Author's Note: Here we go, chapter three! Hope you enjoy!
"Desperate for changing, starving for truth
I'm closer to where I started, I'm chasing after you."
—Lifehouse, "Hanging by a Moment"
Lydia finds it odd how easily she's able to focus despite the fact that there's a gun aimed directly at her head. Still, she has to be honest; this isn't the worst situation she's been in. If being a kidnapped by a girl with a gun was as bad as it got, she could handle it.
"Stay there." The girl orders, voice low and deadly. She pulls out her cellphone and places it to her ear. "I've got her. Where are you?"
Lydia lets her eyes roam. Her kidnapper has brought her to a deserted rest stop nearly three hours outside of Beacon Hills. The options for escape are slim to none. If she were to scream, she'd be taking the risk that she'd get someone innocent hurt and stealing the car wouldn't work out as the girl who'd taken her has the keys locked in her deadly grip. She could attack her, but Lydia figured that would be the surest way to get herself killed. Plus, she has no weapons to give her an edge. Her own cellphone, along with her car, has been abandoned and she hopes that someone has noticed she's gone and then the pack—
It hits her in that moment.
She rips a piece of her shirt and without hesitating, quickly places it on the ground, a rock holding it in place.
"That wasn't part of the agreement." Her captor hisses. "What? No, I get it." She sighs. "Fine, fine. But I want double." She hangs up and the gun is once again in Lydia's line of sight.
"Let me go—" Lydia tries to plead but her captor's gaze hardens.
"In the car." She snaps. "Now."
Lydia has no choice but to do as she's told.
Two hours later, they pull up to a gated house.
"It's Megan." Her kidnapper tells the security guard and the man meets Lydia's gaze before nodding his head. The wrought iron gate opens and slowly, they pull onto the huge driveway. A few minutes later, a pristine white mansion emerges from the tall trees around the area and she can see armed security guards waiting by the front door. This place . . . where she is now, it's a compound. Whoever wants her, he or she isn't an amateur, that much is certain.
"Get out." Megan hisses at her and Lydia fumbles with the door for a moment, nearly falling out of the car in her desperation to get out. Her kidnapper faces the armed guards and scowls. "Does he have my payment?"
"Inside." One of the guards replies and Megan rolls her eyes.
"Must I do everything myself?" She heads into the mansion, leaving Lydia contemplating what to do. She could turn and run, but she isn't going to get very far and being shot certainly wouldn't help her.
"Miss Martin?" A man in a blue blazer emerges from the house, black hair slicked back and cold eyes boring into hers, a twisted smirk on his lips. "Welcome to my humble abode."
Her gaze narrows.
"Let me go." She forces her tone to sound as scary as possible. "Or you're going to regret it."
"Am I?" The man muses, amusement dancing in his eyes. He comes down the marble steps to stand directly in front of her and Lydia doesn't allow herself to back down from his gaze. She refuses to be afraid, refuses to show any weakness. His hand darts out and she flinches as his fingers toy with a strand of her hair. "You're beautiful." He muses, and then smirks. "For a banshee that is."
She forces herself to keep her expression neutral, to not give anything away. She doesn't know how this man found out what she is or what he wants, but for as long as she can, she's going to continue playing the clueless girl card.
"You're good." He remarks. "No reaction, not even a hint of fear." He sounds as if he's almost praising her and it chills her to her very core.
"What do you want?" She hisses, gaze hardening as she tries to show this man that no one messes with Lydia Martin and gets away with it. He may want her to play the damsel in distress but that sure as hell isn't happening. No, she'll get out of this situation on her own or with some help. But, she won't idly stand by and wait for a rescue mission.
No, she's going to get out of here.
"My name is Charles," He tells her instead, a grin plastered on his lips. "You can call me Charlie." He winks at her, like that's supposed to put her at ease. "And you, Miss Martin," He places a hand on her back as he begins to push her towards the house. She tries to put up a fight, but his hand is like iron and the armed guards are watching her, waiting to take their shot should she run. "You're going to keep me alive with those fancy powers of yours."
When the door shut behind them, Lydia knows she's screwed. This man—this crazy kidnapper—thinks she can control her powers? Well, she notes grimly, he's in for a surprise.
Because while she excels at nearly all aspects of academics, the one thing she can't handle are her powers.
Somehow, she thinks that's going to be a problem for her kidnapper.
If there's no one thing Stiles can't stand, it's waiting.
He's never been a patient person, never been one able to see how things are going to play out before taking action. It's one of his faults, he supposes, the one thing that used to get him in trouble with his dad all the time.
But now, sitting at his father's desk, feeling useless and staring at the phone, willing it to ring, he's never been surer that waiting is like hell on Earth. He doesn't know where Lydia is—doesn't know if she's alive or hurt or scared—and they have no leads.
"Stiles?" Parrish stands in the doorway, smiling tentatively.
"How's Ms. Martin?" Stiles asks, his voice rough.
"She's, uh," The deputy winces and Stiles can tell that it didn't go over well. "She's hanging in there." He glances around the office, as if looking for the Sheriff.
"Dad's on the scene." He won't add the fact that he's with Scott and Malia, seeing if they've picked up on anything.
"Ah." Parrish turns as if he wants to leave, but then thinks better of it. "Stiles, can I get you anything? Coffee or maybe a sandwich?"
"No thanks." He forces a small grin on his face. "I'm just going to . . ." He gestures to the phone and the older man gets it.
"Okay. Well, if you need anything, I'm down the hall."
Stiles nods and Parrish vanishes down the hallway, his boots echoing in the quiet department. The teenager sighs, aggravated, before getting up out of the chair. He runs a hand through his hair and takes to pacing. He can't just sit here and wait! There must be something to do or someone he could call—
His cellphone rings and he dives for it, placing it to his ear.
"Yeah?" His voice is the tiniest bit breathless.
"Scott's picked up her scent." His father informs him and Stiles feels like he can finally breathe. Sure, they don't have her back yet, but they have a lead at least.
"Where is she?"
"Not sure yet." His father replies. "They found a piece of cloth from her shirt under a rock about three hours away in some rest stop. There are fresh tire marks in the dirt, but I'm not sure if we'll be able to follow them."
"Three hours away?" Stiles echoes, shaking his head.
"We're going to try and follow her scent, but Scott isn't sure how far we'll get. It looks like it's going to rain soon."
He mentally curses the weather and then forces himself to reply, "Okay. Keep me posted."
"We'll find her, Stiles."
He knows that. If there's one thing their pack is good at is getting their own back home safe.
He just wishes he could be useful.
He hangs up the phone and sits in the chair.
"Hang in there, Lydia." He murmurs. "We're coming."
Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!