All of Scott's pack seemed like good kids. They were (understandably) a bit hesitant about Isla's sudden joining, but seemed to warm to her easily enough.

Lydia was cool, composed and practical (and for some reason incredibly invested in the woman's apparent lack of fashion sense; something Isla was both amused and a bit insulted by).

Allison was polite and curious, if not rather democratic about the whole thing; she seemed to be under the impression that Isla needed their 'help' which, while not completely untrue, was still a slight blow to the ego for the (twenty something) redhead.

The lone exception being Isaac, who was incredibly awkward.

The fact that they all knew her business was fucking infuriating and Isla had spent most of the meeting smiling around clenched fangs as they discussed the problem.

The problem being her ex-boyfriend. For the most part they at least tried to be respectful of her feeling. except Stiles, who upon learning of her sordid romantic past, decided Deucalion needed to die. Most of his comments went ignored, but once the three other teenagers left (apparently the girls had a planned trip to the mall and Isaac was taking Mrs. McCall dinner at the hospital), Stiles went right back into ripping into Deucalion.

"I mean, we should've killed him off a long time ago-" Stiles didn't look up from where he was pacing, his left hand moving frantically around in front of him as right clenched a water bottle in a tight fist. The loud crinkle of the plastic was grating to both werewolves as he moved back and forth through Scott's kitchen. "But now he really needs to die!"

Isla rolled her eyes at the boy's dramatics, but said nothing. It wasn't her home, and it wasn't her place to shut him up, although she was incredibly tempted to trip him. Digging the toes of her time battered sneakers into the tiled floor to prevent that from happening, she rolled her eyes over to Scott beseechingly.

Her Alpha ignored her from where he was leaning against the counter. He just kept his arms crossed and his expression tight.

"Like, we can get some of Allison's dad's poison dart things and Isla can be the bait and we can lure him into the woods with the promise of a hot redhead and-"

"We're not killing him, Stiles." Scott rolled his eyes and stuck his head in the fridge. He hummed, routed through it a moment, and offered said hot redhead a bottle of water before hip checking it closed. "Not until he gives us a reason to."

Isla frowned as she took the bottle. A bit hurt, and frankly a bit annoyed that the boy she had known so long didn't trust her judgment, she bristled slightly. "Do you have to say it like it's inevitable? He could still turn it around."

The boys shared a doubtful look, but didn't say anything. Instead, they asked if she had heard from him.

"In the two days since I left his pack?" The woman arched a fine red brow. "No, I haven't."

"Do you miss him?" The question came Scott.

She looked away from them, focusing on a suddenly intriguing magnet on the fridge. "I don't know."

Stiles scowled at her casual omission. "The answer we're looking for here is no, Isla."

She shrugged.

"What the hell could you two even have in common?!" The skinny teen snapped, his fingers frantically tapping and twisting the cap of his water bottle. "He's so old! And insane! And literally a monster!"

A coy smirk crossed the redhead's lips. "Well-"

"Do not say sex, Izzie! I will lose my freaking mind if you say sex."

Isla's eyes narrowed on his frustrated expression. "Why do you keep asking questioning you don't want the answers to?"

"Scott. Deal with her."

The woman glared after him as he waved in her general direction and stormed out of the room. Her blue eyes flashed a bright shade of yellow, her lips twisting into a sneer as she huffed. The back door slammed. They listened to him mutter to himself before he got in the Jeep.

Swallowing, she looked to Scott. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"What?"

"Tell people about me and Deucalion."

"I have to, Iz. Keeping secrets is dangerous."

"Yeah, I know, but…" she shook her head. "He's not gonna try anything. He said I could go."

"He told my mom the same thing and it turned out he was using her as bait! What if he has something planned? Something serious?"

"Than we should deal with that, but you shouldn't have told everyone my personal business just in case something happens."

Scott's brow furrowed at her casual, almost sad expression. He knew Isla was a bit too optimistic, and that she wasn't exactly wrong, but he could shake the feeling of dread in his stomach at her disappointment. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I was only trying to help."

The woman sighed and stood. "I know, but it's not exactly the first impression I wanted to make. I mean, Stiles I get, but Lydia and Allison? And that Isaac kid? Couldn't you have at least let me meet them before you go introducing me as the Demon Wolf's ex-girlfriend?"

Scott frowned, a bit unsettled by her yellow eyes. "Has he contacted you yet?"

"I told you no." She grabbed her battered denim coat from the back of the chair. As she slung it over her shoulders, Isla clenched her jaw as he pressed on.

"You'll tell me when he does?"

"Of course."

Scott knew it was a lie before the words even left her mouth. When she couldn't hold his gaze, he shook his head. "I'm just trying to help you. It's not safe- and not just for you. I have a pack to look out for, and, well, he's obviously not good for you."

"I know."

"Do you?"

