There was no doubt that Peter had heard him entering the place; Scott just hoped that Allison's presence was still a mystery. A surprise attack would lose its meaning and safety otherwise.
He heard her heartbeat as she took an alternative entrance from the outside. There was a door not too far away on the side that led to the outdoor pool deck that was used during warmer weather. At this time they should all be drained or covered with tarps. Scott silently prayed for her stealth and safety before walking forward.
Scott now stood in the middle of the main reception area, his wolfish red vision sparking in and out as he tried to maintain his control. Peter's words came back to haunt him: Try to be on time; it would be unfortunate on Stiles' part if you arrived late.
He was here and on time. He wanted his best friend back.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against his ribcage just before it exploded into a roar from his mouth.
"PETEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!" he screamed. The nearby windows from the doors and panes of glass of the reception desk shuddered violently, cracking in some spots.
Silence followed. Scott's hands were shaking; he clenched them into fists, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable encounter.
Yelling like a spoiled child won't get you anywhere, sighed the voice in the corner of his mind. Really Scott, I wanted to give you at least five seconds of control to figure out a better allurement, but clearly I'm going to have to do this myself.
"No," Scott protested, but he could already feel his grip slacken on his own conscious. He struggled against the dark entity, pushing and shoving at it, but it was hopeless. He felt his sanity succumb like jelly, pooling at the bottom of his head. He tried to reform, but his other self was expanding, reaching every corner of his mind with ease.
"I'm supposed… supposed to…" he murmured helplessly.
"Hello Peter," Scott suddenly sneered, extending his claws with an elegant swipe.
The door leading to the indoor pool area slowly opened. Out stepped Peter, an easy smugness plastered to his lips. He looked confident, like he'd already won. Scott longed to slash that look clean off of his face.
Actually, shredded to itty bitty pieces would suit him better for stealing his boy.
"I wasn't worried that you'd be late, Scott," Peter replied coolly. "You have this strange obsession with being the hero of your own black-and-white reality. And naturally, the hero always arrives in the nick of time."
"You have something that's mine," Scott hissed. He cracked his neck, twisting it in an eerie, uncomfortable fashion. Fangs elongated from his mouth, eyes bleeding yellow into the brown as unnatural hair sprouted from his cheeks. "I've come to reclaim it."
"As long as he's able to hold his breath for an extended period of time," Peter began coldly, "then he's all yours."
Scott shook his head slowly, as if Peter had made a fatal error. "For that," he said, "I'll start with those eyes you so love to roll around in your skull. They're such a pretty blue."
The door was mostly made of glass, but Allison didn't want to risk alerting Peter to her presence. She would have to be quiet and sneaky, praying that ninja-like stealth would suffice in this operation.
During the summer she'd decided to acquire some other useful skills, away from her father's suspicious looks and interfering voice. It was so hypocritical of him to only want to teach her the skills to rip a werewolf in half only when they weren't posing a direct threat to them. Over the summer, she had had time to think in small, quiet spaces, to mull over recent events. Allison had picked apart every scenario and happenstance, her chest burning with guilt from every stupid mistake she had committed. She didn't want to feel back for taking a stand and try to protect her friends, but did she really make those choices with a clear mind?
Allison had been testing the tautness of her bowstrings when she heard muffled voices from downstairs. She perked up immediately, straining to hear the conversation. She heard some angry shouts and someone's body smacking into the wall. She stood up, and opened her door just a jar.
One of her father's hunters was struggling with a boy garbed in lacrosse gear, a red jersey and—Oh God, Allison recognized that gangly form from anywhere.
"Sti—?" she began to whisper, but flinched violently when the hunter kneed Stiles in the stomach. Stiles gasped and swore, crumpling to his knees as he tried to gain his second wind.
Why was Stiles here? Allison watched silently as the hunter grabbed a fistful of Stiles' jersey and forced him back to his feet, steering him in the direction of the basement door.
The basement had Derek's two Betas down there; why was Stiles joining them?
The worst scenario came to her mind: Stiles had been turned. Allison quickly shook her head; that was a ridiculous notion. Stiles was human, and—
Then why was he being dragged to the interrogation room like a common criminal?
Allison closed her door, trying to clear her mind. She couldn't think about that just now; there were more important matters at hand, like killing Derek and stopping the kanima.
