Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine.
A/N: Thanks for being so patient while waiting for this chapter. Good news: the next chapter is already almost half done, woohoo! It has a lot more action in it, so stay tuned. Thanks for reading!
When I woke up, I was stretched out on the couch, covered by a blanket. I lay there for a second, basking in the warmth and listening to sound of soft laughter trickle out of the kitchen—a woman's light pitch followed by a man's deeper chuckle. Braeden and Derek. And they were laughing. That was new.
Something else trickled out of the kitchen, wafting over the back of the couch before settling over me. I got up, padding sleepily into the kitchen as I followed my nose.
Braeden and Derek were standing in front of the stove. As I moved through the doorway, Braeden glanced over. "Hey there, sleepyhead," she said with a small smile. "Just in time for the cinnamon rolls." I greeted her with a sleepy nod, any past grievances forgiven when I realized she was the reason for the divine smell that had drawn me to the kitchen.
Derek stood beside her, manning the pan of eggs. I slid onto the stool, plunking my elbows on the counter and using my hands to prop my head upright. I watched as they interacted, and it was like nothing I'd ever seen before.
They were close to each other, close enough to brush elbows constantly. Yet they moved in some kind of rhythm. Derek would shift, and Braeden would adjust accordingly. Or Braeden would reach for something on the other side of the counter, and Derek would lean out of her way slightly. It was wordless and natural, and they were moving in harmony, which was nothing I'd ever seen from Derek before. Or anyone really.
Derek and harmony weren't two words often equated with each other. Yet here he was, moving in sync with Braeden. Interesting. I would have to think about that some more.
Eventually, Derek dished the eggs up onto three different plates. Braeden followed his frying pan with one of her own, dropping sausage onto the plates next to the eggs. Then she pulled on oven mitts and opened the oven. A blast of heat washed over me along with the smell. Heaven. I was in heaven.
Braeden set the pan down and picked up a coffee mug covered in clear wrap. She pulled the clear wrap off and tilted the mug, sending frosting cascading over the cinnamon rolls as she moved the mug back and forth. Derek reached out a finger, but she smacked it away without missing a beat pouring frosting over the rolls. Then Derek put a hand on her hip and moved close, whispering something in her ear to distract her while his other hand darted out and flicked up a bit of frosting.
She growled and jabbed a sharp elbow into his chest, sending him stumbling a step backwards. He grunted at the blow but licked the frosting off his finger anyways. Braeden grinned and picked up a knife, daring him to try again. He shrugged, moving back to the plates, and she used the knife to spread the frosting more evenly across the tops of the rolls.
I just sat there watching them and salivating.
Eventually, Braeden levered a roll out onto each of the plates. Derek delivered the plates, and we sat down, the three of us on a row of stools.
Braeden ate methodically, clearly relishing each part of breakfast. Derek ate slowly, taking his time. I scarfed it down, unable to help myself. Maybe Derek was right, maybe my stomach was getting bigger. I was hungrier more often, it seemed, and I could eat more lately.
It was a good thing, too, because I decided that cinnamon rolls were right up there with Twinkies.
About halfway through breakfast, Derek glanced at the clock on the stove and stood, half swearing under his breath. "Let's go," he told me, swinging his jacket off the chair in stiff, slow movements. I pushed away my mostly empty plate and stood, not making it more than two steps before remembering to go back and put my plate in the sink.
Derek waited patiently by the doorway and then strode out of the kitchen with a little twitch of the hand to Braeden.
While we drove, I settled back in my seat, eyes and stomach heavy. I was content, and thankfully, no ghouls decided to ambush us on the way to school. Just my luck. Apparently my continuing education was important to Derek and monsters alike.
Someone, though, didn't seem to have any problem ruining my education. Or my day, for that matter.
It was late in fifth period when a boy walked in and gave Coach a note. I was completely fed up with Economy, and more than a little ready to head to gym class, so I didn't really pay attention until Coach walked up to my desk and set the note in front of me. The class "oooh"-ed, because more often than not, those pink notes were summons to the principal's office. But mine was a little different. It requested that I pack my stuff up and come visit the front office.
I stared at it, confused. But I shoved my binder into my backpack and headed out nonetheless, totally willing to escape that horrid class. I studied the note as I walked down to the office, wondering what it was about. I wasn't in trouble...that I knew of. I hadn't gotten into a fight, hadn't skipped class. So why was I being summoned?
As I turned the corner, a familiar scent tickled at my nose. Oh no. Anybody but him. I would even prefer Peter over him.
I swung around abruptly, pulling a complete one-eighty degree turn and zipping back around the corner before pressing my back against the wall. My heart started pounding, and I peeked around the corner to gauge if I'd been seen. But no, I was in the clear.
With shaking fingers, I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and dialed the only number I could think of.
"What?" came the low growl on the other end.
"He's here," I hissed, cupping the phone to my face as if the very act of speaking would broadcast my position.
Instantly Derek became alert and serious. "The ghoul? Where are you?"
