wergrrrl13 Glad we're on the same page when it comes to Allison, while there is a bit going on with her and Isaac, it will just be a small part.
Chapter 8 Nightly Visitor
While it had not been the most dreadful discovery she had ever made, Lydia had needed a few days by herself to take in the news that the other werewolf from the sex ritual had been Deucalion. She was torn from being absolutely furious to being somewhat resigned. It was her logical side that told her there was no reason to feel more outraged than before. All that had changed was that she was now aware of who the other werewolf really was.
In a way, it was even better that it was not Derek. That might have turned out to be awkward if he actually were to come back to Beacon Hills. Lydia had never met Deucalion - all she knew about him that he was a crazy, homicidal werewolf and she was not really a stranger to having sex with those. Of course, so far she had not really had the time to figure out how she felt about Peter using her again and in such a despicable manner.
At least, that was what her mind kept telling her. That this was totally inexcusable to use her like that. Yet, her feelings about the ritual did drift from anger to arousal; sometimes she was both at once. It was probably fitting that she did not hear anything from Peter for the next days. Lydia knew her reaction would either severely depress her if she went with arousal or get her into trouble if she let her fury get the better of her. After all, one slap to the face was hardly enough retribution.
When it came to the ritual, Lydia felt she had stumbled onto something important. The only problem was, Lydia would rather not tell the others about with whom she spent most of her birthday and nobody would hear the details of the sex ritual from her mouth. If there was any way to avoid mentioning it all together she would. At the same time, she knew if her hypothesis was true then she needed to warn the others. Given that she had no way to test it, she just had her own perception as clues.
That enormous power coming from Deucalion into her had been real. Lydia doubted Peter had any interest in helping the other alpha to recover from a demon possession. Stiles had told her that Deucalion referred to himself as the demonwolf. It seemed oddly fitting that even within his lie he would stick at closely as possible to the truth. While she had passed out and could not account for for where the power had gone, Lydia was pretty sure that Peter need not worry any longer about retribution from the twins.
If she told everyone what really had happened, Scott might let Peter off with a slap on the finger but Aiden would certainly not react that kindly. Even together with his brother he was afraid of Deucalion's demonwolf powers. If Peter had those, Aiden could get seriously hurt, maybe even killed and there was no guarantee they would be as lucky as the last time.
Even if her hypothesis was wrong, Lydia did not want Aiden to do anything to Peter either. Apart from the fear that he might once more spook around in her head, maybe even permanently if they did dispose of his body more thoroughly, Lydia did not want anyone being killed over her. If Peter had anything to do with the people getting torn to pieces, then that might be a reason. At any rate, she preferred it if both twins did not add more bodies to their resume. There had to be other ways to stop Peter, if he needed to be stopped.
While the others were surveilling the outdoors as they had planned in their meeting, Lydia was doing more than sitting idly by and let others deal with the problems. At first she had thought the book Yoon had given her was just immature new age drivel, but then passages started to make sense. While the others did their first round of the woods, Lydia started a little experiment.
Putting Let the light shine on by Triumph on repeat so it played at a low volume in the back, she focused one particular set of lines. "Let the light that shines in your eyes, shine on me. Let it shine forever, let the light shine on me. We can build a dream together now." It was not even one of her usual songs but it was the first one that fit her strategy she was able to think of.
Repeating those words, she turned off the lights and with a flashlight in her hands she slipped into her bed. Lydia had not really expected it to work, but the way the author described this process intrigued her, made her feel like she could eventually do it. Much to her surprise it worked. The result was not perfect and yet more than the author had promised for a first try.
In her dream, she was in the darkness as usually. Only she felt the flashlight in her hand and saw it shining onto the dark ground. Feeling that thing in the darkness ahead of her, she tried to direct the cone of light toward it. Before she had even reached the knees, the flashlight was knocked out of her hands. Her scream woke her and she still felt the sting of the slap on her wrist while the flashlight lay on the carpet four feet away from her. Unlike when she had gone to sleep it was turned on.
