Chapter Eleven: Artemis

"By a virgin's blood the Virgin's wrath must be appeased. Then love yielded to public weal, the father to the king: Iphigenia stood to give her chaste life-blood amid the weeping priests before the altar. Yielding at last, the goddess drew a mist before their eyes, and in the turmoil of the ceremony, the chants and prayers, in place of the princess the tale is told Artemis set a hind. Appeased then by that seemly sacrifice, her divine anger and the ocean's rage alike subsided, and those thousand ships welcomed the wind abaft and reached at last after much suffering the shores of Troy."

x.

By the time the Jeep turned into the parking lot, Allison's car was already there, and she and Scott were standing by the side of it, waiting for the others. Stiles haphazardly steered the big car into a space, wheels jutting out beyond the white-lined limits. He hopped out, running around to join the rest of them as Cora stepped out of the car as well. "You OK?" asked Allison, with a flickering, pointed glance up at the full moon.

Icily, Cora replied, "I'm fine," and then Scott suddenly sniffed loudly, blinking between her and Stiles.

"Woah," he said, a grin splitting out on his face. "Congrats, you guys."

"What?" asked Stiles, raising his eyebrows guiltily, blinking, glancing at the girl beside him. "For what?"

"You know," replied Scott, grinning knowingly. He shrugged, then looked at Allison, who gave him a very clear look. "Sorry," he said, clearing his throat, avoiding Cora's gaze. "You just, uh. You smell like each other. So. You know."

Blankly, Stiles blinked at Scott, and Cora shook her head, rubbing her temples. "Good timing, Stiles," she shot at the boy, her voice stinging.

"What are you getting mad at me for?" he asked, his voice lowered. "I'm trying to save you, you know."

"Somebody's going to need to save you when my brother shows up-"

"Oh, right, like he cares who it is you're throwing around in the sack-"

"Stiles," she said sharply. "We were not-" she glanced over at Scott and Allison and, as if in explanation, she continued, "I wasn't throwing him around-"

"Right," said Allison, with a small, awkward smile. "Just – let's focus on why you called us here, OK?"

As if on cue, another car slit down the street, turning into the parking low, the Camaro low and dark and quiet as it stopped beside them. Derek stepped out, standing, Stiles thought gratefully, upwind. He strode towards them, his eyes shining slightly in the darkness. As he approached them, Stiles could've sworn he saw Derek's upper lip twitch slightly, as if sensing a particularly distasteful scent. Ruefully, he didn't meet Derek's gaze, deliberately standing a good foot and a half away from Cora.

"Derek," said Cora, nodding at him. "Hope we didn't wake you."

He looked at her, but there was nothing in his expression. "Why am I here?" he asked.

"For her," said Stiles, holding his hand out, gesturing towards Cora. She glanced at him, and then batted his hand away.

"There's a lot you need to know," said Cora, her eyes sliding across the dark parking lot around them. "I thought…I could keep you out of it. Keep you safe." She paused, looking back to him, and the sweeping height of her cheekbones, the breadth of her lips, her dark brows. It occurred to Derek for not the first time how profoundly she looked like their mother. "That worked," she added. "But, if Stiles is right…" she looked at the other boy, and Derek had to glance away, pretending he didn't see the electricity when their gazes met, "…then I need help keeping myself safe."

Derek's eyes travelled over to the animal clinic. The windows were all dark. "And what?" he asked. "You think Deaton can do that?"

"No," said Stiles, shaking his head, before Cora could answer. "That's not why we're here."

"Hey," said Scott, scooting forward, squeezing in between Stiles and Cora. "We found something too. Something about the Morrigan – there was something in the Argent bestiary, something about the third sacrifice."

"We know already," replied Stiles, his voice hard. Addressing Derek again, he said, "To complete the spell, there is no third male sacrifice. They're going to take Alpha from Cora, and it'll kill her. That's what they've been trying to do this whole time, the Morrigan is – she's your family. Don't you get it? She's what's coming, she's the power about to hit Beacon Hill."

Derek stared at Stiles, a deep crease of confusion in his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"Laura," said Stiles forcefully, arms splayed out, as if it were obvious. "Your sister. The Morrigan is bringing her back, and they're going to use Cora to do it."

