Angeline POV
When I came to, I was tied to a chair. Small, metal, structurally sound, perfect for holding a person in place. My hands were tied behind my back, steel handcuffs, my feet were bound the same way, pulled back towards the back two legs of the chair. A thick chain connected both of the handcuffs, straining and creaking every time I moved them.
I was in pain, chest burning, and heart aching with every beat. The gunshot was on fire, stinging and tender. It was still likely gushing, the left side of my shorts pant leg was wet and the rest of my leg felt warm and sticky. My head was light, blood loss was getting to me.
When I finally opened my eyes, it was bright. Cold, barren grey walls, florescent lights to burn the retinas permanently, it was. I tiled my head, the details were all blurry, the male silhouette before me was darkened with a shadow.
"Well, well, well, welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. Martello." The mans' voice was amused, like this was funny to him. My vision came into focus soon after that, in front of me was a tall man, maybe 6 foot or so. Greyish, sandy blond hair and a light scruff on his jaw to match, it was they eyes though. Cold, angry, complicated and nearly a white-blue shade.
"Can't come back if I was never dead. What is this about?" Despite the sarcasm that took precedence over my own self-consciousness, I included a tone of freight to pull the innocent card.
"Do you know who I am?" Something about his features is familiar, but I can't place it.
"No, where am I? Who are you? What's going on?" I let my voice quiver, a reaction triggered by weakness from the gunshot wound.
"My name is Chris Argent. I'm the local hunter, you seem to have got yourself into a whole lot of trouble."
"I don't understand, a hunter? Like, deer or something?" I felt a wave of dizziness crash over me and a stuttered, words sounding slurred and confused.
"I think you know full well what I mean, I hunt your kind. You know, that kind that has the attribute that makes it possible that you didn't die when you were shot."
"Oh my- are you serious? You think I'm one of them? I'm human!" So much for the innocents act, at least I could play up the involved but un-involved angle.
"Really?" He didn't believe me, I could hear it in his heart beat, and the tone of his voice.
"Yes! Why do you think I'm not healing like you think I am?" I exasperated, but my volume of voice was cut short when I was hit with another wave of dizziness, followed by a shrill slap of nausea.
Without word he advanced, squatting down and reaching for the hem of my now red tainted sweater. He pulled it upwards with two fingers, leaning his head back to look better at the wound. I hissed when he dropped it back, it was drenched with dense crimson liquid and left a sickening slap when it laid against my skin. I'm lucky I only wear soft sweaters, because otherwise, the material would be grinding into the hole, drawing only more pain.
"So it appears. Look, we know everything. We know about you, your Involvement with the Hale pack, with Derek Hale in specification. You know about what they are, what you still could be, and we just wanna talk. Drop the act please." I took just a second to acknowledge my distraught, near tears, S.O.S expression and replace I with a no-nonsense, all serious toned one.
"Whatever you want to know, I'm not going to tell you." I straightened up, wincing at the pins-and-needles flair that spread from the hole in my abdomen.
"We don't want to know anything. This is just a little welcome to the party. And a warning for when it comes to the Hale Pack. We just have a few questions –"
"There's always a few questions. Always a few more problems that need solutions. Always a little torture that needs undertaking when someone can't fess up the answers." I stated in a know-it –all manner.
"No, there will be no torture."
"Cause that's against your morals. It's not against the code, but it wouldn't be too bad if you had a conscience."
"Trust me, Angeline, I have a conscience." Chris paced a little, and put his hands in his jean pockets, easy going smile rolling out.
"Well, I figured Allison had to get her sense of ethics from somewhere." The smile ceased on his face, and his laid-back manner was gone in moments. "She and Scott are adorable."
"Yes, adorable", Chris agreed mockingly.
"She really is a sweet, considerate girl. You did good with her, how about your other prodigies? They make the cut or was it just in the bloodline?"
"She is still by far the most impressive, the others are, well, they are what they are." A hurt cough from behind me told me that there was another hunter behind me.
"Well that's unsurprising", I mused, averting a painful groan from the now throbbing pain of the bullet hole. I could hear walking from behind me, and a hand was slapped against the back of my head. "Watch it, freak." Said a young man's voice.
I looked at Chris, "Who've you got helping you? He sounds like a child", I said playfully, but the lightness of my voice was tainted by the slight groan from the bass of my diaphragm.