"No," I whispered. "Henry." Derek was quiet, and the silence stretched on, so I elaborated, in case he wasn't getting how big a problem this was. "He's here." Silence. So I elaborated further. "At my school. He got me called down to the office. He..." I dropped off, not really sure what Henry wanted. Aside from pulling me out of class right now, he hadn't made an effort to communicate since our last disastrous phone call.
"AJ," Derek said, in the same real calm voice he always uses when I'm about to do something totally justifiable but apparently not socially acceptable, "talk to Henry. Then go back to class."
"But I—" I protested.
"I'll pick you up after detention," Derek said, hanging up and ending the conversation.
I stared at the phone, highly concerned.
Talk to Henry?
Hell no.
Blood pounding in my head, I peeked around the corner one last time. Mr. Anderson, the vice principal, had joined Henry and was looking at his watch with a frown. He said something to Henry, and they both started walking my way. My eyes widened, and I backed away from the corner, stumbling in my haste to turn tail and run.
I made it halfway down the long hallway before the bell rang and students streamed out of the doorways. Agitated, I dodged and weaved, trying to get as far away from Henry as possible.
The guy I'd gotten into a fight with was walking down the hall with a group of his friends. I swerved to avoid them, but in doing so nearly collided with another person.
She wobbled on her tall shoes for a second, and my hands shot out, gripping her biceps and steadying her. Steadying Lydia.
"AJ, what the h—" she snapped, but fell short when she saw my face. "What's wrong?" she demanded, fixing me with a Lydia stare. I shook my head, unable to get the words out, and backed away from her, headed down the hall again.
She yelled my name, oblivious to all the other people around us. I didn't look back, though, just focusing on getting away from Henry. But Lydia could move pretty fast in her heels, apparently, because a few seconds later, she was at my side, fingers scrabbling at my elbow as she tried to get me to stop and talk to her. Eventually she succeeded, gripping my arm and yanking me to a stop. Well, I chose to stop, because the alternative was to keep going and pull her off her feet.
"Tell me what's going on!" she demanded, face tight with concern.
"Henry," I babbled. "He's...I can't...I gotta…" I trailed off, hands balling and unballing into fists as I tried and failed to solidify any of my racing thoughts enough to verbalize.
"Calm down," she urged patiently. "Tell me what's going on." By that time, the breath was whooshing in and out of my chest. I could feel the familiar prickle of claws elongating on my fingers. Lydia sized me up, eyes widening for a second, and then she was off again, dragging me down the hall.
We only went a few steps before she flung open a plain, brown door and shoved me inside. Then she pushed in after me. "AJ," she hissed. "You have to calm down." But I didn't know how, because all I could think about was the way I'd felt when Henry had dropped me off at Eichen house and left. And now he was here, and I didn't know what to do.
A low growl rippled from my throat, and I felt my fangs extend. My claws were out, and my eyes were glowing, I knew that by the way Lydia's heart was pounding. Her eyes were wide again, but this time she looked scared instead of just worried. Her head turned, exposing her neck as she looked at the door nervously, and I could see the the blood pounding in her arteries, could smell it. It would be easy to just reach out and…
Lydia's head whipped back around, eyes sharp and face determined as she refocused on me. "You can control it," she said simply. And then she waited. She didn't run when faced with the scary side of me. She just waited.
I stared at her, slightly awed. And she was right, because I could control it. Even though it felt like my body was in the middle of a mutiny and I couldn't breathe, I focused, and my fangs and claws retracted. Just like that.
What I could not control, however, was the feeling that my head and chest was going to explode. I wobbled sideways against a shelf full of toilet paper rolls, getting dizzy. "Can't…" I gasped out, trying to tell her that I couldn't breathe, even though I clearly was.
"Calm down!" Lydia insisted. But I couldn't. My vision got fuzzy, and I shook my head in panic. "Oh, for the love of—" She reached out with one hand and gripped my shirt. Then she took a step in and suddenly our lips were pressed together.
Heat.
Hot, electric fire zipped through me from my head to my toes. I went still instantly, my brain buzzing happily as I felt Lydia press against me. Instinctively, my hands settled on her waist as I leaned into the kiss. Oh, God. This feeling. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt before, and I never wanted it to end.
But, after a long moment, it did. Lydia stepped back, breathing hard. "There," she said brightly, as she reached out and smoothed away the wrinkles from where she'd grabbed my shirt, "problem solved." I didn't miss the fact that her hand was shaking slightly as she ran it over my chest or that her heart was pounding. But I stood there in a daze, nonetheless, still reveling in the dopey, warm feeling in my stomach.
Oh, yeah. That was way better than Twinkies.
Lydia turned away from me, adjusting her hair and putting on more lipgloss. Strawberry lipgloss that I could taste on my own lips, I noted with a hint of smug satisfaction. When she turned back, her face was completely neutral, though still flushed. "Now," she said, back to business. "Are you going to tell me why you had a panic attack in the middle of the school hallway?"