What was supposed to be a beginner's exercise to bring a concept into a dream was a scary but smashing success. The book had said it took even gifted people who believed in this weeks to get something as simple as a light to work.
Then again she was a bit more than gifted, she was a banshee and while she still could not control her dreams, she had very successfully brought a flashlight into it. Lydia picked up the flashlight and switched it off after she had turned on her regular light. It was time to read through the book again. The second time she understood why she had tried in the first place. The things about influencing dreams, if she read between the lines, it was not just a guide on how to influence your own dreams, it was concrete hints how to shape those of others.
Like using familiar images from a person's mind. Which was precisely what Peter had done to her. There was no denying that influencing dreams was real: Lydia had lived through it. Not that she would ever tell anyone like her parents or the guidance counsellor. She wanted to tell Stiles but felt like she should wait until she actually could produce results. If she came out before that, Lydia was sure he would be impatient and would expect her to make it work yesterday.
There was stuff missing from the book as well, other things that Peter had been able to do. The book also did not account for the fact that she was a banshee, that she dreamt things without at least consciously initiating them. It was like she was both receiver and sender, only so far she had been more at the receiving end.
For the time being she needed to get into that dream and find out who or what was hiding from her. She used all strategies, not just from the book; she also wrote down everything she remembered about the dreams and her attempts to turn that light into the darkness. Spending more time in bed and sleeping made her miss Allison's calls and text. It also made Prada piss on the floor, which their housekeeper Mrs. Allen complained loudly about, when she came by on her regular afternoon look about. Lydia told her she was after all getting paid for this and until she lied through her teeth that she was not feeling well, it looked liked the housekeeper was going to explode.
She then went all motherly on her and offered to stay and cook her something that would take care of her upset stomach. Realising that she needed to cook anyway, Lydia accepted Mrs. Allen's offer, betting that what the housekeeper cooked was far better than any of her own attempts. On the upside, after that incident, she did not forgot to let Prada out again.
Her efforts gave her eight dreams in the period from the first dream to Allison's text about a new body being found around 10pm on Tuesday night. All Lydia had been able to figure out was that in the dream, whoever evaded her light was missing their right hand and possibly living in a crypt or somewhat underground with a stone coffin. It felt like she was making progress, even if she had not seen more than this. Maybe it was time to reveal it or maybe she could afford to give it another few days. Lydia would decide that on Wednesday.
Aiden had called her earlier and she had agreed to him coming over the next morning. She need to go buy some groceries since she was running out and he would be perfect to help her carry the heavy stuff. All she had left to drink was her mother's fancy Italian table water. The green glass bottle of San Pellegrino stood on her night table, given that she did tend to wake up with a sore throat from all that screaming.
If she was honest with herself, she liked Aiden coming over early for a different reason altogether. While a few days without sex were not a catastrophe, far from it, but she did feel like distracting herself a bit from that dreadful dream world. After all she had worked rather hard on the problem and she had always made it a rule to reward herself for working on something tedious or unpleasant. While this was not as boring as homework, Lydia needed and wanted some steaming, hot sex. Even though she did not feel like talking all that much with her voice being so strained from screaming her head off more than twice a day. At least her dream induced screams were not bad enough to alert all the werewolves in town.
After drinking some hot salvia-fennel-honey tea in the kitchen, Lydia went up to her room. She hung up a purple velvet morning robe for when she would have to open the door for Aiden in the morning. Then she stripped out of her clothes and took a longer hot shower before drying herself off and slipping into a cream coloured satin nightgown. Looking at herself in the mirror to see how it looked on her, which was notoriously good, she went to sleep in the usual fashion: soft music in the background, her hand wrapped around the flashlight and her mind filled with the image of light.
It took her a while to fall asleep, when she dreamt she found herself back in the place that smelled of rotten fish and moist, damp stone walls. Lydia tried again to raise the flashlight and explore the darkness. She was not always hit right away but the thing in the dark evading her until it suddenly rushed forward. Only this time as it was about to strike her in the dark, someone pulled her arm back and she caught a dreadful sight in the ray of the flashlight.
