Chapter 6
Stiles went into the sheriff's station. Parrish wasn't there. Either it was his day off, or he was still dealing with Henley. That couldn't be good. He hoped Parrish had the day off.
"Hey, Deputy Charling," Stiles said with a smile. He tried for a casual pose, leaning on the edge of the desk that stood guard at the front of the building, before the doors that opened to the main area of the station.
The deputy lifted unimpressed eyebrows at Stiles.
"Have there been any…unusual calls?" Stiles asked. "Maybe some unexplained fires? Explosions?"
"Stiles!"
Stiles jumped at the sound of his dad's yell.
Noah Stalinski waved his son back to him.
He waited for Stiles to enter his office, then shut the door.
"Do you want to tell me what's going on?"
"Um, no?" Stiles answered honestly.
Noah heaved a sigh. "Can you at least tell me if Parrish found the girl?"
"Yeah, he did." Stiles pursed his lips in thought. He wondered if it was a good thing that he and Scott hadn't heard from Parrish or Derek since last night.
"And she was ok?" Noah asked.
"Pretty much," Stiles said. He wasn't sure if being turned into a phoenix counted as being ok.
Noah gave a nod, relief relaxing the lines on his face.
"But, one thing, about this girl," Stiles said.
A pained expression crossed Noah's face when Stiles started talking.
"If she—I'm not saying she will, just that she might—but if she comes in here trying to press charges for kidknapping, Scott and I didn't kidknap her."
"Stiles," Noah groaned.
"I mean, technically we did. And the duct tape on her wrists was a bad plan, especially since it didn't work," he muttered, "but—"
"Stop," Noah said. "Don't. I don't want to hear anything about this. I want to be able to say I had no idea about any of it when someone comes and tells me my son is being arrested for kidknapping." He dropped down into his chair.
"We probably won't be," Stiles said helpfully.
"Sheriff?" one of the deputies said, opening the door and sticking his head in. "You said you wanted to be notified of anymore animal attacks."
Stiles looked at his dad in alarm, but his dad ignored him.
"Yeah, Cooper. What do you have?"
"Multiple calls about a young woman on the side of highway 57. Her shirt's ripped, bloody. I guess she looks like a mess."
Stiles' heart lurched. Had Peter found another victim? What was he doing?
"Thanks," Noah said. "Anything else?"
Deputy Cooper hesitated.
"What is it?" Noah pressed.
"I know this sounds crazy, but all the callers have said her clothes are covered in soot and…"
"Spit it out, Cooper," Noah said, his tone making it clear he was losing patience.
"She's on fire, sir."
Stiles jumped. His dad shot him a warning look.
"I, uh, I just remembered I have to…be somewhere. I have a thing take care of," Stiles said, moving toward the door, stumbling over his feet, and making it to where the deputy stood.
"Yeah, you better go take care of that thing," Noah said. "And Stiles?"
Stiles looked at his dad.
"Let me know if you have any problems taking care of…that."
Stiles nodded and hurried from the station. He held back an annoyed sigh. Couldn't one of the wolves have thought of putting Henley in clean clothes? For creatures that said they didn't want to draw attention, they were really awful at flying under the radar sometimes. Not to mention turning her loose while she was on fire was one of the more stupid things they could do.
#
Derek slowed his car. Stiles had called and told him about the calls coming into the sheriff. Derek had changed course to the highway Stiles said she was supposed to be on.
He held back a curse, easing over to the side of the highway. He pressed the button to lower his window.
"Want a ride?" he asked.
Henley, his uncle's latest mishap, glanced over at him, her eyes as orange as the glow of her skin.
She flashed fangs at him briefly then turned her attention in front of her again and kept walking.
Derek grimaced.
He slowed his car further, keeping pace with her.
"You can't be walking around like that," he said.
No response beyond a flare of the flames on her skin.
He was going to kill his uncle. Again.
She was muttering something to herself. Derek listened past the sound of his car's engine.
Alpha, Beta, Omega.
Surprise drained some of the anger he had toward his uncle. So Peter hadn't just left her without help. He had tried.
She started saying the words again and Derek said them with her.
"Alpha, Beta, Omega."
She looked over at him, the flames softened.
Her steps slowed. She started to say the words again, and again, Derek said them with her.
She stopped moving. An expensive car roared into view. Henley looked toward it. The flames flared for a split second, then died down. Peter parked haphazardly on the wrong side of the road and got out. He stared at Henley without a word.
Henley's skin cooled, her eyes were gray again and her teeth receded.
"Don't try to destroy my car again," Peter said.
"Don't be a jerk again," Henley retorted.