The glance she sent his way was more curious than annoyed.

"Your eyes," The teenager explained with a frown. "They go yellow whenever I mention him."

Her shoulders rolled with agitation. "Than maybe you should stop mentioning him."

"You have to start controlling it, Isla, it's dangerous to-"

Brushing past him, Isla shook her head. "This is bull shit. Everyone wants to tell me what I should be doing without telling me how." As she rubbed her forehead, a long sigh slipped from her throat. "I gotta go to work."

The Alpha nodded. Offering her a weak smirk, he asked, "Want me to give you a ride?"

"Nah, I can handle it."

"You sure?"

"I said I can handle it, Scott. Besides, I kind of like the exercise." She pulled a ponytail out of her jacket pocket and tied her long hair back in a loose bun. "Maybe we can meet up after? Privately, I mean? I know I need to work on myself, but it's hard with strangers."

Scott bit his lip at her drawn, helpless face. He didn't like having someone he had idolized through his childhood look to him for advice. "I have practice, maybe after that?"

"Sure, kid. Sounds good."

He offered her a limp smile before she left the house. Back against the fridge, Scott winced as the door closed. Able to feel the cold metal through his sweatshirt, the young man tried to focus on that and not the twinge of regret he felt. When he had took Isla on, it had been simply to get her away from Deucalion. Now that he had her, he had absolutely no idea what to do with her. She wasn't like Isaac, she didn't know how to control herself, she didn't know how to adjust to being a member of a pack. Isla was still pushing for solidarity, and it was alienating her. More so than her advanced age already did. Jaw clenched, he pulled his cellphone out of his back pocket and shot a quick text out to Derek.

There would be no response.

Across town, Mrs. Daye arched a brow. Making a show of looking behind the redhead, she asked, "No boyfriend today?"

Isla didn't look at her. Annoyance made her jaw tick, but she knew better than to ignore the force of nature she had for a boss. "Me and Duke broke up again."

"Really?" The old woman's gaze was sympathetic, but certainly not displeased. A small, barely traceable smirk pulled at the corner of her lips. "That's too bad."

Able to feel her eyes flare up, she quickly dropped her gaze to her zipper as she shrugged off her jacket. Hanging it on the coat rack beside the door, Isla took a deep breathe. It wasn't totally steady, but it kept her from having to answer.

"Did something happen between you two?" Mrs. Daye asked. Her concern, while genuine, was unappreciated.

"Nope." Isla smiled stiffly as she moved around the counter. "We just wanted different things."

From where she was refilling someone's soda, Sarah smirked. "He wanted to stick it in your butt, didn't he?"

"No!"

The teenager scoffed at her obvious disgust. "Don't be such a prude, Izzie."

"Go prep some silverware!" Her manager shrieked.

Sarah gaped in horror at the blushing redhead. "But that's a Marnie job!"

"Do it!"

Grumbling, the teen slammed the plastic cup down and stormed, admittedly rather anti-climatically, ten feet over to where the silverware and napkins were kept. The women shared an eye roll before Isla continued behind the counter. Sliding an apron on over her orange work dress, she kept her head down before she plastered a smile on her mouth and approached the nearest table.

For the most part, the night was uneventful. A few of the more familiar customers asked her how she was doing, how she was feeling, and for the most part, it was actually kind of nice. Isla had always enjoyed the small talk and the social side of her job. What she did not like, however, were unwanted advances.

Fake grin still in place, she approached a lone man seated by himself near a window. Isla supposed him to be about her age; cute, with boyish features and a smile that seemed stuck to his lips, even when his eyes didn't reflect any mirth at all. He had been friendly, if not a little too forward for the young woman's liking, but nothing she hadn't dealt with before.

"Was everything alright with your meal, sir?"

"I told you," He offered her a roguish grin. "Call me Charlie. Come on, beautiful, let's hear you say it."

Despite the flash of rage that past through her, she corrected herself with a sarcastic, "Was everything alright with your meal, Charlie?"

"It was great, thanks."

Her smile turned a bit more sincere. "I'm glad to hear it. Would you like any desert or-"

"You know what I'd love?"

My phone number, Isla thought with a hint of dread.

"Your phone number."

Fucking called it, a small smirk crossed her mouth. Clearing her throat delicately, she offered him a sympathetic shake of her head. "I'm really flattered but I just got out of pretty messed up relationship-"

"Aw, that's too bad. He hurt you, baby?" His hand wound around hers and offered it a consoling squeeze. "I'm sure I can help you get over him."

"No, no, I don't think you can." Prying her hands from his, Isla quickly tucked her fingers into her palm to hide her claws. She had felt them break through the skin. "I'm really not looking to date."