The warm feeling faded, replaced by the stupid, pounding ache that always accompanied the thought of Henry.
"My father..." I cut myself off, unable to stomach the words. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "Henry's here."
Lydia's face turned sour, like she'd just eaten something bad. "Henry's not—" Then she shook her head, biting back the rest of her words. Smoothing out the bottom of her dress, she settled. "And you were having a panic attack because…" She trailed off, waiting for me to fill in the answer.
She didn't understand. Derek didn't understand. No one understood why this mattered.
"He didn't...he didn't want me," I said thickly, having to force the words out. "He left me at Eichen House, like he thought I was broken." And most of the people at Eichen House were broken, in one way or another. You could practically smell it on them. But I wasn't. Stiles had been, for a little while. But not me. Never me. The only reason I had been there was because Henry hadn't wanted to make the effort to help me learn how to be human again.
I sank down to the floor, putting my back against the shelves and slumping my arms against my knees. A second later, Lydia joined me. "But you're not," she said, patting my knee. "You're just you. And Henry is an insensitive jerk."
And we sat there together for a while. Sometimes we talked, sometimes not. It didn't matter, though, because Lydia was like Derek, just easy to be around.
When the bell rang, dismissing sixth period, I realized something. "You missed class," I told Lydia. She shrugged, making a unconcerned "hmph" sound. "Won't your mom be mad?" I knew Derek was probably going to be mad. He'd told me to talk to Henry and go to class. But I had done neither of those things.
Lydia shrugged again. "I'll just tell her I didn't feel well and went home early." Somehow I didn't think that excuse would work on Derek. I eased to my feet, reaching down and grasping Lydia's hands, pulling her up as well.
"Thank you," I said haltingly, suddenly feeling shy. "For staying. And for...the other thing."
Lydia checked her reflection in a small mirror before shoving it in her purse. Then she turned to me. "My last boyfriend turned into a homicidal lizard. After that, not much else phases me." Turning back to the door, she set her shoulders and walked out into the hall. I stared after her, suddenly feeling very small.
If I followed, would I run into Henry? I was still thinking it over when the door opened again. "Come on," Lydia complained with a huff, reaching in and dragging me out with a roll of her eyes. She escorted me all the way to detention, and I slipped through the doorway with a nervous glance around. But Henry was nowhere to be seen, and I slid into a seat, hunching guilty at the desk.
Detention was painfully long. I kept waiting for the door to open and for the vice principal to demand to know why I hadn't gone to the office. The only upside was that Marijuana Boy was gone. So there was no getting high for me. As much as I liked feeling loose and carefree, it wasn't worth the headache and general dumpy feeling that followed the next day.
When detention was over, I peeked out the doorway before booking it out of there. The groups of athletes came out, but I didn't bother blending in with them. Instead, I got out to the curb as fast as possible, looking around for Derek.
He wasn't there. Derek, who'd never been late before, was nowhere to be seen. I didn't think too much of it, though. He was probably with Braeden, and if he liked her the way that I liked Lydia, then he could spend time as much time with her as he wanted.
Ten minutes passed. I sat down on the bench near the curb, watching the remaining group of kids get picked up by parents and listening to a dozen variations of "Hi, honey. How was school?"
I thought it would have gotten old, but it didn't. I liked hearing it. And I think part of me wished I had someone who would say that to me. It was one of those silly, useless thoughts, but it was still true.
I stared down at my shoes, noting how scuffed and ratty they were. Then I looked at my phone, realizing that Derek was now twenty five minutes late. Frowning, I dialed Derek's number. It went straight to voicemail, which was something that had never happened to me before.
I tried again, an ugly feeling creeping into my stomach. The call went straight to voicemail again. "Pick up," I pleaded, my fingers fumbling to redial. He didn't.
I had just lowered the phone from my ear when a motorcycle zoomed into the parking lot. When it stopped, I recognized Braeden. "Get on," she yelled urgently. I did so without a single thought. Something was wrong, and Braeden knew it too.
I had just wrapped my arms around her stomach when she peeled out. We headed back towards the loft, but Braeden was going way too fast to be legal.
We didn't make it to the loft, because close to where Derek and I had been ambushed yesterday was Derek's car. In the middle of the road, just like last time. Except now…
Now it was empty.
Braeden came screeching to a stop, and I was off the bike in a flash, running to the car. The driver side door was wide open, and there was blood on the seat. On the window was a bloody handprint, just big enough to be Derek's.
Derek. Derek was gone, and there was the main ghoul's stench everywhere surrounding his car.
The world fizzed out around me for a second, dropping away as I inhaled the scent of Derek's blood. No. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. My brain began to spin wildly, unable to ground itself.
Something inside my chest snapped, and I wobbled against the open car door before crashing to my knees. The ghoul had Derek. Fear and anger burst alive in my chest, and I tipped my head back.
A horrible, anguished cry echoed up into the sky as I began to howl.