Derek watched the silent stand off between them. Henley's posture didn't soften, but she finally gave a small huff. Without a word she went to Peter's car and got in.
Derek wasn't sure if it was better that Henley was with Peter, or not. He got back in his car and picked up his phone to let the others know Henley was… He didn't think he could say she was safe. Not with Peter. But at least she was contained for now.
#
Henley pointed silently to the last turn that would take them to the small apartment she rented.
It was sparse. She didn't have much. Not with the way her family had moved around frequently. Traveling light meant less to pack.
They had moved around because her father and brother were hunters. Hunting werewolves. The antique weapons on display in her father's office, the crossbows with custom arrows… Henley stumbled slightly as it all started to make sense. A lifetime started to shift into a different lens.
She stepped through the door to her cramped space and turned to close the door on Peter.
He brushed past her.
"Come on in," she said dryly.
Peter looked around, going to the bedroom and opening the door. Looking in the small coat closet by the front door.
"My family's not here," she said. "I'm not hiding them in the closet. I live here alone." But she guessed he was looking for guns with silver bullets or whatever it was hunters used.
Peter looked at her. "Why?" he asked.
"Why what?" she shook her head in confusion. She was starting to get a headache. The past night catching up to her.
"Why aren't they here? Why did you come back to Beacon Hills?"
"Not to hunt werewolves," she said, exasperated with his single minded focus. "And not to be mutated into one of the X Men." She went to the kitchen for a glass, then started looking for a bottle of Tylenol.
"Then why are you here?" Peter asked again.
Henley found the bottle she was looking for and tried to get it open. "Because I liked Beacon Hills. Of all the places we lived, this was the one place I thought might become home." A strangled sound of frustration escaped when she couldn't get the child proof lid off.
Peter took it from her and deftly opened it, handing it back. "And your family?" he asked.
Henley turned on the tap, waiting for the rusty colored water that always came out first to clear, then stuck her glass under. "I don't know. They didn't say anything about moving back. I'm not exactly included in…" In anything. The thought struck her suddenly. There had always been a distance between her and her father and brother. She had thought it was because she was the only female in the home. That this was what it was like for anyone who had only a dad and brother. But she was so much more excluded than she had realized. She bit trembling lips together.
Peter didn't say anything, but she could feel his eyes on her.
She knew people used that turn of phrase, that they could feel someone watching them, but with Peter it was literal. When he looked at her, there was a weight against her skin. That connection that she didn't want to have.
She avoided his eyes and rubbed at her forehead.
"Can you go now?" she asked, hating how pitiful her voice sounded and trying to cover it with annoyance. "I have a headache."
Peter pushed off from the counter he had been leaning against. He reached out and pulled her hand to him.
Henley was so caught off guard she didn't try to take it back.
Peter closed his eyes. His grip on her hand tightened slightly.
Henley gasped. The pressure of his grip spread, even with his hand not moving. It moved up her arm, her shoulder, spread across her until she was covered with the feeling of Peter enveloping her. She closed her eyes as the pain in her head turned liquid. It started moving, flowing, following the pressure as the pressure receded. Back down her shoulder, down her arm, her hand, and then it was gone. Peter let go of her. There was no pressure. No pain.
Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Peter grimace and flex his hand. The veins in his hand were a terrible shade of black.
She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but then his hand relaxed, the color faded, and he looked at her, clearly telling her they weren't talking about this.
"Find something to chain yourself to when there's a full moon," he said. "Preferably something flame retardant."
Henley nodded dumbly, still uncertain about what had just happened, what Peter had just done.
Peter looked at her like he was trying to read her again. Then he gave a little frown and left.
Henley went to her third hand couch. She sank down on the threadbare cushions. An afghan that her grandmother had made was draped across the back and she pulled that around herself. She wrapped the warm knit as tight as she could around her shoulders.
It wasn't enough to make her feel safe.
#
Peter got into his car and let out a breath.
That had been a foolish move. Taking Henley's pain. It meant some of his powers were drained now. Not much, she hadn't been in that much physical pain. But the confused emotional pain…
He had never felt someone's heartache like it was a physical pain before. Not unless he was diving into their thoughts with his claws in the back of their neck. But more than the intensity of the hurt, was the surprise of it.
Henley looked at him like he was the source of all her problems. He was the source of a significant one, he would admit that. But she looked like nothing had bothered her until she had met him. He had no idea so much turmoil lay under the surface. The pain and loneliness. The rejection.
Not his problem.
Peter gave his head a hard shake. He wasn't going to psychoanalyze some woman who didn't mean anything more than a means of revenge against the family who had taken everything. He was going to focus on what was still his mission.
Revenge.
#