evelyn shook with distaste.
Despite being dead, Jessica's scent remained in those places. Places upon which she lingered for most of her time, such as at a school desk, a gym or a friend's vehicle. Evelyn's sharp gaze meandered between the cracked blinds, catching sight of those on the other side… Jessica's family dwelled within the house.
The grieving couple, undoubtedly Jessica's parents, stormed indoors.
Head lifting higher, Evelyn caught sight of a young boy in the top left window of the two story house. As the pair below him screamed at each other, he read. His bedroom light was off. Evelyn did not doubt that it was passed his bedtime, as he used the embers of the streetlights outside to see the words across the pages. Evelyn could hear the tap tap of his toes on the window sill and the scrape of his shoulder against the glass.
The screaming escalated and Evelyn flinched, eyes shutting swiftly and shoulders shaking. The image of soaring tools and a large shattering mirror vibrantly flared across the innards of her eyelids. Evelyn gasped with terror, as the boom of a chair brought her back to reality. The young boy stared down at her, also listening to the cries of his mother, as his father threw another of their dining chairs at the wall. Evelyn swallowed, jaw clenched and fists unsteady at her sides. She covered her ears, as a startled dog began to bark. It kept barking, barking, barking, barking, bark-
She gasped. Evelyn's head snapped away from the house. Her teary eyes stared at the open door of the neighbour.
The lad sneered at her.
He had said something.
"Here to finish off?" Stiles repeated, sardonically smirking at the hysterical spectre. Evelyn tiptoed backward off the curb, as he gestured lazily toward Jessica's home.
Stiles pushed forward, nose to nose with her shaking form. He bravely riled, "You see what you've done? They were good together – you see?"
Evelyn shook her head, hands lifting from her ears as he spoke. Bottom lip quivering, she speechlessly stared into his dark brooding eyes.
He grabbed her. She was freezing.
Evelyn could not feel the cold of her hands, the ice cementing itself in her body as her hunger dried up her innards. She needed to feed.
She could feel him, his warmth. A breath escaped her and her eyes softened, as the pulse in his palms called her closer. Evelyn fought him, tried to tear herself away, but Stiles tugged harshly. Evelyn lost her footing against the tall wall of the curb. She fell into his chest, his arms wrapping round as his eyes widened with unexpected surprise. Stiles' body shivered.
Evelyn gulped, failing to hear his accusing voice over the insistent beat of his heart.
Blood.
He demanded to know what she had done.
Blood.
Evelyn's fists clasped at his criss-crossed shirt.
Blood.
Stiles pushed her back, but Evelyn's hands would not let him push her far. "Where did you take Jessica?" She heard him say. Attempting to concentrate, Evelyn sucked in a breath. Her mouth watered. He had recently eaten supper. The scent clung to his fingertips. "How many of you are there?" Stiles continued when she did not reply. He shook her ferociously, demanding more loudly without care for being caught by his nosy neighbours, "Why are you in Beacon Hills?"
Evelyn's eyes peered over his shoulder at his open front door. She could push him, drag him, and peel him from the street. Evelyn could have him in his home. No one would know, not until his family returned from where ever they had gone. He was obviously home alone. Her fangs crept out from between her lips. Eyes darkening, she looked up at his face. He was dark and handsome; delicious. His voice suddenly quietened.
Stiles' blood rushed and the river roared in her head.
Humanity… if not ridden will drive a vampire mad.
Peter's voice told her to take the young lad. If she gave in to the beast she had recently been fighting she would heal. Evelyn would be strong again, as she used to be. No more lying, no more tricks. If she fed properly, as the others did, she would flourish.
"No," Evelyn cried out, reaching her arms round Stiles' shocked figure. "I'm so sorry!"
His hand awkwardly moved round her shaking spine. Stiles tugged her close, breathing her in. His nose crinkled with mild disgust, as the smell of the damp earth of a fresh grave tore at his nostrils. She smelt awful, but her icy tears and desperate gasps spoke to him. He winced, realising what it was that had him close to her… his humanity.