More walking, a boy near my ideal age of 25 stepped in front of me, glaring deeply. There was a glimmer of dull bronze and a sudden collision of his hand and my cheekbone. He recoiled with brass knuckles, red smeared with my blood. The small cut he had torn was stinging, and swelling just slightly. The boy had a hard expression on, a blond glint of hair in the shaved form of a military crew cut. His thick eyebrows were so focused in the glower that it was near unibrow worthy. He stood in a shoulder wide stance, arms crossed menacingly as he looked down his adorable little angular nose at me. He would be cute if he would turn down the scowl and lessen the angry creases around his frown and eyebrow.
"Where did you find this guy Argent? The Beacon Hills ROTC Program?" The boy back handed my jaw, inciting a migraine and a sore neck from whiplash. I hate to admit it but the boy had a wicked pimp slap.
"More or less", Chris chuckled. "That's enough, Porter. Look Miss Martello, we just want to warn you about the life you could bring upon yourself if you continue with the Hale Pack."
"I was under the assumption that you lot had an understanding."
"We do, but if they turn you, all promises are off." He came to stand in front of me. "It's in the agreement."
"You don't have to worry about that, I'm permanently bite free."
"Is that because your already a supernatural? Because I know all about that."
The boy, Porter, stepped back in front of my light, fastening a pair of rough textured gloves to his hands. Likely so that his knuckles wouldn't be damaged. "The penalty for lying is 3 body shots, a kick to the face, or 6 stabs. Which would you prefer?"
"What's the penalty for torture?"
The boy was more forceful in his next verbal venture, "Which would you prefer?"
"Kiss my pretty, apple shaped a –", he slapped me and cut me off, "You know, you would be really hot if you weren't such a monster."
"Oo, don't tell my hot werewolf boyfriend about that, or we'll cut your throat out and make you a new pair of lips to flap."
He got in my face, spit flying on my cheek. "Well which punishment do you think you deserve?"
I laughed sweetly, lips curving into a venomous sneer, "Newsflash sweetheart, I'm not afraid of you." I pressed a thumb into the bullet hole. I squirmed and released a strangled whimper before breathing quick and shallowly, heart working even more overtime than it already was. "How 'bout now, sweetheart?"
I clenched my teeth, smoothing on a sickly sweet smile, "Not as chilling as when I do it. But, you're still about as scary as the baby boy you really are."
He snarled at me, about as much a human can, "It'll be all 3 then." He pulled back and swung at my face, fist connecting in the same place as the first one. "Hey Chris", I called, "Think about this, I am not healing. You really think this is okay? What about your code?" It was a brief, hopeless attempt because there was to actual pleading tone.
"Code covers this. I'm sorry." He said, but there was no empathic note in his voice, and then it began. A punch in the face, "Whoops, I guess I missed." Porter stepped back and chuckled.
I licked at the blood beginning to spill out of my lips. "What were you aiming for? My collarbone?"
He shrugged and hit my side, above the wound, and my ribs chattered. "You never know, think whatever you think."
He swung again and I gasped for air, "I think", I paused to catch my breath, "that you are a pompous tool, abusing the power of torturing a woman that can't defend herself."
One last time he shot straight out at my other hip, beating the slightly jutted bone. He recoiled ashamedly with his knuckles in hand, I laughed gleefully, putting myself in pain, and not caring one bit. "I hope that hurt, you sadistic imp." Without word and another scowl, he flicked out a pocket knife. Red handle, 3 inches long, one side smooth, the other side a hardcore, cerated edge. I looked up at him with a bloody smile, tilting my head in a knowing action. "Bring it on, if you think that I'm afraid of a couple stab wounds and a little edge of steel, you've got another thing coming."
His glare hardened and his nostrils flared, the smell of anger seeped into the air supply. I thought about Derek's scowl versus his. One was because he knew that I was winning a mental war, and the other was masking any emotion that could be brought to surface. Derek's scowl was also much more attractive than the one in front of me.
He also didn't know how to stab properly. He created slashes and cuts, not stabs or puncture wounds. This kid is cute, but he is an idiot. It was quick, wish I could say it were painless, but even a human could tell it was a lie. When he finished, he smiled cheerfully and wiped off the knife, closing it and walking back to where his kit was. Blood was mixing with saliva and it was staining my tongue with the taste of rust. I spat to the side and threw my head back to move the hair out of my face, the Argent moved in front of my line of vision.