This time her scream was different: filled with pure panic that took her out of her dream and carried over into her waking up. The flashlight revealed Peter sitting on her bed: crouched over in pain. "You know that uncontrolled screaming of yours is really something we need to work on."
His tone was almost casual but she could tell that her scream was far from being just unpleasant for him. He took the flashlight from her and switched on the light on her nightstand. Calming down her breath, she finally managed to say. "That's what you get for creeping unasked into other people's bedrooms."
Only it did not sound nearly as firm as she had aiming for thanks to her voice being a bit ragged. Reaching for the bottle with one arm, while the other held the blanket in place against her thinly covered breasts, Peter leaned forward and gave her the San Pellegrino. As she took a few sips she used the time to figure out how she felt about him being here. It certainly had distracted her from that dreadful dream but seeing him sitting there infuriated her. He seemed to feel so utterly comfortable occupying her bedside and undressing her with his eyes.
Lydia wondered if Peter knew that she had discovered what the ritual had been really about. Thinking about that, just got her so angry again. Finished with the water, she screwed the lid back onto the bottle. It was more an impulse than a conscious decision: Instead of putting the bottle back on the nightstand, she turned it midway and smacked it hard on Peter's head. There was this really awful sounding crack and blood splattered everywhere.
He dropped from her bed to the ground and after a heartbeat Lydia rose from her position and leaned over to take a look. Blood had pooled a bit and covered his green shirt but the wound was closing fast, despite it being such a huge gash. "Oww." Peter rose seeming more stunned than anything, but not more than she was. "Here let me take that."
All her pent up anger had went into that blow but she had not expected that the result would be so spectacular. Her fingers were gripping the bottle tightly and she felt a pull as he took it from her and placed it out of reach on the ground next to the nightstand.
"You know you should be careful with these things - people can die from getting their skulls bashed in." Peter did a dramatic sigh and then sat back on the bed, leaning over her legs with one hand an inch away from her knees. "Just ask my old nurse - oh wait, you can't she's dead."
"Did you kill her?" Lydia had the vague memory of Stiles mentioning something about that.
He rolled his eyes. "No, Derek did. He was a bit angry at us, for that thing where we killed his sister."
"Your niece," she added.
Nodding he suddenly leaned forward. "Tell me, what got you so upset all of the sudden?"
There was something about his calmness given that she just cracked open his skull, that was both comforting and also upsetting. Somehow it was not normal to be struck like that and then be so utterly dispassionate about it. As the shock began to pass, she also realised that not for a moment she was afraid of retribution.
"Deucalion", she finally replied. "I mean of all the homicidal werewolves in the world …"
That made him laugh. "Ah, you figured that out." With a big grin left, he added: "I wonder what else you have realised."
Out of the blue, he licked over her cheek. Lydia realised this was where his blood had splattered. Looking around her, she realised that it was all over her bed and the nightgown as well. She heard him sigh again this time it sounded like he had made a realisation. Then she felt his fingers on her cheek turning her face back to his.
"Lydia? While I personally think you look rather sexy with my blood on your face, or blood in general," he stopped and then added more firmly. "Go - take a shower."
Peter lifted his hand and flipped back her covers. He sighed again and with the other hand on her back he moved her towards the other side. This was when she finally started moving. He was right, she needed to get the blood off of her. When she walked into the bath, she could see that most of it had landed on her hair, there were a few drops on the left side of her face, while the higher concentrations of splatter on the other side was disrupted by the spot that Peter licked off.
Without even bothering to take off her nightgown, she slipped under the shower and let cold water run over her head. Reddish water poured down her back and dress. Vaguely, she thought that she would need to give the gown to the cleaners. Unsure how long she had been under the stream, she became aware that she started to feel really cold.
Looking at her feet she saw that the water was now clear. Lydia took it as a sign to turn the water to hot. At which point, she realised the total absurdity of the situation. Why was she upset, when he was the one whose blood was all over the place?
Her heart jumped a bit when the bathroom door opened. Peter seemed just as indifferent about the bottle incident as before. He hung up the robe she had kept on hand giving her a relaxed smile as he proceeded to pull of his shirt.