As he licked his fingers clean, Peter suavely waltzed down the street. He followed the scent of her hair. He adored the sea salt smell of Evelyn's brown locks. The tresses took him back, back to the golden days. Mind lost to the spray of the sea, the chatter of drunkards and the sound of blood splattering across a white washed wall, Peter did not realise the company Evelyn kept.
Pupils dilated with desire, Evelyn gently pushed away from Stiles. He let her go rather reluctantly, uncertain of himself.
She should have heard him, as he drew closer to them, but she was lost in the boy before her. He felt alive – was alive. Evelyn slowly reached out a hand. Stiles recoiled, but as she pursued him he timidly relented to the touch. He drew in a shuddering breath, as her glacial fingers drank in his warm skin. Stiles shut his eyes. Though bitterly cold, the general feel of her flesh was soft.
His eyes snapped open.
Evelyn exclaimed protest.
Stiles released a harried stammer.
Beneath the dim glow of the streetlights his eyes captured the smeared substance. Stiles stumbled back. He saw the drops marring the cement. Evelyn retreated entirely from the pair. Stiles stuttered, as Peter silently stood in Evelyn's previous place before him. Gulping deeply, Stiles gawked.
Peter's clothes were doused in blood. The vibrant colour glistened beneath the streetlights like gold under sunshine. Stiles cringed, as the iron taste scraped over his lips like a clumsy kiss. His fists shook. Evelyn breathed deeply, leaning toward Peter. Stiles watched her over the young boy's head as she savoured the smell.
Eyes closed and mouth slipping open, Evelyn's tongue lapped at the droplets across Peter's left cheek. Though a disgruntled sound erupted from his throat the smirk twisting Peter's fair features highly suggested pleasure.
Despite the cooling temperature, Evelyn felt rejuvenated as the blood pooled on her tongue. The thick liquid smeared and stained her teeth like lipstick. Her taste buds screamed. The following gulp drove the substance downward inside of her and soothed her aching dry throat like warm honey. Evelyn's lungs rushed air in and out. The blood was sugary. Strawberries and cream flooded her veins and Evelyn groaned.
Stiles shivered, though not from the increasing cold as they furthered into darkness. An abyss above promised an oncoming storm.
"You've a place," Peter vented, voice gruff. Stiles jumped at the sound. He had not expected a child to speak so firmly, regardless of the supernatural-origin-likelihood. Evelyn's dazed gaze cleared, as Peter stepped closer to Stiles. The vampire verbally lunged, "It is not by Evelyn."
Immediately Stiles' eyes narrowed. His open mouth slammed shut. An audible snap flew from his knuckles, as his bones scraped against each other to tighten his fists. His eyes strayed to her. He studied the dirt across her face, the tears in her washed out clothes and the loose soles of her boots.
Evelyn fretfully bit at her nails, watching the pair timorously. She quivered from the lack of blood, the abyss about them seeping into her skin and freezing what borrowed blood she had left from her last meal.
"Stay away from my children," Peter pushed, tugging Evelyn to stand directly behind him. She clung to his shoulders, as he spoke, "You should learn to shut doors behind you boy."
Stiles whirled round. No one stood by or inside his home. He released a sigh of relief and wiped a hand over his sweating forehead. Peter chortled, an anxious giggle escaping Evelyn. Stiles glared at her, moving away from them.
His shoes struggled atop the glossy grass.
"I could let her loose on you," Peter asserted, gripping onto Evelyn's arm harshly. His nails bit into her jacket. Her nostrils flared. Stiles gulped, knowing she smelt the sweat that slid down the back of his neck. The droplets felt like spider legs - light, prickly and creeping with the dark promise of a bite. "That wouldn't be very fair though, would it?" Peter's fangs glistened like stars beneath the streetlights, as he marvelled with a grin, "I should give you a head start really, ha!"
The blood rushed to his cheeks. Evelyn stepped out from behind Peter with a passionate look that, were it a specific strawberry haired girl, would have had Stiles to his knees in worship.
Peter starkly laughed, pulling her back.