Charlie's eyes darkened. His smile stayed on, no longer warm, but icy. "Well, you know what they say don't you? The best way to get over someone-" His hand smacked her on the ass with enough force to make her entire body jerk. As his fingers dug into the meat of her backside, he purred, "Is to get under someone el-"

Before he could finish, Isla's claws found his hair. Twisting the strands around her shaking fingers, a growl echoed from her throat as she slammed him face into the linoleum tabletop with all the force she could muster. Blood splattered across her dress as his nose hit it with an audible, sickening crunch. Fangs bared, Isla held his scalp tighter and bent down to growl in his ear, "Listen here, you limp dick piece of dog shit, if you ever grab me, or anyone else, like than again, I'm gonna rip you open and play with your fucking insides, you hear me?!"

"Yes, yes, I hear you!" Charlie squawked, choking as his nose continued to gush. It stained his teeth and chin, down the front of his grey bomber jacket.

With a sneer, she told him, "Good." A jerk of her wrist sent the man clattering to the floor. Standing over his cowering form, Isla was disgusted by the rush of satisfaction she got as he scampered away from her like a kicked puppy. As her rage fell into something a bit more neutral, she took a deep breath. The air smelt like fear and blood and embarrassment.

The diner was silent, the few patrons looking on in horror.

Swallowing, the redhead squared her shoulders. At the terrified expressions, she clenched her fists- and realized she was holding something. She looked down at her hand. A chunk of Charlie's scalp clung to her fingers. Her stomach retched at the sight of the skin and dark hair. Without a word, she ran to the bathroom.

Locking the door behind her, Isla frantically paced around the tiny space. Her beat up sneakers squeaked with every step. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real. She'd wake up and it'd all be some terrible dream.

But the blood wasn't to be ignored. Her heart pounded in her ears, but she could still hear the sound his nose had made when it broke. The harsh metallic scent was all encompassing and her breathing became short and quick as she fell against the sink.

Streaking the white porcelain a harsh red, Isla began to sob as yellow eyes met her gaze in the mirror. She squeezed them closed. "It's not real," She whispered. "It's not real, it's not real, it's not-"

"Isla!"

The young woman growled at the sound of her boss' voice.

"Isla, sweetie, open the door!" Mrs. Daye demanded.

Teeth sharp and eyes glowing, Isla tried and failed to calm herself. As the knocking grew more and more impatient, the redhead managed a fierce snarl, "I'm fine!"

There was a brief pause.

Isla pressed her forehead against the mirror. The glass was cool against her flushed skin. When she peeked her eyes open, they were still yellow. Whining low in the back of her throat, she looked down at her hands and flinched. Shaky, sticky red fingers turned the faucet on.

Another voice took Mrs. Daye's place.

"Izzie?" Her god father offered.

"I'm fine, Jim."

Jimmy ignored her, or possibly didn't hear her. "Izzie, baby, open the door."

"Don't call me baby!" She screamed, riled and agitated. "I'm nobody's baby, just leave me alone!"

"Is there someone you want me to call? Your mom or Deucalion-"

The sound of her Alpha's name felt like a blow to the stomach. Her knees gave out, she felt her heart kick into her throat. "No! I'm fine! I just- I just need a fucking minute, okay?!"

At the break in her voice, her godfather relented. "Okay, Iz. You take all the time you need, honey."

Breath coming out harsh around fanged teeth, her back hit the wall. As she slid down it, the redhead shook her head. Wet hands raked over her face. Gagging at the smell of blood, Isla buried her fingers in her hair and began to sob.

She had never hurt anyone like that before. Never even been in a fist fight. She'd had men hit on her, get physical with her before, but she had never dreamed of actually doing what she had always imagined. Her arms wrapped around her knees.

Worse, she had liked it. Liked seeing him bleeding, and bumbling, and scared. It had given her a rush of power like she had never felt before and it was...enticing, and disgusting all at once.

The white noise of the faucet made her head swim. She wanted Deucalion, but quickly pushed that thought aside. Want and need were two very different things; what she needed was to get a grip, but unfortunately for Isla, that was considerably more difficult.

She was still in the bathroom when Scott came looking for her. At first his voice surprised her, then it annoyed her as she realized he we must have come looking for her when she wasn't at home. Checking in on her like she was a child. "Isla? Isla open the door."

"Go away." The reply was weak.

"Isla, it's me." His knock became more insistent.

The young woman didn't move. Just kept her hands on her shins and kept her eyes closed. "I know who it is, and I don't care. Just leave me alone."

"I kind of can't. Mrs. Daye wants to close up."

"So lock up."

"Izzie. Come on. Let me in."

Sighing through her nose, the woman forced herself to obey. Her hand still felt bloodstained and unsteady as she opened the door.

Scott balked at the sight of her.

At the sight of his former babysitter, the woman he had played hide and seek with, who had tucked him into bed at night and checked his closet for monsters, standing before him covered in blood. Worse was her expression; the usual light in her eyes dim and her mouth firm. Ignoring his shock, Isla moved to turn off the sink.

