Chapter Four

Dinner at 8. It important-

Harley frowned as she stared at her father's phone, her heart racing as she realized just what she'd done.

She'd stolen the phone during their hug on a childish whim, wondering when he'd notice she'd done it. When he didn't notice, she'd spontaneously decided to invite the pack to dinner, and the whispers in her mind just seemed to drive her closer to that decision. They'd taunted her with the words she'd heard from the pack so often, followed with reminders that other than her new pseudo family and her father she was alone…and it was all her own fault.

Crimson lips curled into a vicious snarl at that thought, hand reaching for her gun as if it could kill the thought.

The phone in her hand beeped, alerting her to their response. She hesitated, slightly afraid of what she would find, then, scowling at her own weakness she clicked open the message.

-Yes sir. Everyone? - Hale

-Everyone. -

-We'll be there. -

A dangerous smirk crossed her lips, hazel green eyes flashing with malicious intent.

Beacon Hills had always brought out the best in her…and the worst.

Seems like they'd be eating outside tonight.

She was up to something.

John's eyes narrowed as he watched his daughter cook a lot more food than all of them would be able to eat, even those with higher than normal metabolisms. There was something dark in her gaze as she moved around the kitchen, her smile poisonous, making even the child helping her cook, Zoe, nervous.

A sudden cackle left her as the phone in her hands beeped, his phone.

What had she done?

"Stiles," He called and she stiffened then turned to him with a wide fake smile.

"Heyyy, Daddy-o." She greeted and he held out his hand expectantly.

She pouted, but handed over his phone with minimal fuss. "Tell everyone that we're having company. Wouldn't want Croc to get attacked by the puppies, would you?"

"Stiles-"

"Now!" She snapped, baring her teeth at him, much like the wolves she'd ran with as a teenager.

"Alright," He conceded. "Alright, but Stiles?"

She turned away from him, pretending she wasn't listening, but he saw her eyes flicker in his direction.

"If they get out of hand, if they hurt you…I'm gonna shoot them."

Beside her, Zoe giggled, shooting her surrogate aunt a worried look, before looking up at the Sheriff.

"My daddy can help."

Nodding, he left the room to inform the others only to groan as a tired, annoyed yell echoed through the house.

"John!"

His wife was home.

Honestly, she should be used to it.

The Pack showed up at their house at least once a week with no notice, always when John was at work, and her husband had a habit of taking in strays, especially after Stiles vanished.

This said, Melissa Stilinski could only let out an exasperated yell of his name when she entered her home to find six strangers lounging around her living room, three different bottles of liquor on the table even though she knew they didn't keep alcohol in the house. One of them, a timid brunette woman, flinched at the sound and another, a humanoid crocodile-like man, bared his teeth at her.

"Hey," soothed one of the others, a caramel skinned man with warm dark eyes. "You must be Melissa. The sheriff's wife, right?"

She didn't respond, rounding on her husband as he entered from the kitchen.

"Mel- "

"John, what the hell is going on?" She asked, knowing that the answer was likely going to be one she didn't expect.

He smiled, brighter than she seen since Stiles had left them.

"Stiles came home, and she brought friends." He paused then sighed. "And she invited the Pack for dinner."

The nurse froze, tears welling in her eyes. She loved Stiles like her own daughter, and when the girl had disappeared, it was only thanks to John and Scott that she hadn't fallen into the same depression as John, himself had. It had worsened when she realized that her son had played the biggest role in her disappearance.

Because of his negligence, her daughter had felt unwelcome in their home, in the town, and she'd left. For a while, she'd kept in contact but then suddenly, she was gone. No more calls, no letters, nothing.

She had to see her.

Now.

"Where is she?"

John pointed at the kitchen and her lips quirked into a smile at how obvious that should've been. No matter what, Stiles was, and always would be, a caretaker. The kitchen was her domain, the place she felt safest, and to honor her, Melissa had made sure it was always in tip-top shape.

"Does she know?"

"She's Stiles, of course she knows."

She nodded, taking a deep breath.

"How'd she take it?"

"Her and Scott tried to get us together for years. She was ecstatic. Now get in there." He encouraged, kissing her chastely. She nodded, sparing a glance at their guests before making her way into the kitchen to greet her daughter in law.

What she found…was not what she expected.

Stiles' long mahogany hair was now a pale platinum blonde and pulled back into a high ponytail, the ends dyed blue and red. Her pale shin was covered in tattoos and barely visible scars, her lips painted a deep crimson, and she was thin. Not lanky as she had been as a teenager, but thin all the same, as if someone had starved her recently and she was just barely getting herself back on track. Still the black shirt bearing the words "Property of Joker" in gold and the tight red and black jeans she wore clung to her body like a second skin, white lace up sneaker-like heels adorning her feet. Beside her stood a young girl, no older than 12, baring a striking resemblance to the caramel skinned man in her living room.

The girl turned, hazel green eyes widening then she found herself being pulled into a strong embrace.

"Mama McCall! I missed you!"

Her throat clenched with tears she refused to let fall and she hugged the girl back.

"We missed you too, honey. I'm so sorry, Scott should've known better."

Stiles hummed, and pulled away to turn off the stove.

"Zoe, go tell your daddy and Ricky to set the table, yea?"

"Okay, aunt Harley." The preteen responded, running from the room. Melissa raised an eyebrow.

"Harley?"

Her daughter in law smirked and bowed. "Dr. Harleen Quintzel. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

The older woman's brow rose higher. "Somehow, I feel like there's a story behind that one,"

The smile on the other's lips saddened, her hand drifting to caress the handle of the gun at her side.

"You have no idea."

"Why are we at the Sheriff's house again?" Someone asked, probably Liam.

Derek ignored the question, his heart pounding viciously in his chest as took in the scent of the sheriff and his wife, and of the six strangers inside the house. It should've set his hackles on end, especially since each of the unknown scents carried the coppery tang of blood, however all he could focus on was the seventh scent in the group. Sweetened by insanity and tainted with blood, but no less familiar, was a scent he knew as well as he knew each member of his pack's.

It was the scent he'd yearned for since leaving beacon hills, and mourned the loss of once, he'd returned.

The door opened, and it hit him like a slap in the face, when his eyes met dark hazel green ones.

"Stiles…"

Her lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

"Hello Derek."

TBC…