"FYI, in that wet, light-coloured gown, I can still see everything," he told her with the hint of amusement. "But somehow it's more enticing this way. I still recommend taking it off and drying yourself off."
Lydia took a look at the nightgown. He was right, apart from it shaping her breasts a bit, the light fabric was almost completely transparent and clinging tightly to her curves. He had stopped looking and was instead bent over the washbasin where he had put his shirt. She found herself gaping. That night at the cabin she had not really seen him. Now, that he was completely bare-chested in her field of vision and Lydia realised how much he had changed.
Those two times she had seen him at Derek's place she had not noticed being so overly worried about her friend's parents, but Peter had gained a lot of muscle mass. In fact he had even broader more pronounced shoulders than her so very chiseled twin. Not to mention those strong, muscled arms and those very nicely defined abs.
Lydia tore her eyes away, trying to distract herself by thinking that it made sense that he had been leaner before having been in a coma for so long. Then there was the fact that he had been weakened from being dead. It seemed prudent to resort to regular workout as a way of gaining back the strength he had lost.
A thought that almost made her want to tell him what she suspected, instead she pulled down the straps of her dress and winded herself out of the clingy, wet fabric. Peter stole a glance at her, then went back to washing out his shirt.
"You know, we got more than one bathroom in this house," she complained half-hearted.
He chuckled. "I'm aware, I just felt it better to have an eye on you."
With that he wrung out the shirt and told her to get out of the shower. He casually hung it up over a towel holder after he removed one from it. As if it was the most natural thing to do he approached her and wrapped her into a big towel. Peter started to dry her off until she moved away. He did the same and then threw a smaller towel towards her. He left the room and she used the towel to wrap up her hair. Then he came back with her purple robe and held it for her. After she had slipped in, Lydia felt him wrapping his arms around her and laying his chin loosely on her shoulder. "Next time you feel the need to express your emotions, I'd suggest sticking to screams, physical violence isn't really you."
That was something they agreed upon; she nodded while fumbling with the belt of her robe. In the end it was Peter who did the job, leading her out of the bathroom. She immediately saw that he had removed the bloody covers and the sheet. There were a few sprinkles on the mattress and the wall but they were barely visible.
Looking around her room she realised she was missing a couch, maybe it was time to ask her parents if she could move back to the other, larger room. It had this nice window oriel where she could sit and read. Then again as long as she was screaming her head off, it was probably better to stay as far away from her parent's room as possible. After he lead her to the bed, she found herself sitting on the now bare mattress. Peter headed over to her dresser and pulled open a drawer.
Even though Lydia had redesigned her room he still seemed to have a general sense where she put her things, as he came back with another night gown and a pair of socks. He hung the gown over the edge of the bed and handed her thick woolen socks. Putting them on she realised how cold her feet had become.
"Why are you here anyway?" Lydia found herself asking.
He gave her a puzzled look. "I told you I'd help with your dreams, didn't I? Although as I see you have taken initiative." His gaze went over to the book. "Got this one from Yoon? Had no idea you were into Esoterics …"
Of course what he said made sense, her mind was still a bit off, like it was moving in slow motion. An unsettling feeling but she knew that it was shock. Something that could happen in connection with experiencing intense violence. What she had not been aware of, that said violence could be perpetrated by the person experiencing the shock.
"It was just an idea. I didn't want to solely rely …" Lydia stopped but Peter got her meaning anyway as he finished the sentence for her. "... on what I tell you. That's more like you - doing things the smart way."
Even though she had gotten a lot of sleep, she did not feel the least bit rested. Feeling drained and lost, she closed her eyes for a moment. "You're not upset?"
Lydia finally opened them again, looking up at Peter's face, who was standing in front of her in all his bare chested glory. Her attempts at ignoring this were not very successful.
"Are you referring to you not trusting me or crushing part of my skull in?"
"Both," she said with a hint of embarrassment, "I guess."
He sat down next to her, hesitated as if wondering what to reply. "I'd be disappointed if you trusted anyone too easily. You're too smart for that."