There was nothing for a moment. In the distance, a raven crowed. Derek tore his eyes away from Stiles and looked at his younger sister, and Stiles suddenly realized what the look on his face meant.

"Oh," he murmured, retreating. "Oh." Turning to Cora, he muttered, "You didn't tell him?"

She stared at Derek right in the face, the tightness of her lips answering his question. Neither of them said anything, and Stiles had to look away, a moment so intimate it felt indecent to watch, as Derek stared at his sister, disappointment and fear mingling on his face. A breeze swept around them, swirling the red and orange and yellow leaves at their feet, and the hair at the back of Derek's neck stood up as Cora refused to look away.

Gently, Cora said, "You buried her."

Stiffly, Derek shrugged. "Not well enough, I guess," he said, his voice cold.

"It's not your fault," she said, shaking her head. "This is exactly why I didn't tell you. Everything is your fault, Derek, and it's exhausting to have to try and keep you alive when you think you shouldn't be."

"Cora-" began Derek, but she shook her head forcefully, cutting him off.

"You're a terrible Beta, Derek," she said loudly. "You were even worse as Alpha." She moved forward suddenly, staring up at Derek, her face hardly level with his chest. Reaching out, she clasped onto his jacket, holding tightly onto him, refusing to bow her gaze. "But before any of that," she continued, "you are my brother. And if I could keep you from getting hurt – no matter how, in whatever way – then I would."

She stared at him, clenching her jaw.

And then she let go of him, and stepped back. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "That's why I didn't tell you," she finished. "I've had enough of seeing the people I love get hurt."

Derek said nothing, only watched her painfully.

And then, glancing at Stiles and the others, she murmured, "Let's go," and headed towards the animal clinic; immediately, Allison and Scott followed her, Scott only sparing a small glance for Derek. Trying to look at Derek without letting the other man notice, Stiles began to turn and walk away, before Derek stopped him.

"Stiles."

He stopped. His heart felt like it slowed down a little, and then he turned around, clearing his throat. Derek stood there, watching him with dangerous, wolfish eyes. "Uh," he began, "hi."

Cocking his head slightly, Derek gestured towards him. "Come here."

"Um," continued Stiles, as if considering it, "how about no?"

Derek rolled his eyes and strode forward. Stiles flinched, although he could not imagine what Derek could do to him. From somewhere deep within his mind, one of the earliest memories he had of Derek rose to the surface. Pale and suffering and I'll rip out your throat. With my teeth.

To Stiles's utter surprise, Derek reached out and took hold of him by the chin, turning his head, narrowing his eyes, as if inspecting his jaw. "Oh, Stiles," he sighed, and there was something in his voice that Stiles didn't think he'd ever heard.

"What?" he asked, almost out of fear. He tried to tug away from Derek's grip slightly, but Derek didn't seem to notice.

With his index finger, Derek tapped Stiles's jaw. "Did Cora give you those?"

"Give me-?" His hands fluttered up to his face self-consciously, running along his jawline. "Oh my God, are you asking me if your sister gave me hickeys?"

"They're bite marks," said Derek derisively. "It's a wolf thing. I'm surprised you don't already know this."

"Bite marks?" repeated Stiles incredulously, and Derek finally let him go. He ran his hands over his face in shock. "Did you just say a wolf thing?"

"It's called snout-biting," answered Derek, looking past him, at his sister and the others heading into the building. "We – especially females – sometimes use it to mark our mates."

Stiles gaped at him. "Mark your what?"

Derek smiled emptily at Stiles, and Stiles could tell that he would be amused if he weren't nursing the injury of Cora's words. "Welcome to the pack," he said quietly, patting Stiles on the shoulder, and then he strode past him, following Cora and the others.

After a moment, Stiles hurried after him. Scott and Allison entered first, very carefully. Cora moved, placing herself protectively beside Stiles, who glanced guiltily at Derek. If she noticed, she made no indication. Scott called, "Doctor Deaton?" and, after a few seconds, the man appeared behind the counter.

He smiled at them, so benevolently. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Scott, Allison, and Derek didn't give a second glance before they passed behind the counter, heading into the back room, where they had spent so much time, and learned so much. Once they had all passed, Deaton paused to make sure the gate of mountain ash closed behind them. Cora took Stiles's hand as Deaton smiled at them, heading back to the rest of them.