Allison squeezed her eyes shut, a few tears streaming down her face. Her new talents could save lives now, instead of just ending them. She had convinced herself that they could be equally used in non-supernatural circumstances, so it was actually killing two birds with one stone.
The one she needed right now would help unlock a door.
Allison produced a lock pick from her jacket pocket, and began to nudge at the lock on the door. She listened for the familiar clicks until it finally swung open. Allison grabbed her crossbow that was by her feet, and slipped inside.
The sound of rushing water smacked into her ears. It echoed loudly off the walls when it should've been dead silent. Allison's eyes scanned the room; the kiddie and main pool with the water slide was bone dry. It only took her a split second to realize where the source of running water was coming from.
She ran over to the huge black hoses that were currently vomiting out water into the diving tank, now half-full. The room was dimly lit, so Allison nearly missed the dark form submerged in the water across from her.
She held in a gasp when she saw a fear-struck, white face break through the surface momentarily before being engulfed by the liquid once more.
Allison stripped off her jacket in and dropped her crossbow in one fell swoop, running around the edge of the pool until she was closer to Stiles before diving head-first into the tank. The angle and formation of her body allowed the plunge to sweep through the water into a smooth, curved arc, bringing herself just a foot away from Stiles. She opened her eyes as she quickly assessed the situation.
Huge bubbles of air spilled from Stiles' mouth as he failed to hold in his precious oxygen. His eyes were closed, and his arms were suspended above him. Allison looked up, and saw the handcuffs.
Hold on for five seconds, she thought desperately as she swam toward the surface.
Allison gasped for air, desperately reaching into her pants' pockets for her lock pick. The blood drained from her face when she couldn't locate them.
She had put them back in her jacket.
Allison swam over to the pool ladder that Stiles was chained to, and climbed it in a hurried fashion. Her clothing clung uncomfortably to her skin as she skidded over to her crumpled jacket, and fished around in her pocket. Her hands shook, but she finally got a hold on her lock pick.
Taking a huge swallow of air, she jumped back into the tank.
"I would prefer if you didn't," Peter said, bringing his hand up to his face to touch the corner of his eye. "I doubt my healing abilities are capable of growing a new set for me."
"Tough luck," Scott growled. "You should've thought of that before drowning my toy."
"He's not dead," Peter replied, rolling his eyes. "That would be counterproductive." He didn't get another word out as Scott lunged at him, swiping at his face with his claws.
Peter ducked, the claws just grazing his cheek. He twisted his body away before Scott's next assault, whose eyes were blazed with anger.
"Wrong answer."
Scott grabbed a nearby chair and swung it at Peter as Peter backed away, evading every attempt of getting his face smashed in. Scott finally threw it and his aim proved true; the chair splintered and cracked from where it struck Peter's abdomen.
Peter crumpled to the ground, a hand clutching at his stomach. Scott bounded over, grabbing a huge shaft of broken wood and slammed it into Peter's thigh. He grinned savagely from Peter's roar of pain, his eyes glowing blue and fangs extended. Scott loomed over Peter, watching as the blood bubbled up and spilled over his leg, seeping onto the floor.
The image of stabbing his claws into his mother's chest flashed through his mind, and Scott stumbled back. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to push back that old nightmare. He felt a fraction of control return to his limbs, just as Peter ripped the section of chair from his thigh.
Peter admired the wood that was soaked dark red before tossing it to the side. He turned his attention back to Scott, glaring at him coldly.
"Did that trigger something?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. Peter slowly rose to his feet, and Scott heard the broken skin knitting back together. "Are you finally learning, or do you need more incentive?"
"I—" Scott began, but he was suddenly knocked back, landing flat on his back. Peter was on him in seconds, a clawed hand pressing against his chest while the other clutched Scott's throat.
"You should've learned it quicker," Peter hissed. He was angry, genuinely angry, and his next words made the blood in Scott's veins freeze. "You always want to save everyone, Scott, and that's despicably noble of you, it really is. But you failed again. His lungs are submerged and waterlogged because of you."
"You said he wasn't dead," Scott whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to look at Peter or hear his awful words anymore. If Stiles really was—if he was not here, Scott would be able to feel it.
"Ah, but you know as well as I do that he has a hard time keeping his mouth shut," Peter replied. He gave an experimental squeeze on Scott's windpipe, smiling at the strangled gasp that followed. "Such a pity, I really did admire him. He could've been a beautiful werewolf."