"I really am sorry about this. Think of it as a Welcome Favor." He suggested with his hands in his pockets. I laughed, a bit of a daze beginning to fog my mind. "Well, this is still better than my welcome initiation to my workplace. I had to dance half naked on the bar in front of a crowd on video."
There was a loud clang of metal against the cold cement floor. I could only tell because my shoes were lost and it was icy on my bare feet. I craned my neck to get a look at him, "You lose something there hotshot?"
Porter looked at me and his boss, expression bashful and face and ears red as poinsettias. "You still have the tape?" He said trying to regain his bosses respect by utilizing sarcasm.
"Yes I do, why, do you want it?" He blushed another shade of pink, I scoffed in disgust, "You pigs make it too easy."
I turned tiredly and annoyed to Chris, "Where am I?"
"Middle of the forest." My face contorted, "You shot in front of my apartment building, dragged me into the middle of the forest, slapped me around and told me it was all for a welcoming party."
"Yes, enjoy your way back home. Good luck." He and Porter picked up their things and Chris unlocked the handcuffs, and removed the chains from my feet. They left quickly and I got up, rubbing my wrists briefly and applying pressure to my wounds, especially when it came to the gun shot. I stumbled out the door, fingers feeling warm and sticky. I recognized these woods, and it only took me a moment to decide that Derek's house would be closer than my apartment. So I ran off to the left, in the opposite direction of the Café.
I began healing on my run, it started with the tiny cuts on my feet, healing and disinfecting themselves. I felt the swelling in my face begin to go down, but I know that the cuts and bruises will still be there and vibrant by the time I arrive at Hale House.
I pulled myself up the few steps and onto the porch, leaning exhaustedly on the door jam. I was feeling more and more hostile towards the Argents every second. No, I was already full on, beast on, open-hand slapping, angry. But I was exhausted, and not healing fast enough.
The door swung open so hard I was afraid it was going to break. Derek had a worried face on, which only got worse when he took in my rugged, battered appearance. My expression was left unchanged when he didn't move, frozen in his place, I brushed past, holding my wounds, "Yeah, hi."
Two steps past the door I lost my footing, Derek shot out and caught my arm and side. "What happened?", His voice was rigid and angry, but I could smell the concern and panic emit from off his skin. I sighed as I braced myself on the counter, blood from my hands smeared on the bright tile. "Where is your first aid kit?" The teens stood shocked as they watched me, they could smell my crooked, rapid heartbeat, and smell the disgust of pain from my spot in the kitchen. Derek was fumbling through the cabinets, frustrated look.
I agitatedly turned back to the pack, "Seriously? You guys have 3 near humans here and you don't have a first aid kit?" Allison was the first to snap out of it, going to the only cabinet that Derek hadn't opened. Derek meanwhile, had pulled me onto the counter and reached for the hem of my shirt.
I grabbed his worried hands and held them still, looking him in the eye, I nodded slowly. I turned to Allison next, "Oh Allison good, you know I met your dad earlier. He sends his hellos and such." I said in a fake cheerful voice, opening up the kit and taking a mental inventory of the insides.
"My", Allison gasped, taking a step back, Scott had her in his arms in a split second. "My dad did this?" I laughed bitterly in response, nudging off Derek's hand from my elbow when I pulled out the gauze and disinfectant. "Him and his trainee Porter, who isn't a bad looking kid if you can get past the cruel sadisticness, by the way. They called it a 'Welcome to the Enemy Side' initiation." She looked appalled and ashamed.
"Sweetie, its okay, your dad is a bit of a jerk, but I don't blame you." I brushed off Derek's hand again. "You guys, I'm good here, just need to get stitched up, you guys chill and watch some TV." They didn't move, even when Derek commanded they go they slowly moved in the direction of the living room.
When they had finally gone I groaned, reaching for the hem of my shirt and struggling to cross my arms. Derek moved behind me and gripped the sides of the sweater, tearing it apart. I scoffed in petulance at him, "Seriously?"
He looked at me incredulously, "What?" I coughed, "I liked that sweater." He looked at a loss and made to hand the torn fabric back to me. Inwardly I laughed at how Derek was unfazed by my almost nudity by now. I took it and tossed it on the counter and reached for a rag inside the box. The bullet hole stretched, I nearly collapsed on the counter, wincing, and lightly slamming my hand on the counter. He placed a pair of delicate hands on my hips and I flinched because they were sore, they were gone in a second, moved up to my shoulders instead. Derek was seething, but this voice was delicate, and it felt comforting. "Let me help you."