As soon as he was out of sight, Stiles reached out and tugged at the small, low gate, hooking it open. Glancing behind them, Cora whispered, "Are you sure-?"

"Pretty sure," replied Stiles under his breath. "Even if I'm not, I thought you didn't like feeling trapped."

She watched him, almost frowning. "I don't," she said quietly.

He looked at her for a second, and then he leaned forward, taking her face in his hands, and kissed her on the lips. Then he pulled away. "By the way," he began pointedly, gesturing at the marks along his jaw, "we're gonna have to talk about these."

She actually smiled, a blush rising to her cheeks. "I thought you said you'd like to be in my pack."

"Well, sure, but-" he broke off, looking behind her. She turned around quickly to see Derek standing there, watching them, unimpressed.

"Are you going to join us?" he asked, one eyebrow elegantly arched in judgment. "Or would you like a couple minutes of privacy first?"

"Hey," responded Stiles, glaring at him, one hand defensively on Cora's arm. "It'd be a little more than a couple minutes, alright, buddy-"

Shaking her head, Cora took Stiles's hand, tugging him into the room with the others. "So," said Deaton, smiling at Stiles from across the reflective metal of the examination table. "I understand you think you know what's going on."

Stiles stared at him, then made a face. Cora squeezed his hand slightly, giving him a look, bringing him back to the moment. "Yeah, right," he said, coming to the table, between Cora and Scott, "I do, actually. I'm, like. Ninety percent sure." He glanced around, eyes flickering to Scott, Cora, then Derek. "Like. Eighty-five. Ish. No less than seventy."

He said nothing more. Allison exchanged glances with Scott and then asked, "Do you want to tell us? Or should we just stand here waiting?"

"Look," said Stiles, leaning forward. "The Morrigan is not a goddess, it's a spell, and it's going to be used to bring back the Alpha of the Hale pack. Laura, Laura Hale, Derek and Cora's sister."

Deaton only watched him, brown eyes big and perceptive. And then slowly, he nodded. "Derek," he said, glancing over to the other man. "When you buried her, you didn't bind Laura with wolfsbane rope, did you?"

Derek glanced at him, then cautiously looked to his sister. "No," he replied. "Not when I buried her the second time."

Scott blinked, leaning in. "What?" he asked. "Does that have something to do with this?"

"It's just a tradition in our family," said Derek, but Deaton shook his head and cut him off.

"Traditions are developed and followed for a reason, Derek," he said, his voice hard. "By not binding her, you left her vulnerable."

Scott looked at Derek uncomfortably. "Oh, man. I mean. Our bad."

"Vulnerable?" repeated Stiles incredulously. "After everything this psychotic ghost-witch-Morrigan whatever has done to us, you're calling her vulnerable?"

Deaton shook his head, refusing to listen to Stiles. "She's little more than a spirit," he said heatedly. "Even the completion of sacrifices won't restore her completely. How is it that you expect her to wield this much power?"

Resolutely, Stiles said, "Alpha transference." Addressing Derek, he added, "Like what you did, except more extreme. Something that would suck the life out of a previous Alpha, in order to power a new one."

"What?" asked Scott, but Deaton nodded, considering this.

"The way Talia ascended to head of the family," he said lowly, "and her mother before her."

"Right," replied Stiles, nodding. "But Laura never did that, she became Alpha because she was next in line after her mom was killed. That's why your mother isn't involved, because she's already used that ritual to get her power in the first place."

"The anchor," said Cora suddenly, as if it had just come to her. Everyone's gazes snapped to her, and she stared up at them all, her eyes widening. Only focused on Derek, she said, "Mom. The mother of the Triple Goddess, she's the anchor. Laura is the crone, a vessel for power from the conduit." She stared at her brother, mouth hanging open. "From me."

"Laura?" demanded Derek, turning to look at Deaton as if for confirmation, reaching out and placing a firm, protective hand on Cora's shoulder, gripping her tightly. "Laura wants to use Cora as the final sacrifice?"

"No," said Deaton, shaking his head resolutely. "The Morrigan takes soldiers, not daughters-"

"You would say that, though," said Stiles, his voice slicing through the darkness. Deaton looked up at him, a concerned crease in his brow. A muscle in Stiles's jaw jumped, and Cora could all but hear him gritting his teeth.

