The pack town house was dark. Everyone was taking advantage of the lures that New York had to offer with little risk of accidental change for the younger members or boredom for the older ones. He was making his way upstairs when he caught a smell, an unusual one not ordinarily associated with his abode. He turned, tracking with small short sniffs, following the alien scent toward the back of the house.
Scott heard the murmur of voices, his wolf hearing alerting him even through the shut kitchen door. Men's voices, one of them deep, the other higher. One sounded familiar, but it was difficult to tell who it was, as they both were speaking in a foreign tongue Scott couldn't place. It didn't sound similar to any language he was familiar with.
The conversation ended and the outer door to the kitchen opened and shut, letting in the sound of the back alley and a brief whiff of trash. Lightning fast, Scott hid in the shadows under the staircase at the far side of the hall, watching for the other party of the conversation.
Finstock emerged from the room. He did not notice Scott.
"Well," Stiles stood before the queen of the Newark Hive and narrowed his eyes at the woman. "Here I am. What do you need?"
"Now, is that any way to address your betters?" Morrell didn't move from her stiff pose.
"You've taken me away from an evening with my family."
"Yes, on the subject of which, we understood Laura Hale would have primary care for the abomination and yet…" The vampire let her words trail off.
Stiles understood perfectly. "Yes and she does. Connor lives with her. And please refer to my son by his name."
"But you live next door and visit quite frequently, I understand."
"It has become necessary."
"Oh, has his abilities shown?" The queen widened her dark eyes significantly.
"It seems I am needed to cancel him out."
The queen grinned suddenly. "Difficult is he, the immortality thief?"
Stiles finally had enough. "Is this why you summoned me or did you have something in particular to discuss?"
The vampire queen reached out to a small side table. She gestured Stiles to come closer.
"Someone wishes to meet the abomination."
"What was that? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch it. Wishes to meet who, did you say?" Stiles looked pointedly out a nearby window.
Morrell showed fang. "Winnemucca wishes to meet your child."
"Who? Many people wish to meet Connor. Why should this particular person signify to any—"
Morrell interrupted him. "No. You misunderstand. Winnemucca, queen of the Las Vegas Hive."
"Who?"
"Oh, how can you be intimate with so many immortals, yet be so ignorant of our world?" The queen's beautiful face became pinched in annoyance. "Queen Winnemucca is one of the oldest living vampires, possibly the oldest living creature. Some claim over three thousand years. Of course, no one knows the actual number with any certainty."
Stiles tried to fathom such a vast age. "Oh."
"She has shown a particular interest in your progeny. Generally speaking, Queen Winnemucca hasn't shown an interest in anything at all for hundreds of years. It is a great honor. When one is summoned to visit her, you do not delay."
"Let me get this straight. She requires me to travel, to Nevada, with my son, on her whim?" Stiles was, perhaps, less impressed than he ought to be by the interest of such an august body.
"Yes, but she would prefer if the reason for your journey were not publicly known."
"She wants me to travel to Nevada with my son under subterfuge? Really?"
"Yes."
Stiles huffed out a breath in exasperation. "Not asking very much, is she?"
"Here." The queen passed him a creamy envelope.
The sum of the request, or more properly the order, written in a slightly stilted manner that suggested the writer's first language was not English, was indeed as had been discussed.
Stiles looked up from it, annoyed. "Why?"
"Because she desires it, of course." Clearly the Nevada queen had some kind of power over the Newark one.
"No, I mean, why should I bother to go?"
"Ah, yes, sparks. So very practical. I understand Nevada is a fun place to visit and I believe there is something you've overlooked."
Stiles read the letter again and then flipped it over. There was a postscript on the reverse side. "I believe your husband is missing a werewolf. And you're missing a mother. I can help you with both."
Stiles folded the parchment carefully. "I guess we'll leave at once."
"My dear Dr. Stilinski-Hale, I thought that might be the case." The queen looked pleased with herself.
Stiles sneered. Nothing was more annoying than a self-satisfied vampire, which, given that seemed to be their natural state, was saying something.
On their drive back, Stiles was chagrinned to find that he was almost out of gas. They stopped once they got out of New Jersey and, surprisingly, Jackson volunteered to pump.
Stiles went inside to pay and was waiting at the empty counter when a strange man burst through the door. His hair was long and shaggy. His face was sunburned. His beard was long and untended. He also seemed to be in a state of extreme distress.
"Stilinski!"
His voice was vaguely familiar, for all that it was faint and cracked. For the life of him, though, Stiles couldn't place the gaunt face.
"Do I know you?"
"Yes. Matt." He cracked a weak smile. "I'm somewhat different from when you saw me last."
This was an understatement. Stiles remembered the man distinctly, as the last time he saw him he had gotten into a fight with Derek. "Are you okay? What happened to you?"
Stiles made to move over to him.
"No, please don't. I could not stand your touch."
"Let me get some help then. Your Alpha is here in town looking for you. I could send Jackson to fetch—"
"No, please just listen. I waited to catch you alone. Your home… your home is not safe."
"What?"
"Your mother… what she discovered. You need to stop it."
"What? What did she find?"
"The mummies, they—"
A gunshot fired clear and sharp. Stiles cried out as a bloom of red appeared on Matt's chest. The Beta looked surprised, raising both hands to cup over the wound.
He pitched forward, facedown, showing that he had been shot in the back.
Stiles clasped his hands together and willed himself to stay away, although all his instincts urged him to help the injured man. He yelled out. "Jackson!"
The Gamma came dashing in using speed only supernaturals could achieve. He immediately crouched over the fallen werewolf.
He sniffed. "Beacon Hills pack? The missing Beta? But what is he doing here?"
"He looks like he's been mortal for some length of time. Only one thing does that to a werewolf."
"The God-Breaker Plague."
"Can you think of a better explanation? Except he is here. He should be a werewolf once more."
"Oh, he is. Or I wouldn't be able to smell the pack in him," answered Jackson with confidence. "He's not mortal. Just very, very weak."
"Then he's not dead?"
"Not yet. We'd better get him home or he might be."
Once home, a single yell from Stiles brought all the werewolves and clavigers running. It was getting near dawn, so the house was full. The injured Beacon Hills Beta caused quite a stir. He was taken inside carefully while a claviger tried to reach Derek and Cora at BUR.
Matt was looking worse, his breath rasped. Stiles was genuinely concerned for his survival. He sat down on a couch opposite of him, feeling useless, as he could not even pat his hand.
They sat in silence, Stiles watching as Matt's breathing became fainter. Their reverie was interrupted by a clatter at the door, indicating that Derek had returned.
Stiles hurried to meet his husband.
"How is he?" asked Cora.
"Not well, I'm afraid. We've done what we can." Stiles led them back to Matt.
They entered to find Finstock bent over the injured man. His face seemed creased with worry. He looked up as they burst in and shook his head.
"No!" cried Cora, her voice ringing in distress. "Oh, no. Matt."
The werewolf was dead.
Cora began to weep. Stiles turned to look at his husband's face, only to find it full of sorrow. He forgot that Matt had been a part of his pack as well. There had been no love lost between the two, but a dead immortal was never to be taken lightly.
Stiles went to Derek and held him close, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He guided Derek to a chair and forced him to sit. He sent a claviger to fetch Argent. Then he made his way out into the hall to confirm what the waiting werewolves had already guessed from Cora's cry—that they had lost one of their own.