I deflated, "I got shot. And stabbed, and slashed, and punched, and, I think the bullet clipped my hip. And my other hip bone is bruised, and my heart is beating so abnormally and fast that I think I'm going to drop dead on this counter top." He sighed restlessly, turning me around, and lifting me up under my armpits onto the counter with the slightest gasp. "Sorry", he apologized quietly, with a stubbornly displeased expression, I leaned back onto the raised portion of the island.
Derek eyed over my injuries with a frown, gaze lingering on the bloody hole, the lightly burnt skin near it, and the ever darkening bruise on my hip. I grabbed a piece of gauze and held it down over the gun inflicted injury. After a moment Derek soaked another piece in hydrogen peroxide, giving me an apologetic look before going over the cut on my cheek. I winced but didn't say anything, removing the gauze and repeating the man's actions, hesitating on putting it to the worst threat to my health. "I'm not healing because of my heart. The irregularity of my heart means that the blood isn't getting around fast enough for automatic efficient healing. I heals fast, but not that fast." Derek nodded, absent mindedly using a swab to go through one of the deep gashes on my side. In my head I counted to 3 before pressing the still saturated white supply to the wound, squirming and whimpering as quietly as I could. A few seconds after I had started, Derek removed the gauze and looked at me. "You know I have to get it out."
I whined with a nod, "Yeah I know. Just make it quick, please." Derek donned a blank expression while he leaned over me, placing a kiss on my lips and using one hand with a pair of blunt tweezers to dig out the bullet. A scream bubbled in my throat, one that I muffled with my own hands, struggling to regaining composure even after he pulled it out. It burns and stings and aches to the point of a stabbing, Derek tossed the bloody tweezers and rock sized, crippling bullet into a tin bowl. I paused for a moment to catch my breath before sitting up, wringing out the newly placed rag in warm water and wiping at the scarlet liquid coming from the now even bloodier wound in my stomach. I tried doing my best to ignore the inflaming pain and burn because in all honesty I was grinding the rag into the already lacerated and traumatized skin out of frustration.
Aggravated, I threw it down on the counter and pushed myself off. Stumbling badly and nearly falling, if Derek's arms didn't yet again catch and envelope me. Again exasperated beyond my own belief, I stood up, hardly wincing and wadding up pieces of gauze, dabbing them in disinfectant. Derek wrapped up my whole waist below the bra, because there was no better way to wrap up every gaping slash hole than hold a dressing to it and wrap me up like a mummy.
"I'm going to kill Chris Argent." Derek whispered harshly in my ear, I don't know how, but I found humor in the situation. "Would you mind going after his protégé first? Hope you don't mind but I used you as a threat."
I could practically feel Derek's eyebrow go up from my heads place on his shoulder. "What did you say exactly?" I scowled , "I told that arrogant inexperienced tot that if he didn't stop telling me empty compliments that you were going to tear open his throat and make him a new pair of lips to flap."
A heart chuckle rumbled like thunder through my entire cranium, and every nerve in my brain threatened to go slack. And then I remembered that Allison's dad freaking shot me, and cranky bitterness became the more prominent emotion. "Do you have a gym here?" Derek nodded and rubbed my back, I find it absolutely hilarious how we've switched rolls within one night. Derek had the collected head, and the empathetic melancholy attitude, and I was feeling – and acting – resentful and loathing towards hunters. Completely different dynamic than what I was used to, it would've pulled a smile to my face, if I weren't still seething. "Good, because I need to punch something."
Derek pulled back with the smallest of smiles. I held a vengeful grimace, even when he put a kiss on my cheek and pointed to a door near the foot of the stairs. I stalked through the living room, cracking my knuckles, "Allison? I just want you to know that the next time I see your dad I am going to punch him in the throat." I reached the doorframe as Allison growled, "If I don't first."
My inflexible frown curved into a chillingly angry smirk, "I call precedence."
Their laughing was loud and strangely, like music to my ears, but no matter how much comfort gets thrown at me, I still feel an overwhelming urge to slam a head into a wall. I punched the canvas bag, scratching my knuckles, and punching again. I lost track of time, muscles hurting, injuries aching, I broke a sweat, something I found good. Break a sweat means your burning fat. Not that I need it, I've got a hot figure, but since when is burning fat a bad thing.