Scott reached out and took hold of Stiles's arm. "Stiles," he said cautiously. "I don't know what you're implying exactly, but-"

"Yes you do," said Stiles bluntly, tearing his arm away from Scott's touch. "I think you know exactly what I'm implying because I'm not even friggin' implying it anymore, I'm just saying it." He stared at Deaton, refusing to look away. The other man blinked, then straightened up, his face expressionless. The light that hung over the table no longer illuminated his face. Stiles cocked his head, narrowing his eyes only slightly. "Don't move," he said, voice hard. "I'd say the odds are pretty well in our favor. It's five-to-one, and we've got two Alphas, and an emissary, just like you."

Cora said, "Derek," and Derek reached out, clasping a hand around Deaton's arm, preventing him from taking another step away.

"We don't have time for this," said Deaton urgently. "If this is Laura Hale, then tonight would be the night she'd use to return. It's the winter solstice, the time at which the barrier between the living and dead is narrow, almost nonexistent-"

Stiles said, "OK, sure, whatever. I'm not buying it, and I'm not done yet." He leaned forward, across the table. "Here's the thing that we didn't factor in," he continued. "Everybody thought this all got started after Peter was killed, when the other pack got here, by the time Cora and Derek found the first sacrifice on the Nemeton. But it's been going on much longer than that. Allison, Isaac, and I all saw something before that. These things that started haunting us, though, it wasn't just anything, it was family. It was our family. And Laura – the Morrigan – can't be brought back without her family."

"That much we know," said Deaton, glancing at Derek. "But you're misinterpreting-"

"You told us," he said loudly, interrupting the other man, "about this darkness inside of us. Something that would be there every day. That gives us the perfect excuse to just shrug off these visions, or hallucinations, whatever they are. I've been haunted since then, but it's not that. It's not the darkness showing up, it has nothing to do with that, you lied to us because you knew that the Morrigan would manifest – like you said before – in the context of the dead."

"No," said Deaton, shaking his head firmly. "I did not lie to any of you."

Cora brought her hands down, hard, on the table, and a loud clanging resounded. "Don't interrupt him," she hissed.

Stiles glanced at her, blinking, his rhythm obviously thrown. "Wow," he murmured, with a dopey little smile at her. "That was. Like. That was hot."

"Stiles," said Derek loudly, and Stiles instantly shook his head, staring across the table.

"Right, right, right. OK. Yeah. Anyway." He cleared his throat. "The thing is," he continued, "the same time we went under, Derek transferred his power to Cora. And when he did that, she became the Alpha. Weak, sure, because Peter thought he was the Alpha, but that was enough. That was the opportunity to start the spell. It just needed somebody to get it started, somebody loyal to the Hale line. No! Not even. Somebody loyal to Hale Alphas, natural Hale Alphas."

Cora stared at Deaton warily, standing straight up behind Stiles. "Somebody like the emissary who served my mother."

Glancing down at the table, his brow heavy and brooding, Derek murmured, "Peter knew. He told me we needed a new emissary."

Deaton tried to tug his arm away from Derek, but Derek held on tightly. He reached up, trying to pry fingers off of his arm, and there was more venom in his voice than any of them had ever heard as he spat, "You all but already have one. Derek, let go of me."

"What does that mean?" asked Cora sharply, and Deaton's looked at her for a moment, and then his eyes slid meaningfully to Stiles. She looked over at him, eyes wide, and then she bared her teeth, leaning across the table. "Don't play games with us-!"

"I'm not," replied Deaton loudly, refusing to bow from her vicious gaze. "An emissary is a part of your pack. Clearly, you've marked him as yours."

Self-consciously, Stiles's hand flitted to his jaw, and Scott asked, "What? She what?"

Lowly, glancing towards Scott, Cora said, "He's not ours. Not in practice, not yet."

"Practice?" echoed Deaton dubiously. "What part of Alpha politics seems practical to you, Cora?"

"Look!" said Stiles loudly, cutting them off. "That doesn't change anything! Do you see any other druids around here capable of pulling off a spell like that?"

"Other than you," shot back Deaton, "no, I don't."

"Hold on," said Allison, peering between them. "The other pack. They brought their emissary with them."

