Author's Note: Thank you so so much to all the reviewers! Thank you especially to Zoie for your numerous and thorough reviews! I hope everyone likes this chapter.

Chapter 15

The next full moon was upon them in the blink of an eye.

The group hadn't been able to agree upon a test they could give Lyssa that wouldn't needlessly put everyone in danger, and so she remained with them, not yet having proved her worth.

It went without saying that Amy was not on board with this decision, and indeed she thought it tragically careless. Derek had not given Lyssa any pivotal information, as he had promised, but still Amy was furious. She took the girl's mere presence as an affront to her status in the pack, as evidently she was not important enough for her vote to count.

Derek saw things in a decidedly different light, as he had attempted to explain many times. Werewolves were werewolves – kin. Werewolves did not betray one another to hunters. It was simply not done, he insisted, and it went against every instinct.

But Amy's mistrust was not rooted in the girl's nature, but in her ethereal beauty.

In the nights he fervidly assured her that she had nothing to worry about, and in fact he did such a good job that she was almost able to look past the unfortunate development. But when morning dawned, so too did her petulance.

The boys were not especially receptive to her indignation. For the most part, they thought she was overreacting – they saw her point, but thought she was overreacting. Deep down, she knew they believed she was being insecure; and she was. She was being insecure and territorial and altogether unpleasant to be around.

Her resentment towards Lyssa only grew stronger as the full moon grew nearer. Her hatred for her was almost hormonal. She felt it in every fiber of her being, she felt it beyond logic and beyond her control.

Perhaps this was normal for werewolves. Indeed, she did experience a sort of animalistic urge to tear her limb from limb whenever Lyssa flashed that perfectly straight and white smile in her boyfriend's direction. This would perhaps explain why Derek was so unfazed by the whole matter. He attempted to appease her, true enough, but he did not seem to think she was acting psychotic, which – in all fairness – nearly any other guy would. Scott and Isaac and even Stiles definitely thought she was getting a little nutty.

Because this was her and Isaac's second full moon, they were letting their guard down a bit – while the last time was all about not killing someone, this time would be all about practicing control.

In the days leading up to this event, Amy had decided to take care of some very important business. Business that involved seeing Deaton, the vet-slash-werewolf-guru.

It was embarrassing, really. But Allison and Lydia's words from the previous month's fiasco still swirled in her brain, and she could feel her body reacting to the coming lunar event in much the same way it had before; which meant, in layman's terms, that she was starting to feel horny and emotionally unstable.

She walked through the front door alone, bell chiming innocuously as it closed behind her.

"Dr. Deaton?" she called into the empty space. She didn't know him very well, but he was the only person she thought could possibly assist her.

It was afterhours, of course, but he had a knack for keeping the clinic open for a little extra time in case any of Beacon Hills' resident teenage werewolves were in need of advice or aid, medical or otherwise. He was just a nice guy like that.

He soon appeared from the back, coming to greet her at the desk in the front room. As he pulled off his latex gloves finger by finger, he said, "Amy, how are you?" He seemed mildly surprised to see her, but welcoming nonetheless.

"I'm fine, thanks," she replied quickly. She seemed to remember her manners after the fact. "How are you?"

He could easily perceive her nervousness in her heartbeat. "I'm doing well. Is everything all right?" he inquired. "What brings you here today?"

She bit her lip in hesitation, rethinking the entire thing. It was going to be mortifying no matter what, and there was always a chance that he wouldn't even know how to help her. She absolutely didn't want to humiliate herself without reason.

"I – um – I have a question – a favor to ask, really –, but I'm not even sure if you'll be able to help me," admitted Amy.

"I can certainly try," he replied with a reassuring smile.

After a few minutes of contemplation, she opened her mouth to inform him of her dilemma.

XXXXX

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE FULL MOON

Amy slept fitfully beside Derek, tossing and turning and causing the mattress to squeak unrelentingly. The alpha remained still despite these disturbances, characteristically immobile in his slumber. Ever since she'd gone to visit Deaton and that fateful night of the month drew nearer, her sleep had become increasingly disruptive; she counted herself lucky that she never consciously experienced these tumultuous episodes – she was only aware that they occurred when she awoke, utterly tangled in their sheets. She also counted herself lucky that Derek could sleep through an atomic bomb.

This particular night, deep into her REM cycle, she experienced a vicious nightmare.

She ran through the woods, fleeing, desperate, trying to escape. She knew not what pursued her, but the heavy terror she felt deep in her heart was unparalleled. It was greater even than the fear she had endured as she watched her father slaughter her neighbor before her very eyes, greater even than what she had endured when her hands had clutched her stomach, trying to hold in the thick red blood the poured from her body.

The cool air blew through her hair like wind; she was running as fast as her legs could carry her. The muscles in her calves ached as the weight of her body fell time and time again onto one foot and then the other, and the sound of leaves crunching beneath her bare feet was loud in the night. She cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder in the hope of catching a glimpse of her unknown assailant, but saw only a shadow.