Looking at the grey socks on her feet, Lydia avoided his gaze. She felt like smiling but did her best to keep it from showing up. Whether he meant it or was just saying it to appease her, for some reason Peter was always complimenting her on her intelligence; even more often than on her being pretty. Rationally, she knew it should not matter what others said about her, yet, it seemed to mean more coming from him. He had always said it, even in her dreams when she would have done about anything to get rid of his presence, no compliments needed.
"As for you hitting me with the bottle - I probably had that coming."
Lydia made a face as she looked at him. "Don't think that this means I've forgiven you for what you did."
"It's okay, either way, we work well together."
Peter pulled off the towel from her head and began gently rubbing the wet strains with great care. She began to suspect that he had some kind of hair fetish. Then recalled that she read in one of her magazines that hair kept fragrances longer than skin. She still shuddered when she kept going back to why she had needed to wash her hair.
Lydia wanted to lie down, her head felt light and exhaustion became more apparent. When he was done and the slightly moist hair fell down on her back, she was torn between finding out more and just stretch out on her bed. Then she remembered, that there were guest rooms to escape to. Before she went there, Lydia thought it might be better to get rid of Peter.
He radiated so much warmth next to her, that part of her just wanted to curl up to him and skip the guest bed. That was so inappropriate, if anything she should be telling him to go and not come uninvited into her bedroom ever again. Lydia still wanted to learn more about dreams but it would not hurt if he used the doorbell like a normal person if he came by. She hesitated to say much, partly because she was still beside herself and also as her throat hurt just a little bit.
"I need tea."
With that she got up looking for her slippers, finding that Peter was watching her curiously. Eventually, he told her where they were, before going on to add: "Maybe you should go to one of the guestrooms and slip into this, I'll bring you your tea. Then you can tell me about your dreams."
It was like he was reading her mind, she felt her heart beat faster for a moment. Of course, he just had reached the same logical conclusion, given that he knew this house. Peter knew way too much about her: living inside her mind for weeks had given him an insight perspective.
Lydia asked herself if Peter was also aware that she had counted on getting rid of him, considering he felt way too eager to seek out physical contact. Then she realised that while he was a bit too forward again, he was genuinely interested in her dreams. As she did not really mind this level of intimacy, given how cold she was, she was willing to let it continue till she had found everything she needed about her dream problem.
With him heading to the kitchen, Lydia quickly disrobed and put on the nightgown, which looked not as exciting as the other one but was warmer. Slipping back into her robe, she thought about taking her notebook along. It contained more than just dream descriptions but her own personal thoughts in between them. Not to mention drawings of an eye in various sizes. For now she liked to keep those to herself. Besides the area around the drawer where she kept it was sprinkled with drops of Peter's blood.
She would need to clean up tomorrow, maybe ask Mrs. Allen for help. That if she could think of an explanation that would not cause the housekeeper to alert her parents. Them coming back to fuss over her or even drug her up again was the last thing Lydia needed right now. Heading to the closest guest room she realised it was the one where Aiden had slept the other night.
The housekeeper had turned down the heat again, so it was quite chilly inside the room. The stylish brown furniture Lydia remedied the situation but crawled under the covers after fluffing up the pillow so she would sit comfortably against it. She did not had to wait long till Peter came back with her tea. He put on the nightstand to her left which was empty except for an old alarm clock and a lamp that he turned on.
Afterwards he switched off the big light and walked around the bed, where he slipped under the second cover. Lydia gaped at him, not really sure what to say. 'Get out' might have been appropriate but if she was honest, she welcomed the warmth his body radiated.
"Well, it's cold and my shirt is still wet," Peter replied to her continued gaze.
Lydia leaned forward to take warm tea mug into her hands, then before leaning back, she turned her head and gave him another look.
"What?" he asked confused by her wordless approach. Nonetheless, he did exactly what she had hoped for: spreading out his arms. Lydia made herself comfortable against his warm chest.
Smiling she said: "That's better."