"Grace turned her," replied Derek, without glancing at her. "Wolves aren't meant to work as druids."

A crease in her brow, Allison asked, "Can you do that? Turn your emissary?"

"You can," replied Deaton, looking at her. "But, like Derek says, it weakens them. A druid may be able to redirect mystical power, but they're still humans. Werewolves who also act as their packs' emissaries have a shadow of the kind of strength they would without the bite."

"Then why do it at all?" asked Cora, her voice hard.

Deaton turned back to look at her, his brown eyes wide and damp. "Because," he said, "it's much easier to kill a human than a werewolf."

From behind them, a rich, quiet voice filled the room. They all whipped around, eyes widening at the woman standing in the doorway behind them.

"True," said Rosemary, grinning, baring her teeth. "But then again, I could kill anything."

Instantly, Derek let go of Deaton, and he, Scott, and Cora all dropped defensively, their fangs and claws elongating. Behind Rosemary, the other Beta, Jaz, appeared, grinning at them, eyes a bright golden yellow, sharp against her dark skin.

Rosemary hissed and launched herself forward; Cora instantly moved, tearing forward with her claws, but the taller woman ducked, dodging past Cora, and landed her claws firmly in Derek's forearm. Cora spun around, howling protectively; the other Beta launched herself at Scott, preventing him from helping Derek.

Before Cora could move forward, about to rip Rosemary apart, a hand caught her hair, pulling her backwards sharply. Still wrenching at her long hair, Sam leaned over Cora's face, grinning. "Missed me?" she asked.

Suddenly, something hit Sam hard on the side of the head, and she shrieked, thrown to the ground with the force of the blow from a huge glass jar, which shattered into pieces on collision.

Stiles, still holding on to the metal top of the jug, looked down at Sam breathlessly. "Don't touch my mate," he said breathlessly, holding the jagged edge of glass down at the girl, "bitch."

He glanced up to see Cora gaping at him, fangs gone, eyes wide, profoundly human.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said quickly, reaching out to touch her hand, claws gone, "don't put those away just y-"

It happened very slowly. Cora's gaze flickered behind Stiles, the struggling noise of the room silencing as Grace's stark red eyes met hers. Grace's arm shot out, faster than Cora's by mere milliseconds, and she wrapped her arm around Stiles's throat, pulling him backwards, off his feet; the look of fear in his eyes shot straight to Cora's heart, and she could not take a breath, unable to even scream – and then real, physical pain shot down her spine like a lightning strike, and her eyes went bright red. She clattered to the ground, gasping for breath, claws digging into the cement floor of the clinic, a spot on the back of her neck burning as if it were on fire. The sharp, tickling sensation was so intense that her eyes closed and she thought she could smell the acrid stink of smoke, panic rising in her lungs. Her brother shouted her name, still fighting with Rosemary; Scott threw Jaz to the ground when he saw Stiles in Grace's grip, but she dug her claws into his ankle. Before he could turn to fight her, Allison dropped, shoving a knee hard into the werewolf's back, piercing the soft flesh in between her shoulder blades with sharp, long knives. Jaz roared in pain.

"Let her go," said Grace sharply, her arm tightening around Stiles's neck. He floundered uselessly, struggling against her grip. Grace gazed dangerously at Allison for a long moment, color flooding into Stiles's face, his glassy eyes rolling.

Allison tore her knives out of the Beta's back and got to her feet, glaring at Grace with pure, dripping hatred in her eyes. Derek glanced between Grace and Rosemary, then darted down to where Cora was, hands and knees on the floor. She winced away from him when he placed a hand on her back, and instantly he retracted it, unable to bear causing her any more pain. Then she lifted her head, baring her teeth at Grace. Derek helped her to her feet.

Just as Stiles's knees began to buckle, Grace let him go, removing her arm from the grip around his throat. He fell to the ground, coughing hoarsely, and Scott went to his side, kneeling beside his friend.

Grace only stared at Cora and Derek. Lowly, she said, "You keep your hands off the druid. Do you understand? You will not interfere."