Stiles released a held breath. Peter turned away from him, dragging a yearning Evelyn. She gazed, head turning to watch him. He remained stood on the front lawn of his home even after they had disappeared round the far end of the street corner.
Eventually, Stiles twirled on his feet. He slid over the dewy grass in a hurry, heading for the front door. The wood swore at him as he slammed it shut, harshly twisting the key in the lock.
Stiles leaned his head against the complaining wood, muttering, "Like a locked door would stop them."
His sharply closed eyes slowly opened. The deep browns stared at the speckles of chipped paint on the wood. Stiles slurred, pupils swaying as his mind calculated, "She did not look very happy." The words were hauled slowly from his mouth, as a horse would a lover-filled carriage round a large park. He grunted, lifting himself from the door. "That boy," Stiles said aloud, fingers tapping against his thighs as he walked toward his laptop. The device sat sullenly amongst food wrappers on the coffee table beside the sofa. Stiles' typed, asking the world, "Vampires… and missing shadows."
His broad shoulders shifted quickly. Each arm swung forward, back, forward, as he ran. Animals hastily dashed out of his vicinity and that of the beast he trailed. John, fangs bared, ears twitching and eyes blood-red chased the creature that hunted his family.
An owl watched with wide yellowed eyes, as though surprised by John's thundering footsteps. "I'll have you yet." John panted, knees cracking under his weight. Blood invaded his nose. The fish-like scent splayed itself over his tongue, which curled outwards to help cool his aching head. The blood was rotten and likely from deep within an anonymous carcass. He could smell the ash and dirt mingled with the brown substance. The beast's fur was no doubt covered.
Turned round… that was how John felt. His stopped running. The trunks were tightly packed. Each tree was tall and thick. John's eyes could not meander round the bark and his ears could not hear over the chatter of the night. Insects crawled, spiders spun webs that would glisten as the sun rose later. John shook his head, attempting to ignore the critters running about on the boughs above him. He braced himself, arm stretching out as he laid a hand on a nearby tree.
His fingers snuck about. The bark was unusually soft. The smell of blood and dirt rushed over and through him. Tufts tore away between his long claws. John's reddened gaze rose from the tips of his shoes as his mind realised… bloodied fur.
"It's a trick!" John breathlessly exclaimed.
As he held the fur up in front of his apprehensive gaze, scrutinising the stained strands, a whimper escaped him. John's hand trembled.
A great heaviness hit him.
He let out a cry.
The trees shivered, as a victorious howl boomed throughout the forest.
Sitting by her bedside, Gavin retold the school day. A short stout window had been notched open slightly to allow fresh night air to leak in. The blackouts remained, blocking the cloudy sky as well as potential eyes from view.
"This werewolf sounds interesting," Ivor remarked, staring at her cupped hands lying in her sheeted lap. Her quilt was cold. Her body was the same and she ached for relief, but she could never invite that phantom so easily. Gavin bathed her forehead with a warm moist cloth. The gesture was stale.
Licking his lips, Gavin anxiously divulged, "I don't think the lad will be an issue."
"He is of the supernatural," Ivor brazenly scolded, eyes narrowed, "Is he not?"
"Well, yes," Gavin nervously relinquished. His eyes could not stray from hers. He felt petrified, desperately wishing Peter would walk in and make her see sense. However, as he squelched the flannel over Ivor's frosty forehead, Gavin's mind concluded that Peter no longer saw sense either and expecting him to speak as such was foolish.
The cold bit at her flesh, tearing arctic seams. Iron ore broke from the crevasses and Gavin took in the scent of her borrowed blood with worry.
"You need sleep." Gavin stressed, standing from his chair.
"Rest will do nothing for me," Ivor sullenly admitted, "I need blood – powerful blood."
Gavin shivered, stepping back toward the door. She eyed him with a weak smirk, "Not yours, relax son." Brows furrowing, Gavin glared. Ivor chuckled lowly, reaching out a hand to him, "No matter how much you hate it you are as much our child as you were that of your birth parents."