I punched twice and turned for a kick, catching a view of the brooding statue in black leaning on the doorway. "You want anything while you get your anger out?"
"You want anything while you get your anger out?" I mocked, making a sarcastic face and sticking out my tongue. He gave me his skeptical look, and if my ticker wasn't already going a mile a minute, it would've skipped a beat.
"Chai Tea, if you wouldn't mind, and I know you have it because it was in one of the bottom cabinets when you were panicking and looking for the first aid kit." I punched it again and the bag swung forcefully on its hinges.
Derek stepped forward to defend himself, "I was not panicking. I was rushing because you looked fragile."
I scoffed and punched again, "I was just fine, you were completely panicking."
"I find it funny that someone acting so viciously towards a black canvas punching bag wants something that is generally made for Zen people."
"I'm Zen…" Derek gave me a look, "Okay, okay, I'm not Zen. But punching this stupid bag isn't doing anything for getting my anger out." Derek's look turned from a knowing one to a cocky smirk. I punched forwards and I dodged, grabbing his wrist and bending his hand backwards. Derek struggled and curled inwards, lifting me as I climbed on him. He dropped me and moved to push me back, I knocked his feet out from under him and pinned his arms with my knees, sitting on his thighs.
Werewolf strength came in handy because he sat up, sending me flying up on top of the work out machine. I growled with a smile at the challenge, and gathered my bearings and looked at him. Derek had stood back up, smile on his face as well, he got down into a defensive stance. I stood up on the grey metal support stand, balance actually in check for once. I hopped backwards, hands gripping with force and swinging my feet into his chest and knocking him to the ground. I landed with feet on either side of his torso, snatching his hands while he couldn't fight back and tying them together with a chain nearby, and wrapping up his feet the same way. His eyes began to open back up as I hooked up his chains to the wall.
I placed a soft kiss on his cheek as he came fully into focus. I smiled merrily when the pale green orbs widened at me when he noticed that he was bound and locked up with no way out. I stood up, walked away, "I'm calm now."
"Angeline? Angeline?!" Derek called for me from his spot on the floor. "Love you", I walked out and snatched up my phone, opening up the camera. I returned, pack hot on my heels, and took a video as Derek struggled and his pack laughed. "How did you get that –", Stiles motioned towards his alpha, "In chained binds?" he sounded completely baffled, and he was right to feel so. It wasn't really a fair fight, I'm an angry female werewolf, in all honesty I knew that Derek had no chance before we even started.
The black haired brood on the floor glared hard at the camera, but there was a ghost of a smile when he caught my eyes. He was impressed, as he should be, I totally floored him, though not without my own suffering. My heart was still sore, and the bloody wound was throbbing painfully, my hips hurt too. The Right one because that little intern punched the jutted bone directly, and the Left because the bullet had grazed it, I caught a glimpse at it when Derek dug the bullet out. The skin that thinly covered it was bruised gruesomely, purple and blue hues causing a distinct blend and contradiction with the blood that gushed from the actual flesh wound.
The Pack slowly trickled out of the basement door, Derek's irritated glare remained in place, but his nostrils flared, not in anger, but like he were catching a scent he didn't care for. My pain is probably seeping from the two feet away, I can smell it, sorrowful, ruining aroma, I'm surprised that the kids couldn't catch it. Stiles finally left, he was the only one left lingering of the bunch, I moved a little slowly, but I unbound his wrists from the chains, he rubbed them and stood up.
I laughed at him, his glared softened playfully, "That was a good fight." I laughed again and rested my head on his shoulder, a flat hand laid on my upper back and suddenly the ache began to subside. I pushed him away forcefully, and the pain hit hard as it came back. With a grunt, I coughed and scowled at the taller being. "Do Not, suck my pain away. Ever, unless I ask you to, okay? Or I will kick your –", Derek rolled his eyes and put gentle hands on my arms, chuckling, "You'll kick my furry little butt, yeah I know, Stiles uses that one often. All I have to do is glower and threaten to rip his head off and he sweats like a dog in summer."
I giggled softly, ribs tender, "Go easy on him, babe. He's a tall, thin, brainy, stressed out human teenager. Sarcasm is probably his strongest defense." He rolled his eyes again, "Whatever." But he knew I was right, he just didn't want to admit it. I was right, almost always am.
Hey guys! I just want to apologize for the completely late update! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as my way of apologizing I will accept some suggestions, within reason of course! Please comment and review!