This time he was probably the one giving her the odd look; not that she could see anything. Without a comment Peter wrapped his arm around her. Only then it occurred to her while he had invited himself before into her bed, they never been that close; apart from a few nights ago. While she was nipping her tea and letting the mug warm her hands, he adjusted the blankets so they were not between them anymore.
"How did the dreaming go for you so far?" Peter finally asked.
"I don't know," Lydia began. "I've got a better sense of the dream I couldn't remember. Since it's the same one and it's absolutely creepy, I figure it's probably important."
"Yes, that I'm certain off - just out of curiousity, is there a particular reason you're sleeping with a flashlight?"
That was a good question; she began to explain about the darkness that obscured her dream, how she first just got the smell of rotten fish and moist cellar walls, until she finally began dreaming a light into her dream in form of the flashlight. She just left out the entire number of attempts she underwent to lift it high enough to see the face of her adversary.
"Bringing it with me is no problem but whoever is there, he doesn't want me to see him. I'm sure it's a he and that he's missing his right hand." Her explanation was not met with an answer, he just ran his fingers over her arm. "Peter?"
"Just thinking, how many tries did you need to get the flashlight to appear in your dream?"
Lydia put the mug on her nightstand. "It worked on the first try - at least the getting it in with me part."
As she looked up, she saw from his mimic that he was impressed: "That's not bad, but then again it shouldn't surprise me, your mind is very sharp."
While she did feel incredibly proud, she also thought about how easy he had played with her mind. Although she wondered how much of that had to do with her not having a clue what was going on and how to defend herself against it. If she got better at this active dreaming, she might not need to worry about him coming back to haunt her.
"But I still didn't see anything," she complained.
"Yes, because you focused on the wrong strategy. You believed it was a matter of getting the flashlight up in time, to see the face." Peter explained sounding very much like a teacher. "If I was you, I'd choose a different strategy."
Lydia thought for a moment, then she realised the flaw in her plan. "A different source of light, one that allows me to see more from the start."
"Yes, indeed," he said sounding incredibly pleased. "It might not work as easy as the flashlight trick but considering how fast you mastered it."
"What are you thinking of?" Shifting she leaned even further onto him, wanting see more of his face without turning her head to the side all the time. After she had made herself comfortable, it occurred to her that this was objectively speaking messed up to let this happen and even to participate in it. Yet, she was feeling very content at this moment. Even his smug smile was not changing that.
"Try to control the scene, you said you felt it was a cellar or a mauseoleum - imagine that there are torches or at least yourself holding one. The light might not be the brightest but it might let you see more."
"Why now?" Lydia suddenly asked.
"Why as in why is this happening months after the ritual?" Peter asked to clarify.
That was not what she had meant. Shaking her head, she explained what she meant. "What made you come by tonight? Not that the other question is not good either ..."
Her voice trailed off a bit when she realised mid sentence that her hardened nipples were pressing through her nightgown against his chest. While it was not as thin as the other one, Lydia knew he had to feel them. Worse she had no idea for how long this was going on. There was also his hand which kept wandering over arm. Every time it rested for a moment, she was feeling a bit bereft and enjoyed it even more when he finally resumed the movement.
It was not a particularly arousing gesture, but the way she was draped against and over him, it was probably not surprising that her mind and body came back to that. The best thing to do would be disentangle herself, since it was not even that cold anymore in the room anymore. Lydia knew she ought to do exactly that but she did not want to. Her body was completely unwilling to follow her mind's very rational, sane recommendation.
"Hmm, I had things to take care off, like looking around the crime scenes among other things. Are you any closer to finding out what it is, that's killing off people?"
"Is that the point, where you try to figure out what the others know?" Lydia asked.
For some reason that only amused him; she had expected a different reaction. Suddenly he took her hand pulling it a bit over his chest. If he wanted to distract her by more intimate contact from whatever lie he wanted to sell to get her to share information, Lydia feared it might be working. His left hand intertwined with hers and his other hand was now caressing over her hip.
"Considering that the Argents, the Twins and little Isaac are aimlessly traversing through the forests, I had the impression you couldn't know all that much. However …" he abruptly stopped.