Blood dribbled from his mouth, as his fangs stabbed through his gums. Gavin hoarsely sneered, "You are no mother of mine. Not ever!"
Ivor silently watched him writhe.
Quietly, she said, "It would do you well to remember that I am the reason you're here Gavin." Shifting slowly, Ivor sat up against the headboard of her bed. Staring at him, she easily confessed, "I was the one that convinced Peter to change you after all. I'm the one that saved you from Death."
"No," Gavin laughed, "That's not possible."
Diverting, Ivor ordered, "I want you back in that school. I don't care how you do it, but I want this beast watched."
Gavin frowned, "You don't even like Evelyn anymore. Why are you helping?"
"I care for Peter," Ivor declared, "He wants the creature found and werewolves are dangerous. Whether he is the thing that hunted Evelyn or not isn't necessarily important. He's either already given in or will – to his instinct… we all eventually do."
"His name is Scott, I think." Gavin grabbed the door handle without turning away from Ivor's frail form, "I'll watch him and Stiles, but I don't think he's the monster we're looking for."
As he left, staircase creaking under his feet, Ivor supposed, "Maybe my John will have better luck… my favourite."
Furious, Scott prowled toward the remnants of the Hale house.
"Derek, I know you're here!" He called out blindly, eyes darting to and fro. Scott's steps echoed slightly, as he searched for Derek, "I know what you did."
"I didn't do anything."
Scott twirled round on his feet. He gnashed his teeth, unable to locate Derek, "Yes you did!" Scott's hand rested on the staircase frame. He spoke firmly as he carefully climbed, "You killed that bus driver. You've been stalking me – and Allison. You've dragged Stiles into your bull. You probably did kill that school caretaker - just as you killed that bus driver!" Scott's eyes closely inspected the open-plan upstairs landing, as he continued, "I want you gone."
"That bus driver died."
"Like your sister died?" Scott confronted.
"My sister was missing." Derek's voice stopped, as he seemed to struggle with his words, "I came here looking for her."
Scott breathed deeply, eyes brightening inhumanly as his anger brewed. He growled, "You found her."
"I found her in pieces!" Derek boomed, "Being used as bait, to catch me."
"I think you killed them both." Scott courageously accused, "I think you plan on killing Stiles too after you're done playing with him! You're nothing but trouble. I'm going to tell everyone… starting with the sheriff."
Scott hastily spun round. Derek grabbed him the collar of his jacket and thrust him down the staircase. A rush of air flew from his lungs. Scott's mind felt muddled. As Derek watched him from atop the staircase, Scott fumbled to his feet.
"I have bigger things to worry about right now," Derek stated, "It isn't my fault you're hiding from what you are. It isn't my doing that Stiles is playing detective with the supernatural."
As Scott fiercely rumbled at him, eyes bright and fangs stretched, Derek leapt.
"You are your own people," Derek certified, as he dragged Scott close, "You make your own decisions. You can't blame me for your own stupidity or that of your friend."
Scott wailed as the foundations of the house dug into his being. His skin was frayed by the planks. His sore back rested on the floor of the next room over. Derek had thrown him.
"You need to stop ignoring this Scott - and grow up!" Derek bellowed.
Scott roared, charging back through the opening Derek's throw had created. His body flung itself at the other werewolf and forced Derek back.
Staring at the gaping hole, Scott struggled to realise the power he had exuded. From within he heard Derek mumble something. He stepped closer, hoping to hear but it seemed Derek was done talking. From within Derek arose and he was not the same… before Scott, stood a formidable animal. Hulking and haughty, Derek thundered over to the cringing fledgling.
Derek sternly insisted, "I didn't kill anyone. You didn't kill anyone. None of this is your fault and it's not mine."
Shaking his head, Scott confidently blamed, "This, this is your entire fault. You've ruined my life. You bit me!"
"No," Derek easily reassured, stepping away from the pup as he tried his relenting patience, "I didn't. I'm not the one that bit you."