"Grace," began Derek, and there was little more than a plea in his voice, "if you think for one second that Laura would want this-"

"Laura doesn't want anything," Grace shot back shortly. "She can't. She's dead." They stared at her, and then she took a step forward, holding out her hands. "But we can fix that. Why are you so against me? Wouldn't you do anything for her, Derek? Wouldn't you give up everything for family?" Her eyes snapping from Derek to Cora, she implored, "You said you'd help me. Think of your sister. Think of what she could teach you."

Bluntly, Cora said, "She can't teach me anything if I'm dead."

Grace stared at her, mouth hanging slightly open. Then her gaze slit across the room, to where Deaton stood, out of the light. She swept her hair back and purred, "What have you been telling them, Doctor?"

"Nothing," replied Deaton, very simply. "Do you really think I'm responsible for this, Grace?"

"If you're not," she snarled, "you should be. What would Talia say?"

"My mother," said Cora loudly, before Deaton could reply, "would say that there's a natural order to things. And that power is only meant to flow in one direction."

"You're Hales," she said, her voice heavy. "You can do whatever you want with power."

"Grace," said Deaton. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?"

Her eyes flickered from Deaton to Rosemary, then to Cora and Derek. "I know," she whispered, her voice very quiet, "that I am so close to getting her back. I would do anything-"

"If you really gave a damn about their sister," said Scott suddenly, still supporting Stiles, on the floor, "then you wouldn't hurt them. She wouldn't want that."

Leering down at Scott and Stiles, haunches raised, Grace hissed, "Don't you dare try to tell me what she would want-"

"Why not?" demanded Allison, clutching her knives; Grace seemed almost surprised, her eyes flickering around to her, and Allison did not bow her gaze. "I don't know who you are and I didn't know Cora and Derek's sister, but it seems like you're a lot more concerned with what you want than anybody else."

"Do you really want Laura back, Grace?" asked Cora, standing up straight, facing Grace, as if their words had strengthened her. "Or do you want the power and status you lost when she left you?"

With a roar, Grace launched herself at Cora; Derek immediately moved to protect her, but Cora threw him aside, grappling with Grace, claws slashing, their scarlet eyes mirroring one another's.

And then, abruptly, Rosemary said, "It's not him."

Cora tore into Grace's cheek, blood smeared across her face. Grace backed off, staring at her emissary. "What?" she demanded.

"I don't understand," muttered Rosemary, looking lost, staring at Deaton. He only watched her warily, and finally she tore her gaze away, looking back to her Alpha. "It's not him," she repeated. "I can feel it. He's not the one redirecting the power of the spell."

Grace stared at her. "How can that be?" she demanded heatedly. "You said-"

"Allison!" croaked Stiles, his voice still hoarse. "Now!"

Diving to the bag she'd put down, Allison retrieved something, and Jaz's eyes widened and she began to throw herself at Allison, howling, but then a blindingly bright light filled the dully lit room, and Grace's pack hissed in pain, covering their eyes. Allison stuck her knives into Jaz's shoulders as she buckled over, and Scott, who, like Cora and Derek, had protected his eyes, reached out, jabbing his claws into Grace's ankles, bringing her down. Cora's elbow collided with Sam's face, and Derek threw Rosemary to the ground.

Grace stumbled away from them, clutching her face. When she looked up at them, she bared her teeth, growling, blinking furiously, vision hazy and indistinct.

Cora moved forward and threw Grace, hard, onto the floor. Grace slowly began to push herself up, but Cora kicked her in the face, keeping her down. She looked up at Cora with utter revulsion, blood staining her teeth and lips. Moving forward, Cora stood over her, and for a moment it seemed her clawed fingers were swinging below Grace's jaw, to tear a head off her spine, but before Derek could even call his sister's name, Cora's hand trickled down past Grace's neck.

Taking a fist of Grace's collar, she tore it down to expose a patch of skin above her heart, where raised white lines outlined the mark of the Morrigan. Baring her teeth threateningly, Cora lowered her fingers, pressing her claws into the skin of the tattoo.

"Do you know what this is, Grace?" she whispered. "Do you really know?"

Grace stared up at Cora. And then she opened her mouth and spit blood onto Cora's face.

"It's a brand," hissed Cora, through gritted teeth, refusing to wipe the blood which dripped down her face, into her eyes. "It's a claim. It's my family. You belong to us."

"To you?" Grace hissed. "To a family built on the blood of Omegas? To a family which is practically extinct? I don't owe anything to you, or your pathetic excuse for a pack."

