Lamb
The phone in his pant pocket rang again. The sheriff sighed, distraught. This was the seventeenth call from Stiles. He knew it had to be his son. There were no officers on duty now except the night watchmen. John riffled through the glove box of his car. Those night shift officers were notorious for taking on the roles of sloths. They rarely moved from their desks for naught more than the bathroom and food. They never answered front desk calls and as such, never made calls either. The mobile phone drilled down the tunnels of his ears, clashing against the drums. John winced, head aching. His eyes were droopy with fatigue, but he fought the urge to lean back in his car seat and wriggle into a semi-comfortable position for the remainder of the early morning.
As he prodded his left arm further into the compartment, John's sky-blue eyes peered over the tip of the dashboard. He caught sight of three burly blokes and one tall lanky fellow parked beside the front door of the petrol station. The sheriff gulped. Hand finally scouting the spare wallet of change he kept hidden from Stiles in his police car, Mr Stilinski vacated his vehicle and shut the door with a firm 'slam'. Two of the bulky men turned towards him at the sudden sound. They glowered at the insignia of the police department smeared over the bonnet of the car and John grappled with his belt for the familiar feel of his holster. He felt safer immediately upon finding his gun in place. Picking up his pace, straightening his gait, Mr Stilinski trotted by the men and toward the warmth glow of the indoor shop. He glanced back quickly, as he opened the door. Hot air flew into the side of his face, as he gazed at the number hanging above his vehicle: 4.
Not sparing the group of men a glance he entered into the station and paid for freshly purchased petrol. As the cashier sorted the cash, Mr Stilinski withdrew his phone from his tan trouser pocket. His son's name flashed across the screen. His brows furrowed, fingers scraping to reveal a new text message. John shook his head with a weak sigh, Stiles was worried about him. He looked up at the cashier and took the change he was due. Upon turning to leave his bright eyes were ensnared by those of a stern looking man. This man stared without expression, though there seemed to be a hidden sneer amongst the wrinkles of his visage.
Mr Argent.
John nodded. Mr Argent did the same, the stocky men behind him speaking lowly. They spoke too quietly to be heard. Their appearance made him uneasy, but as Mr Argent seemed to take control of the pack, John's tense expression eased. They had to be associates or friends. It was clear by the gear they were carrying that they were seasoned hunters and though they were new to Beacon Hills, John knew they were likely to be kitted with permits fit for the forest that overlooked the area as a wolf would pups.
An odd sound pervaded the silence between the Sheriff and grubby group. Mr Argent swiftly stared at one of his associates with a firm twist of his lip. The man nudged the heel of his shoe against the metal under-body of the boot of the car. The trunk rattled again, though more firmly than before. John briskly moved passed the group, willing his mind to forget that one weak hearted sound that the man's foot must have caused.
The mere tap was enough to cause his spine to shiver though, and as another arose whilst his back was turned away from them, John gulped. That tap – tap – tapping. The sound reverberated in the back of his mind. Mr Stilinski violently shivered, pulling his jacket closed as the cold seeped into the pores of his skin. He was cold, tired and had not eaten since the day before. As the sun rose over the peaks of the forest, Mr Stilinski decided it was time to give up on his investigation for a few hours and go home… to his son.
The stoutest of the group gruffly laughed, nudging the fellow to his right with a smirk. He sneered, watching the Sheriff's car drive away from the station, "What kind of officer walks away from something so suspicious?"
The other laughed with him, glowering at the vehicle that shrank as it grew further away.
A firm voice growled, "A tired officer bent on finding innocent people," Chris Argent smacked his left arm atop the trunk of the car for emphasis, hissing, "People creatures like that in our trunk have likely torn apart and consumed."
His team sobered, expressions becoming dull. They mumbled apologies, one grumbling indignantly.
Biting back a snide remark, Chris tossed his shotgun at one of the figures. He commanded, "Get in the car. All of you!" He looked round the deserted petrol station, grunting, "We've got to get this thing to Kate before noon."
Curled up within the dark abyss of the car trunk, John's frost bitten and starved body heaved for breath. The hunger for blood almost had him bursting from the chains strapped to his body, but the wounds from the creature that lingered in the woods prevented escape. He was trapped.
A slow smile developed. She emitted a soft sigh of contentment, as his cool hand stroked her cheek. Peter watched Ivor slumber. He sat beside their bed, kneeling on the floor with his nose almost pushed up against hers. His breath had her hair dancing and the tendrils tickled her skin. Ivor's sleep did not stammer. Lightly laughing under his breath, Peter grinned at her exposed state. His tongue darted out. Peter lapped at his bottom lip. Leftover blood careened down from his cheek, dropping from his jaw. Peter caught some of the dribbles and tongued the back of his hand.
He was filthy.
Bloody and feeling tremendously refreshed, he arose from his position by Ivor's slumbering side and took to the adjoining bathroom. It was small and dark. Browned stains coated the edges of the shower and flowed like paint through the cracks between the tiles on the floor.