Scott's breathing calmed, as Derek eerily gazed at him with striking blue eyes. Mumbling with horrified comprehension, Scott quivered, "There's another."
"An alpha," Derek supplied, "You and I, we're betas." He strode toward Scott, steadfastly holding onto the boy's shoulders. Scott shrunk away, but Derek would not realise his taught grip, "I'm trying to find him, but I can't do it without you."
"Why me?" Scott pleaded.
"He bit you. You're part of his pack. It's you Scott. He wants you."
Just as Scott opened his mouth to argue his phone sang. Derek retreated back up the staircase. Scott held the phone up to his bronze eyes. The glowing screen forced him to squint, as he read a text.
"Stiles needs me." He concluded.
Derek halted, fingers twitching.
Scott left.
Boots treading in the muck, the bulky man groaned with distaste.
"Do we really have to do this tonight?" he ventured, gritting his teeth.
Chris snarled, "Yes, we patrol every night."
He turned his eyes away from one of his three fellow hunters and scanned the surrounding trees. He could not see the beast, but they had certainly heard it earlier.
The rustling of foliage reached their ears and his fellows raised their weaponry.
"Not unless you have a clear shot," one of them asserted, modified pistols held high.
They all gruffly agreed.
"Cover me," Chris commanded, eyes fixated on a slumped being, "I think I've found something."
The other hunters reluctantly held themselves back.
As he stepped closer, Chris could see the limbs of a potentially humanoid creature. The thing was bloody and battered. For a moment he thought it the alpha, but as the beast shuffled awkwardly he threw that suspicion aside. The young wolf – Derek, perhaps then… "No," Chris verbally revealed, "Something else entirely."
As the bloody eyes rose to meet his own cerulean, Chris raised his gun without hesitation.
The beast shrieked. The high pitch shook the innards of Chris' ears. The hunters beyond the undergrowth that covered them from clear view rushed forward. They were also affected by the sound. Chris stumbled to the unconscious creature, turning it over onto its back.
He and the others looked down upon the heavily wounded being.
Eyes closed and fangs peeking out from between his lips, John's body was vulnerably splayed before them.
The hunters looked at one another, surrounding the body. Chris sighed, gazing at the glistening fangs. "I'll take him then." As the group incredulously stared at him, he confessed, "I don't like the idea of sharing my house with that thing, but we need answers."
The others nodded; somewhat.
Chris wearily hiked up the staircase. With the thick metal door open he could hear the laugh of his wife in the kitchen as she mumbled into the telephone. The warm glow emitting from the room at the top of the stairs was inviting and Chris could imagine the dinner that was likely sat by the microwave awaiting a reheat. He heaved a hefty sigh, hand clenching the handrail. He looked back, staring at the creature that lurked in the corner of his basement. The thing was tied down appropriately, but he worried all the same.
As he closed and locked the door, Chris shouted with surprise.
"Geez dad," Allison giggled, cradling a hot chocolate, "You look terrified."
Chuckling timidly, Chris badgered, "Well you are a sight – what's with the hair?"
Gaping, Allison indignantly straightened her back and loudly said, "Lydia thought it would look good and I think it does!"
Chris leaned toward her, inspecting the curled strands, "I guess… if the fashion these days is thorn bushes."
Wheezing huffily, Allison strode away.
As she climbed the staircase to her bedroom, Chris called out, "Goodnight sweetheart – love you!"
Her steps halted. She teetered on her tiptoes and then returned with a small smile, "Goodnight dad, love you too."
Grinning, Chris waded into the kitchen to reheat his dinner.
As he reached out for the plate, his fingers coiled inwards. Chris glanced to his mobile, which rested atop the kitchen counter by the large bag that contained his hunting gear. He bit his lip, undecided. After another moment of contemplation he hurried over to the device.
Chris held the machine to his ear, listening to the dial.
When the line was picked up, he immediately thundered, "I need your help."
There was no reply.
He boldly continued, "Come on, I have an unidentified beast locked away in my basement right now. I also have an alpha to deal with that has already started building a pack. I need you… Kate?"
"I'll be there soon."