The footfalls behind her did not appear to be human, and she could hear a heavy breathing in her ears. In fact, she could almost feel the repulsive moisture of this foul creature's breath against her skin, though she knew it was impossible given their far proximity.

Why was she running?

She could not think, she could not reason through what was occurring. Her body moved on pure instinct.

She was human. She was utterly human and utterly helpless.

Suddenly, she tripped; a sharp cry escaped her lips, not because she was hurt, but because she knew that this misstep would be the death of her. It was inevitable, now.

Gathering all the courage she could muster, she flipped around to face her would-be murderer.

She struggled to catch her breath as a shadowy figure shot into view, growing closer and closer but never clearer. It was nothing but a dark mass that would not come into focus.

Eventually it was directly in front of her, inches from her face, and she could smell its putrid breath in her nostrils; blood-red eyes glowed in the black forest.

"Dad?" she murmured, voice quivering with fear.

It released a growl that sounded conspicuously like a snicker.

"Peter?" she tried, a bit firmer.

It lunged at her throat.

Amy's eyes snapped open as the shrill noise of her own shriek roused her from her sleep.

Before she knew what was happening, where she was, or why she was there, a person came out of nowhere and tackled her by the waist, throwing her to the ground. The blanket of leaves cushioned her fall, but only just.

A bullet whizzed by the exact place where she had been standing just moments before.

"AMY!" Derek's voice was familiar, but far-off. It echoed loudly through the woods.

Who, then, had saved her?

Whoever the figure was, it hissed as one of the stray silver bullets grazed her shoulder.

The fall shook off the dizziness and the fog of sleep. She turned to look at her rescuer, but saw only a mass of tangled brown hair, much like her own – so much so that she thought she might me hallucinating images of herself. For a split second she even suspected she was still dreaming, that she had left one nightmare only to enter another.

But the girl shook her hair out of her face to reveal glowing yellow eyes and her true identity: it was Lyssa. Without giving Amy time to register what had just happened, she hauled her up by the wrist and dragged her away, presumably to find Derek. She used her other hand to cradle her wound.

More rounds of bullets pierced the air, as did the distinctive rasp of Gerard's voice. "You cannot hide forever!" he shouted mirthfully. All the sounds were disjointed; she could not pinpoint where any of them were coming from, especially since she was too disoriented to search for them amongst the trees.

"What were you doing?" Lyssa whispered frantically as they sprinted away.

"I – I don't know," replied Amy.

The other shot her a compassionate look over her shoulder, but did not decrease her speed.

"Where's Derek?" she asked.

"I'm tracking him," said Lyssa. "I have his scent."

Amy was too stunned to care.

Soon enough they had found Derek, and Lyssa nearly catapulted her into his arms. She hit his chest hard while Lyssa urgently asked, "Did you take a car?"

He was just as flustered as Amy was.

"I – yeah," was all he could manage. Without another word, he led them to his Camaro and they piled in.

"Hurry!" Lyssa urged him as he threw the car into gear.

"What's going on? What happened?" questioned Amy.

"You left," Derek ground out. "You must have sleep walked into the woods –"

"It's common right before the full moon, especially with young werewolves – I used to do it all the time," interjected Lyssa.

"I followed you when I noticed you'd left, but I don't know how long you were gone for –"

"What?" Amy managed. "I came all the way out here into the woods in my sleep?"

"Were you having a dream or something? About killing?" Lyssa asked.

"A dream, yes, but not about killing, no…"

Derek sent her a concerned, sidelong glance.

"Nevertheless," Lyssa continued, "it's common."

"Those were the Argents," remarked Amy.

"Yeah," replied Derek. He looked backwards once more, this time at Lyssa. "You're bleeding," he noticed, nodding towards her shoulder.

"It's just a scratch," she dismissed. "The bullet didn't go all the way through – it should heal quickly enough." When she brought her hand away from the injury, though, it glistened with blood.

Amy felt a tug of remorse for hating her so wholeheartedly. "Thanks," she said in a feeble attempt to be gracious.

Lyssa tore her eyes away from her own shoulder and smiled gently at they younger brunette. "You're welcome," she said sincerely.

Through the rearview mirror, Derek cast a covert but pleased glance at the pair and a smirk tugged at his lips. While Amy's late-night escapade had been a bit of a scare, he was glad to see the two women attempting to move past their differences.

Amy, however, was left to fearfully contemplate the meaning of her unusual dream. She'd heard stories of new werewolves having violent nightmares, but hers was entirely different and she hadn't even been transformed when Lyssa found her. Something wasn't sitting right.

Author's Note: Let me know what you think! It seems most people don't like Lyssa very much and I'm thrilled to see that most of you seem to be empathizing with Amy, but remember that she is only human (well... you know what I mean) and she isn't always right! What do you think her dream meant? Why she went to see Deaton?