Scott stepped into the bathroom. Gently closing the door behind him, he asked, "Was it bad?"

"I bashed a pervert's head in," Isla replied stiffly. She stuck her hands under the faucet and washed them for the umpteenth time. The skin felt over sensitive and raw despite looking pristine.

"Is-" The teenager set a careful, caring hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know," her voice cracked. Swallowing, she shook her head. It didn't feel right crying in front of Scott. It was embarrassing. She could remember kissing his boo-boos and walking him home from school. It wasn't the natural order of things. She was supposed to take care of him, not the other way around. Quick wet fingers brushed across her cheeks. "I just...I just…"

"I know. It's okay." Scott offered her shoulder a squeeze before taking her hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

Isla let him lead her out of the bathroom and out of the restaurant. She vaguely noticed that Mrs. Daye kept away. That Jimmy merely watched her go with pensive features, but not a word. That wasn't like them. Still, she appreciated the distance.

When they stepped out into the empty street, she let go of his hand. Voice soft, Isla confessed, "I liked it. I hurt someone and I liked it. He just made me so mad and it felt so good getting back at him."

"I know."

Eyes wild and aimed at the cement, she shook her head. "I didn't even think about it. I just did it and then he was bleeding and it made me... I wanted there to be more of it. I wanted him to bleed more. I wanted to rip him apart."

The last words were a whisper, but Scott heard her just fine. "I know." At her glare, he shook his head. "I'm not making fun of you."

Her features stayed guarded. "It sounds like you are."

"I'm not. I swear. I just...don't know how to help." He had never dealt with an untrained Beta before. Hell, he'd only had one actual werewolf in his pack, and Isaac had already mastered self-control long before he joined. Scott shrugged a bit awkwardly. "It's- I remember what it's like, when you can't control yourself. How scary it can be, how easy it can be to just-" he shook his head. "You need an anchor, and you need one now. I want you to work on that, okay? Something you can focus on to keep calm."

"An anchor," Isla repeated to herself. Worry and dread pulled at her throat. "What if whatever I pick doesn't work?"

"Than you'll pick another one, until you find one that works." Scott frowned as her gaze lifted to his. He didn't like seeing someone who had such a big impact on his life so upset. "I can't tell you what your anchor should be, Izzie. You have to chose it for yourself."

The redhead held herself tighter. "I hate this."

"I know it's hard. It'll get easier. It just takes time."

"I don't want it to get easier, I want it to stop. I should've- I'd rather be in the fucking hospital with a shit heart than be some wild animal."

The boy sighed. "I know."

Lip curling back in disgust, Isla sneered, "He should've let me-"

"Don't." Scott hand caught her arm and squeezed. "Don't say it."

"But what if I can go off on people I care about? What if me and my mom have a fight?! Or me and Jimmy?! Or Stiles?!" Panic made her blue eyes yellow as she shook her head. "He pisses me off all the time!"

"That's why you need an anchor!"

"Don't tell me what I need!" Isla snared. "Tell me how to fix it!"

"You can't, okay?! There's nothing you can do! This is your life now, Isla! You have to find an anchor and move on!" At her flinch, at the tears welling her eyes, Scott relented, but only slightly. "I know you're scared. I know what it's like to want to be normal, but we're not normal. We're werewolves. That's about as weird as it gets and we can embrace it and try to be good people, or we can let ourselves become the monsters they want us to be."

"They?" She repeated dubiously.

"The hunters, the men who turned us."

Isla was quiet a long moment. She thought of everything that had happened, thought of the intent behind her current strife. As she did, her anger ebbed away into annoyance, then into grief, as she told him, "Deucalion never wanted me to be a monster. He wanted me to be healthy."

Scott huffed at the sound of her Alpha's name. "I want you to get some sleep. I'll come by after school tomorrow and we can talk about your anchor, okay? Just try to think of something, anything, that will keep you grounded."

The woman looked up from the street. Curious, she tilted her head. "What was it for you?"

"I thought of Allison."

"Sappy," She teased, but her gaze was warm.

He chuckled. "Yeah, but it worked. Her heartbeat lowered mine. She makes me feel...calm. Even if we aren't together anymore, she's still what I need to keep control."

"Does it have to be a person?"

"No. I don't think so." His mind drifted back to Isaac, who thought of his dad. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I think it just had to be something with a strong emotional connection."

Swallowing, Isla looked down at her hands. She remembered how her claws had sliced through her cuticles, remembered the ones sitting in a box under her bed. "What if you don't like the person you have the connection with?"

Scott's frown deepened. "Then find someone new."

She thought of Charlie's words; about getting under someone else and felt her lips curl with disgust. Crossing her arms over her stomach, she didn't say anything. Just walked away from him, back into her apartment, and went to bed.