Lydia saw him staring at the bruises on her arm and wrist. It looked rather unpleasant but she had gotten used to them and barely noticed the hurt and discolouration anymore. It was like blind ambition had taken her over, making impossible for her to stop, even though she got hurt every time she did it. Every time, except the last one, when Peter had taken her arm and unknowingly spared her another hit.
"Lydia, where did you get these bruises?"
She frowned, the concern in his voice suddenly seemed real. "The thing in the crypt …"
"Damn," he suddenly said. "Lydia listen to me, forget what I said about creating a different source of light. You need to focus on staying out of that dream."
"Why? What is wrong?" A shiver went over her body, leaving goosebumps on her right arm. His tone was so serious and from his face she could tell that something was wrong.
"There are very few things out there, powerful enough to cause actual physical damage through a dream. I need to talk with Yoon, this is not good." He sighed and took a deep breath. "When you dream actively you open a path, like energy that flows towards the other entity. In order to harm you, that entity needs to sent his own energy against the flow of yours."
"So, we know whatever it is it's powerful," Lydia took from it. She felt slightly upset that Peter would deem her that fragile, that this alone would cause her to back off. "I can handle a few bruises, I'm getting closer."
He shook his head and then raised her hand to kiss it. "I know you're not the fashion diva who winces about broken nails. That's not the point. Letting go of her hand, his left cupped her cheek. "That thing on the other side, it's using the energy path to make a older bruising is the smallest, the newer ones are getting larger, more forceful. Now, imagine it gets even stronger and aims not for your arm but your head. You should remember what one well placed blow can do."
"You are telling me, it could kill me in my dream?" Lydia knew he was not joking around.
The thought disturbed her more than anything else. Feeling her heart race with the prospect of her dreams giving someone else such power over her once more, she rested her head closer against his shoulder. A gesture that was immediately followed by him pressing her against him.
"I don't think it has yet build up the strength - but we need to figure out a way to stop this."
It was odd but she did feel safer. Subjectively she knew that this was an illusion, however tight she was held would not stop someone from attacking her in her dreams. Objectively thinking, she recalled him interfering with her dream by taking a hold of your arm. "When you woke me tonight, why did you take my arm?"
Lydia needed to know, the end of the dream was fuzzy, while she remembered something made her scream, she could not remember what it had been. However, that paled in light of that something trying to harm her for real.
"Hard to explain, I felt you tried to evade something, since I can move much faster - I decided to get you out of harm's way," he explained in a tone that suggested it was not really all that special.
"You did, you actually affected my dream. But how is physically moving my arm going to do that? From everything I read in that book - it just does not make sense. Even the flashlight is just a help to focus my mind - it's not like I'm actually bringing it into the dream."
None of this seemed to make sense, like her actually getting hurt and throwing the flashlight across her room. Unless one bought into the notion that her mind was able to make the injuries real. All of it sounded like unscientific new age humbug. As these things were quite real, they needed to follow some rules. Something Lydia was able to wrap her mind around.
"While my action was supported by a physical movement, what really made the difference was our connection. You see, our shared bond most likely interfered with the entity's attempt to establish a more solid bond with you." Peter thought a moment and then explained more about how active dreaming was more an exchange of energy, that while thoughts could be transported, the visual part was mostly so the brain could make better sense of what was happening. Since energy was something that flowed through everything and even more so through beings who were alive, that energy could be influenced to make injuries appear; like letting a few arteries burst.
The explanation did help a bit but Lydia just had the feeling it would take her some time to go get used to all of this. Some of it just seemed too abstract and she knew she would need more experience to fully understand it. It was not one of these things that theory alone could teach. Whatever else she thought about Peter, he was a good teacher.
"The others think it might be you or Deucalion who did the murders," she decided to reveal.
"Really? Young wolves …" Peter shook his head.
Continuing to explain why the others had arrived at this conclusion, Lydia hoped she might find out something in return. "Isaac mentioned that you have ways to mask your scent - so that they can't pick it up. Whoever does the murders can shape-shift into a wolf and does mask their scent."