Grace lifted her hand, placed it above Cora's. And then, with a roaring growl, she pressed Cora's claws, hard, into her skin, and raked them across the mark, breaking the symbol.

"I don't want Laura back so I can join your pack," she spat, her lip curled in an ugly, sneering snarl, "I want her to join mine."

Rosemary moved forward, tearing Cora away from Grace, and she and Jaz took their Alpha and, red eyes still staring at Cora, they disappeared.

There was silence. In the corner of the room, Sam glanced back at the doorway, then at Cora, who met her gaze without bowing. She looked as if she were about to say something, and then she shook her head.

Lowly, Cora asked, "You really agree with her?"

Sam stared at Cora blankly. And then she said, "I think that if it wasn't for your family, your sister wouldn't be dead in the first place." Her eyes slid, like stone, over to Derek, and she said, "If it wasn't for your family, none of you would ever have gotten hurt."

Allison glanced back at Derek, whose eyes flickered bright, icy blue, but he made no noise, he face pale

"You were the one," continued Sam, her voice hard, "who said you were strong with or without your family. Your sister deserves a chance to find that out as well."

"So what?" demanded Cora. "You're going to kill me? You're going to watch me die?"

"No," said Sam, shaking her head. "Cora." She stared up with dark eyes, lips slightly parted. "Not you."

Following the rest of her pack, she swept out of the room.

Outside, Grace ran ahead of her Betas, breath pumping hard, in the trees, reaching the front of the burnt-out house. Blood stained her shirt, running down her chest from the wound that broke the tattoo. Eyes sweeping along the charred wood and stone, she shouted, "Laura."

There was silence.

And then the door to the house, huge and red, creaked slightly, and a figure slipped out onto the front porch. Grace stared up at her. The woman before the door smiled.

Grace strode forward imploringly and began, "They know too much. It's a matter of time before they figure out how to stop it. If you would just tell me-"

A wisp of smoke, and the woman disappeared; Grace stopped. A raven cawed, and the full moon shone down on them. Grace glanced around her, and when she turned around again, the woman was there, so close to her, and Grace made a small sound of shock as something slit into the cavity of her stomach, sharp talons sliding through organs and viscous internal matter.

Laura, face still puffy and bloodless, like a corpse, black veins running up her neck, coloring her lips, leaned forward, putting her mouth beside Grace's ear. Her eyes were a pure white, with no iris or pupil. Her fingers flickered around the line of Grace's jaw, the small marks there, indication of a claim lain years ago.

She whispered, "You always were too ambitious for your own good," and tore her claws out of Grace's body, leaving her on the cold, dark ground, disappearing like smoke into the night.

In the back room of the clinic, Scott slowly helped his friend to his feet. Cora stood there, anger in the clench of her jaw, and Derek watched her but did not reach out to touch her. Allison collected her weapons, wiping the blood off her knives with her jacket.

"See?" said Scott, relieved. Nodding at Deaton, he said "I knew he had nothing to do with this."

"It could be a trick," said Derek, scrutinizing the doctor. "Meant to throw us off."

"No," added Stiles throatily, shaking his head. "No. I…believe them."

"Why?" asked Allison. "They just attacked us."

"No," said Stiles, shaking his head, lost in thought. "No, no, I was…"

He trailed off. Before he said more, Deaton spoke. "What I don't understand," he said, "is how they got in here in the first place. Half the building is made of mountain ash."

Glancing at Stiles, Cora said, "I wanted it open. In case we needed a quick way out."

"But," said Deaton, raising an eyebrow, "you couldn't touch it."

"No," said Stiles, still shaking his head. "Iopened it." He looked up at them, eyes wide, stricken. "Cora," he said, taking an unsteady step towards her. "God, no, I was wrong-"

He reached out towards her, and then, suddenly, with a terrible heaving sound, a stomach's worth of blood and thick mucus and viscous, awful black goo came from his mouth, retching onto the ground, and it did not stop; the blood, black-red in the dull light, dripped from his lips and teeth, and his body heaved and wracked. Stiles fell to the ground, eyes rolling back in his head, body shaking uncontrollably. And then he stopped moving completely, the heady stench of death lingering in the air.

thus the end begins. Happy New Year!