Peter reached up, with some difficulty due to the shortness of his young body, and firmly twisted the knob of the shower all the way round. His shirt tumbled to the ground. As marred trousers followed, Peter reached out beneath the pouring water. Steam arose and though the water was as hot as possible, Peter found himself dissatisfied. Regardless he ridded his body of his underwear and socks.
As he stepped into the shower and twirled the bleached curtain closed, his mind churned. That young man that Evelyn had attracted could be meddlesome. Peter grasped for the shampoo, pondering the earlier confrontation. Evelyn now slept soundly in her bed, but he could not stop his mind from wondering… would she turn to a man like that?
Shampoo slopping down to settle between his toes on the floor of the shower, Peter snarled. She had confessed on their way home that the man was Stiles. The boy that had stopped her in the wood and Gavin had been charged with watching. His canines extended and gnawed on the inside of his cheeks. Peter sucked up the blood and cursed.
"I can't have her leaving," He whispered desperately, "None of them will leave." Hands held to his face, Peter's eyes widened with thought. Stiles striking stare bolted through Peter's memory. He stepped up to the shelf and grasped the conditioner, mumbling, "That boy has heart." Staring at the bottle, Peter stroked the soap that ran alongside the plastic. Evelyn had been so close to that young man - had leaned into his warm touch… and practically soared. Hastily squirting some of the conditioner into his hand, Peter sneered, "He'll stay away from us." Firmly slamming the bottle onto the shelf, he certified smugly, "If he doesn't then I'll just have to take care of him, even if it hurts Evelyn."
Peter smirked, watching the blood of young lovers flow from his flesh. The shades of red ebbed down the drain, clogging.
She listened intently, eyes wide. There was no toilet being flushed, cups being filled and no feet scurrying up the stout staircase. The ceiling groaned lowly, as the wind outside bashed against the rickety roof. Evelyn shuffled slightly in her bed. The quilt exuded sound. She stopped, listening again.
Nothing, they were all asleep.
Calming, her eyelids lowered a little and her breathing deepened. Evelyn peeled back her thick quilt and stepped off the mattress. The springs complained. She tiptoed, head banging with a dizzying pain. Evelyn reached out blindly, as spots coated her vision. She grasped the door handle of her bedroom clumsily and opened the door. A cold breeze wafted into her scantily clad figure and was she human she would have shivered. Instead, Evelyn rigidly stepped out into the dark corridor and headed toward the stairs.
Nothing, not one person was being kept in the kitchen. Evelyn hastily checked the entire downstairs. Not one human was left. Distraught, she clasped her hands to her face. Her head continued to hurt and her skin itched for moisture. Evelyn's stomach felt miniscule. A long whine erupted from her body and she knelt next to the unused kitchen cooker.
"I need it." She whimpered softly, beating back a sullen disappointed gasp. A haunting heartbeat thumped through her body. That young man's face flashed through her mind. Evelyn's mouth opened slightly, eyes closed, as she imagined him. Her fangs marginally peaked from her gums. She could still feel the heat of his temper with her, the drumming of his heart as he held her… Evelyn moaned with agitation.
"Hungry?"
She gasped. Eyes whipping open, Evelyn struggled to her feet.
"Gavin…" She almost hollered.
"Shush," he frowned, watching her shaking form totter over to him.
Evelyn clasped his arm tentatively, asking, "Are there really no more? Why aren't there anymore?"
Gavin heavily sighed, pulling away from her and confessing, "John hasn't come back yet."
"Yet?" Evelyn droned, eyes wandering to the staircase, "I thought he was in bed."
"No," Gavin sullenly admitted, "Ivor is quite worked up over it too."
"John is… missing." Evelyn uncertainly certified.
Gavin simply nodded. He avoided her gaze, choosing to stare at the front door instead.
"You're hungry?" Gavin repeated, frowning.
Evelyn backed away, leaning against a kitchen counter without speaking. Gavin turned to look at her, pushing, "You went out to eat with Peter and you're hungry."
"I-" Evelyn could not lie to him, so she stopped.
She gulped and began to climb the stairs to her room.
"Evelyn," Gavin fiercely confronted, "You need to feed." He grabbed her arm, which was still shaking. She pushed him away. Evelyn thundered toward him and Gavin hastily grasped her shoulders. His nails sharpened and her skin peeled away beneath his hold. Evelyn cried out quietly, tugging at his wrists. Gavin's tongue ran along his teeth. His fangs almost seemed to reach out to her.
Evelyn stopped cowering.
Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes squinted with distaste. She barred her fangs swiftly and pulled Gavin toward her. She clung to him with unfounded strength and threw him behind herself.
He gasped and groaned as his spine snapped against the jutting staircase.
She dashed away. The front door key had been lying upon the kitchen table and she took that key. The lock of the front door sounded out. Gavin lowered his dreary gaze to the floorboards, feeling thoroughly finished.
Evelyn cried out, as the early morning sun breached her eyes. Holding her hands in front of her face, she ran for the bushes and trees beside the house. As the bold black spots in her damaged vision slowly began to heal over, Evelyn inspected her flesh. Her hands were a raw pink, as were her stomach and legs. The rising sun made her yearn for the house, but the 'thump thump' of a strong heart led her away.