Lydia did not really understand why Peter found this so particularly funny but he was laughing softly at the notion.
"Except that I can't actually shape-shift into a wolf. That was a talent my sister had and any werewolf whose sense of smell is worth anything would have noticed the underlying distinct smell. The masking agent might prevent tracking and obscure the scent but something undead should be identified easily."
"It's something undead?" Lydia sighed. Of course it was. Why else would she be dreaming of a crypt and the stench of rotten fish? Although, it was of course not certain that the murderer was the same as that thing from her dream.
"The murders, the animal killings - both are", Peter said. "However, I've the feeling that it is not the same type of undead being. It's hard to tell without having an actual look at the bodies."
"I'm afraid, even if the others knew what I know, they wouldn't believe it wasn't you. Even if Derek comes back and could confirm that there is something undead involved … it might not rule you out given that you've been dead."
That sounded so strange to say. It was the truth, she was basically talking to someone who had risen from the grave.
"I assure you I'm very much alive."
With that he took her hand and placed it over his chest making her feel his heartbeat. He was at least not feeling undead at all, not that she knew much about these things. Given the warmth he spread, the fact that he breathed and how strongly his heart was beating, Lydia was not doubting him on that account.
She had to think about a way to prove to the others that Peter did not had anything to do with the murders, without alerting them to what he had done. That way he might actually be able to help them figure out what was behind all these deaths. However, as long as they suspected and liked him in the role of the suspect, that would not happen.
While Lydia supposed she might be wrong about Peter being busy that night with chaining up Deucalion, it did not seem likely. Whatever was going on, she needed sleep to make sense of what was going on. Even a mind as capable as hers was in need of actual sleep.
"Maybe I should try and sleep now ..:"
It was a careful suggestion, one she hoped he would agree with. She was not sure if his shirt was dry enough but maybe she could get him to use their dryer and let her go to sleep. A hope that rose when he let go of her waist and was immediately crushed when he just stretched out his arm to switch of the lamp on the nightstand.
"Good Night, then."
He made himself more comfortable on the bed, moving her down along with him, as she still lay partially on top of his right side.
"Ehm … I meant …", she began.
Peter chuckled knowing exactly what she had meant, and then added. "I can go if you insist but my staying close will guarantee your safety, even if you can't fight off the dream."
That seemed like too much of a convenient solution. At the same time she was not sure what upset her most, that this was just a rouse to come onto her or that it might not.
"Why do I have the feeling you are just making that up …?" Lydia tested him.
"If I was making things up, it'd be more like: if we had wild crazy sex, that'd totally disrupt the flow of energy - hmm that doesn't sound too bad does it? Might be worth a try, now that I think about it."
The reply caused her to let out a soft groan, she might as well have expected this from him. Her own answer came out so quick, she hoped that he would not notice that is was a lie.
"That'd be the last thing on my mind!"
"Maybe on your mind - but your body seems pretty aroused and willing .."
It was not her words that betrayed her again. He was of course right, she had felt it before. The stiffness in her breasts, her hard nipples aching pleasantly against his chest and that unmistakable sensation between her legs. Not nearly as bad as the last time they had been together alone but it gave her a bad feeling out of the sudden.
"You didn't put anything in the tea did you?"
He laughed again, making her wonder why he seemed to always have such a good time, when she was at least partially too worried to enjoy this fully. Not that she should want to enjoy herself in his presence and certainly not like this.
"No, I did not! I swear this time your arousal is just the natural reaction to being close to someone as good looking as myself."
Given that the drug he had given her that night, would most likely have her stripping him out of his pants by now, she considered herself safe. It was not like she had never reacted to him like this. That incident with the patrol car came to mind. Lydia felt she had to make it clear that she was not willing to let anything happen between them.
"If you try anything," she said as firmly as she could. "I'll find out just how effective smacking you over the head with my mug will be. I don't care if I've to shower again - we've got more guest rooms."
More laughter from his end, before he assured her that he was going to behave.