After detangling herself from Deucalion, Isla put the macaroni in the oven. She chanced a glance at the clock over the stove and hummed. It was nearly ten. Rubbing her hands over her face, the young woman sighed.
"So," Isla started, crossing her arms and looking to the man seated at her table. "I've got to start getting ready. You can leave or stay here, I don't care which, but you have got to get some sleep."
The Alpha shrugged. "I'm not tired."
She frowned at him. Her expression was incredibly doubtful and a bit amused as she told him, "Duke. You reek of exhaustion and frankly, you look like hell." The woman approached him on long legs and gently brushed her fingers over his cheeks. At his startled expression, she smiled softly. "Get some sleep. We'll talk when I get home."
Deucalion closed his eyes as Isla pressed a kiss to his forehead. Her touch lingered a moment, thumbing his cheeks in a gentle manner that made his heart ache before she pulled away. When he opened them, she had left the kitchen and he could hear in the bathroom. With a low sigh, the man leaned forward and rested his aching eyes on the heels of his hands. The thought of sleep was frightening. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk losing his vision again because he got tired. Not so soon, anyway. Not with Isla still mad at him- he needed to see her happy, at least once.
There were still so many things he needed to learn about her. He needed to know what she looked like when she giggled, what she looked like in green and grey and blue.
He needed to know what she looked like naked.
A quiet pittering made him pause. Deucalion lifted his head at the sound. His gaze drifted to the tiny window above the sink and he quickly made his way to it. A frown crossed his lips at the light rain that hit the glass. Stomach in knots, he wondered if he had repeated Kali's mistake. Perhaps his claws hadn't done an… adequate job finishing off the Baccari woman. Features growing grim, the man listened as his lover got out of the shower and made her way down the hall to her room. He would have to return to the distillery to make sure the Darach was dead- and to pick up the jacket he had left there.
Sighing, the Alpha returned to the table just in time for his lover to enter the kitchen.
Isla had looked almost exactly how he had pictured; with her long hair and sweet face, but he had been off about a few things. The shade of her hair, for one. It wasn't as dark as he imagined, her hair more orange than red, but lovely all the same. The color of her scar had been another; it had been darker than he had expected before it smoothed into pale skin.
The thought of her scar led into thoughts of her tears and Deucalion cringed. His stomach tightened as he remembered how Isla had clawed at his shoulders, desperate to get away from him. How she had sobbed and called him a liar and accused him of using her. How she had thought he was too good to be true and he ran his fingers through his hair.
Deucalion stared at the cheap plastic top of the table that braced his elbows. It was white. It had been so long since he had been able to see white.
Isla slipped into the kitchen and he quickly shifted his gaze to her once more. She was dressed in faded blue jeans and a juniper green hoodie that complimented her skin nicely. The girl –and she was a girl, Deucalion could see why her boss had been so unsettled by the age difference now- offered him a tight smile as she moved to grab the oven mitts on the counter. While she didn't look like she was fresh out of high school, the age difference between them was painfully apparent. Even more so when she looked over at him with concerned blue eyes and asked him what was wrong.
Deucalion mutely shook his head. "Nothing." He glanced down at the pot in her hands. "Where are you off to then?"
Isla's gaze leveled. "Why? Planning on keeping tabs on me, Duke?"
"No. Just curious."
"Well, I'm going out. Places to go, people to see… and feed," she added a bit lamely as she held up the pot. A hint of a blush crossing her cheeks, she fought a smile off her lips. "So…you can stay or go, but…" the redhead faltered. She approached cautiously, gaze soft as she peered down at him. "Try and get some sleep, okay?"
Her Alpha nodded and resisted the urge to smile when she bumped his shoulder with her hip. He listened to her leave, listened to her footsteps become distant and quiet before he stood. Lips pursed, Deucalion wasted no time.
It had begun to rain, very lightly, by the time he reached the distillery. Reaching down to retrieve his jacket, the man swallowed at the sight of the barren ground. Julia Baccari was gone with only a blood trail left in her wake. Deucalion shrugged on his jacket as he began to follow it.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, it led to a corpse. The Darach was laid out on the Nemeton. She had no heartbeat and no pulse (the Alpha checked) and was most certainly dead. Disturbed that she had been able to make it so far, Deucalion quickly dragged her body away from the tree stump. It was unlikely she could be healed by it again, but he wasn't about to take any risks. With Julia Baccari disposed of, the werewolf left the woods.