Following the faint scent of blood, Evelyn found herself meandering through foliage. The leaves captured the sunlight. Every now and then she would feel the pinch of a serious burn settling in her skin, as speckles of light spilled between the branches around her. Despite the pain, and likely disgusting state of her skin, Evelyn pushed on. She felt so hungry and worse still, dehydrated. Her flesh was drying out under the daylight and her eyes were almost clasped shut. The banging in her head was becoming increasingly aggravating. Evelyn sniffed, listening to the footsteps of someone.
She almost stepped out.
There, beyond the treeline, stood a tall blondish boy. He was holding up a teetering shovel. The contraption had seemed to have offended his body. He threw the equipment to one side and held his arm close to his chest with a low whine. He sucked in deep breath, walking slowly. He rubbed at the wound along his arm tenaciously. Dirt mingled with the blood. Droplets fell to the ground and Evelyn licked her dry lips eagerly.
As he rose from the floor, Gavin caught sight of the sun. He cowered behind his hand, eyes clenched shut. The front door was still open a crack and though the sun was only just beginning to rise, the lightening sky still hurt. Eyes fluttering, Gavin howled with horror, "Evelyn!"
A thunderous clatter came from the floor above.
He had woken the others.
John hauled himself from the vehicle with a great sigh. He trudged to the front door and clumsily slipped the key in and twisted. As he entered, voices penetrated his sore ears and the Sheriff grunted indignantly. Glaring toward the kitchen, he heard Stiles clamber from the dining table. Behind his son came Scott. John glowered at the noisy pair, scowling as Stiles suavely expounded that Scott had spent the night.
"I thought I told you no sleep overs until you'd cleaned the garage out!" John called out, as the boys tussled round his tall tired figure. They snatched up their school bags, racing for the front door. John latched onto Stiles' jacket hood. His son let out a cry and fell backwards. As he attempted to smother a smile, John asked, "Was that what you were after, all night?"
Stiles bit his lip, staring up at his father with a suspicious expression. Snappily, Stiles jumped to his feet and without sparing his father another glance he shouted, "Yep!"
John looked round to Scott, staring sceptically.
"We got school." Scott rapidly said, turning swiftly to follow Stiles outside to the jeep. John slowly trailed to the front door, watching the duo off. He frowned, clasping the door handle. Shaking his head, John easily decided he was too fatigued to wonder. The front door shut. The locks were promptly applied. Ignoring the blazing bright sunshine, John retreated to bed.
Isaac shuddered. Her long yellowed nails drifted over his open wound like a ticklish feather. Pain radiated from the enflamed injury. Her cool hold numbed the ache somewhat and Isaac gazed at her. He watched as her mesmerised eyes cascaded over his tarnished appendage. Her face looked sore. Isaac peered closer still, pushing himself into her grasp to catch a better look. She appeared ill.
"Are you okay?" Isaac tentatively ventured.
Evelyn did not raise her gaze from his wound, replying, "Oh, I'm going to be fantastic in just a few moments." A slight smile waded over her vacant visage.
Isaac stammered, uncertainly pulling away.
Evelyn scowled. He frowned with confusion, heart sprinting.
She drew closer, hands careening up his arms and steadfastly grasping his shoulders.
Isaac gulped.
Scott shouted out. Stiles whipped the steering wheel. The car lurched uncomfortably, groaning as Stiles properly repositioned the vehicle on the road.
"Please stop." Scott begged, holding fast to his seat.
"That wasn't that bad," Stiles defended, "Besides, we can't be late."
"I don't really think it matters, we'll only be sleeping in the first few periods." Scott unhappily snapped.
Stiles guffawed, "Are you kidding me?" He glowered out of the windscreen, attempting to focus his exhausted eyes on the road. Stiles retorted, "You're the one that suggested we figure out a plan."
"I didn't think it would take all night," Scott lowly grunted, choosing to stare out of his window at the passing scenery rather than continuing to scowl at Stiles. "You insisted we need to do research anyway." Scott pushed.
Stiles laughed, "Well yeah!" He turned a corner, much too quickly, and continued, "You can't exactly think up a plan without researching what you're up against first Scott – that's stupid!"
"Yeah, yeah," Scott sighed, crossing his arms. He leaned further into the seat, the cushioned material lulling him. His drowsy eyes closed.
Stiles pinched Scott's arm.
"You can't go to sleep Scott." The jeep stopped. Stiles shut of the engine and turned to confront his furious friend. He insisted, "We got school."
"Okay!" Scott exclaimed moodily, grabbing his bag from the back of the vehicle. "We're going to go with this plan though, right? I mean, all in all it's a pretty decent plan."
Stiles eyebrow twitched, as he thought it over. "Well…" he droned, as Scott's somewhat content expression began to melt.
Scott sighed heavily, lugging his bag along, "We've got to put this by Derek first, don't we?"
Stiles grinned broadly, laughing, "Probably!"
"He'd kill us if we didn't anyway." Scott grumbled, as they stepped up into the school building.