He briefly considered what he should do next; the thought of returning to Isla's empty apartment didn't appeal to him (he didn't want to be tempted by sleep) and he wasn't ready to face his empty penthouse just yet. Digging his claws into his palms, Deucalion clenched his jaw. With a blink, he looked down at them. A bit unsettled by the blood that lined his sharp nails, he remembered an old custom from his grandparents' time. One that may win him back Isla's favor- or one she would find incredibly barbaric.
Letting his fangs elongate, Deucalion shrugged on his jacket. In the soft autumn rain, the man set out for the nearest hardware store.
It was still raining when Isla got off the bus. With her hood up, the young woman all but ran down the block to the Stilinski house. It felt good- being able to take more than a few steps without the ache in her chest or the pain in her limbs from lack of circulation. Resisting the urge to smile (she was still mad at Deucalion, damn it, even if she had to force herself to be when faced with the benefits of the bite) and jogged up the porch.
A surprisingly steady finger jabbed at the doorbell. The usual clatter of limbs could be heard on the other side before a telltale "damn it," was uttered. The fact that she could hear it was a bit unnerving (just as the horrid smells from the bus had been), but she kept her features school as the living mass of limbs opened the door.
Stiles blinked at her. Surprise was evident on his young features, but so was relief. "Hey, Izzie, what's up?"
"You grew your hair out!" She greeted him with a warm smile and offered him the pot of macaroni and cheese. "It looks good on you."
The boy accepted her brief hug and ushered her into his house. Closing the door tightly behind her, he locked the door with a brief, "Thanks."
"I'm just making sure you and your dad are alright." She pushed her hood back and followed him to the kitchen.
Stiles shrugged and set the pot down on the counter. As he went about gathering a bowl and a set of silverware, he replied with a casual tone, "Yeah, I mean, he's fine. Mostly fine. A bit, you know, rattled, but okay. He's asleep upstairs."
Isla watched him a moment. He was his usual spastic self, all awkward shrugs and nervously tapping fingers, but he reeked of anxiety. Squinting at him from the doorway of the kitchen, she asked, "And how are you?"
"Me?" He blinked in surprise. "Oh, I'm fine. No big deal."
The redhead frowned. It was unsurprising that the Stilinski boy would lie to her, but it hurt all the same. She had known him long enough to expect nothing less.
Stiles arched a brow as he scooped some of the mac and cheese into the bowl. "So, did you just stop by to give me food or…?"
"Pretty much." Isla offered a shrug of her own as she slipped her hands in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. "I'm just on my way to my mom's. I wanted to check in before the barrage of well-wishers come knocking at your door."
Stiles smiled. He had always liked Isla. Not romantically or anything (at least, not romantically since he was about eight), but he had always been able to rely on her kindness. She had always been quick to check on him and his dad; whether it was to make sure they had groceries or the bills were paid or even just to make sure they were doing okay. After his mother had died, the redhead had tried her best to help any way she could. Even long after all the other well-wishers had stopped coming around, had stopped caring about the Stilinskis or Claudia, Isla had. Her concerns always seemed genuine and gentle in a way that reminded Stiles of his own mother. Perhaps it was just a maternal trait, seeing as how Melissa McCall often had the same effect on him without meaning to.
Eyes narrowing slightly, he noticed that she looked different. Her skin was more pale than pallor and her body language was more relaxed than he had seen in a long time. Smiling slightly to himself, he nodded to her. "Thanks, Izzie."
"Happy to help." Isla smiled and kicked off from the wall. Shooting a wink at him, she told him to take care of his dad and stay out of trouble before she left.
With her hood back in place, the young woman didn't bother to get back on the bus. She had spent so much time in hospital beds it was nice to be able to walk around. Before she always had to worry about her heart giving out even after the briefest of exercise. Now she could do as she pleased. Walk, run, jump- anything was on the table for her. With a hint of a bounce in her step, she made it to her mother's house in only a few minutes (despite the fact that her mother lived nearly halfway across town).
Her mother greeted her with a tight hug.
"Hey, miss me?" the girl teased with a wide smile.
Autumn reluctantly pulled away. Smoothing her daughter's hair back, she opened her mouth to speak before she paused. Fingers brushing over Isla's cheek, she asked, "What happened to your face?"
The taller redhead raised curious fingers to her face. "What do you mean?"
"I mean your bruises! They're all gone- and that cut…" Her mother frowned, clearly a bit disturbed. "You've healed."
"In more ways than one."
Autumn blinked. Hesitant, she asked what that meant.
"We should go inside." Isla told her with a faint smile. "There's some stuff I need to tell you."
A/N: I just want to thank my beta, PriorToMe. Also, I'd love to see if anyone is still interested in this story. The last chapter only got 3 reviews, which was a little jarring considering the first got 18.