Chapter 10
Peter slammed the door to his car shut. He started the engine and didn't even register the smooth roar of the engine coming to life.
He wasn't supposed to be in his car, putting it in gear, heading back down the coast. He was supposed to be with an enticing woman, in some state of undress, forgetting the cares of life.
Instead, he had another woman on his mind and that was why he was going back to Beacon Hills after nothing more than dinner with Gemma.
He had tried to force thoughts of Henley out of his head. When that hadn't worked, he had excused himself and stepped outside to call her. Again. Reassure himself she wasn't a pile of ashes back in Beacon Hills. Three times he got her voicemail—a succinct message in her voice telling him to leave a message. He had left one message. Then texted Derek. No one had heard from her or seen her in two days. They couldn't find her anywhere.
Peter pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. He hated thoughts—images—of Henley taking over thoughts of Gemma. The ripped up jeans she seemed to favor didn't come close to comparing to the expensive dress Gemma had worn. A thick leather cuff around one wrist rather than an expensive diamond tennis bracelet. And gray eyes that stared at him with something between distrust and flat out hatred instead of desire. Really, the phoenix had nothing to recommend her.
Nothing besides a level of power Peter had never seen in a single supernatural before. Now that was worth his attention.
He thought of her father. Her brother. The others who he wanted to make pay. With her power he would be unstoppable. Vendettas could be served without breaking a sweat.
He could make people pay.
He just had to find her.
#
"Anything?" Lydia asked.
Scott shook his head. "I'm not getting any scent. Liam?"
Derek knew the kid wouldn't have picked up a scent, so he didn't bother listening to the answer. He tuned out the conversation behind him and took a few steps closer to the woods.
He scanned the endless shadows in front of him, thinking of how Peter used to roam these woods in wolf form. When everyone thought he was comatose, Peter had been out looking to build a pack. He had given Scott the bite. But Peter didn't have any intention of building a pack again. And Peter—despite his lack of morals—wasn't a random killer. That meant there was a reason he had attacked the girl. And a reason he hadn't finished the job when he realized he failed.
Derek didn't want to think of what Peter's reasons might be.
"What is it?" Isaac asked quietly, drawing up alongside Derek.
Derek shook his head. Sharing the dark turn his thoughts had taken wasn't going to help anyone.
"You sure you want to get involved in this?" Derek asked him. He was involved, whether he wanted to be or not, since Peter was family. His mistakes were going to fall on Derek. But Isaac didn't have to go find this girl and keep an eye on her.
"I want to make sure she's safe," Isaac said.
Derek nodded. He understood. "Let's get into the woods, see if we find anything."
"Hey, we're going to go look around town, maybe her scent trailed off because she headed back," Stiles was saying.
Derek nodded. He motioned toward the woods. "Isaac and I will take a look around here."
He and Isaac headed into the woods, the flash of headlights behind them dimming as the sound of engines drove away.
Derek was silent, listening for anything out of place. Looking for any sign of his uncle's victim.
He followed the familiar route towards his family home. If they weren't going to find any signs, he'd start with what he knew.
He and Isaac crested the hill near the old house. No movement came from the dark shadows, but Derek caught a scent.
He and Isaac exchanged a look.
"At least it's already burned," Isaac said.
Derek frowned. "I'll stay back," he said, motioning with his head for Isaac to approach the house. "Don't let her know who—what—you are."
"Got it," Isaac said. He approached the house, looking back at Derek once. Derek stepped back into the treeline, blending into the shadows.
He wasn't about to let her hurt Isaac. He didn't trust her uncontrolled powers.
Isaac disappeared into the house. Derek watched silently.
#
Henley heard the footsteps approaching. She tensed, listening. Just one pair of footsteps.
She heard them cross the porch. The front door creaked open. Steps overhead.
The basement around her lit with the light of her flames.
"Hello? Anyone here?"
The voice upstairs didn't sound threatening.
Henley squeezed her eyes shut. She shook with the effort of controlling the reflexive flames.
When she opened her eyes, her skin no longer glowed.
She crept to the stairs and listened. The door at the top of the stairs creaked open.
A lanky teenager stood there.
"Oh. Hey," he said. "I thought I heard someone in here."
Henley eyed him. She didn't used to be suspicious. But then, she didn't used to catch on fire twenty times a day.
"Are you lost?" the kid asked.
"In more ways than one," Henley muttered.
"What?" he asked.
"What are you doing here?" she asked instead of repeating herself. She felt her skin crawl, the flames under her skin where she could feel it before it unleashed.
"I come hiking out here sometimes," he said.
Henley stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth. "It's dangerous out here," she finally said.
"Yeah, that's why I come by here. Check and make sure no one got lost."
"You know your way out of here?" Henley asked.
"Of course. You want me to take you back to town?"
Again, Henley hesitated. "What's your name?" she demanded.
"Isaac."
She narrowed her eyes, studying him. Scott, Stiles, Malia, Derek…none of them had mentioned anyone named Isaac. And even if he was one of them, he could at least get her out of the woods.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Henley."
Isaac smiled slightly. "You want me to take you back to town, Henley?"
Henley finally stepped up onto the basement stairs. "Let's go."
She tried not to flinch at every sound around them when they stepped outside. When they stepped off the porch, she froze, looking toward the edge of the woods that encroached on the house.
She listened more carefully. She could hear breathing. She trained her eyes in that direction. She thought she saw—
"Hey, c'mon," Isaac said, starting to walk away in the other direction.
Henley scanned the trees one last time, then turned to follow Isaac.
She looked back over her shoulder, not sure who—or what-
"So are you new around here?" Isaac asked as they walked.
"Brand new," Henley said drily.
"You're not from here?" Isaac asked.
A footstep sounded behind them and Henley whirled around. No more sounded. But she could tell—could sense someone there.
Isaac kept walking.
Henley hurried to catch up to him. She wasn't about to let this kid get mauled in the woods. She stayed by his side.
"Where are you from?" he asked, as if she wasn't jumping out of her skin at every sound. As if they weren't being trailed by who-knows-what.
"All over," she said. She looked over her shoulder again. Then back up at the guy who was showing her the way out of the nightmarish woods. "My family lived in Beacon Hills years ago."
"So you moved back," he said.
The biggest mistake of her life. But she didn't say that.
"Where to?" Isaac asked.
They were on the edge of the highway. Henley let out a deep breath. She looked up at the moon, nearly full and bright out here where the trees didn't block it.
"I've got it from here," she said.
Isaac looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he gave her a smile. "Ok."
Henley turned away from him and started down the side of the highway.
"Hey, Henley," Isaac called after her.
Henley paused and turned back to him.
"I have a lacrosse match tomorrow. You know, if you're looking for something to do."
Henley wanted to tell him no. But he looked hopeful. And he was the first fully human person to reach out to her since Peter Hale had destroyed her.
"We'll see," she finally said.
Isaac gave a nod, accepting what she said. He turned and walked in the opposite direction, hands in pockets, clearly unconcerned about anything that may be lurking in the woods.
Henley reminded herself he wasn't her responsibility. But she heaved a sigh and turned back to him. "Isaac!" she called after him.
He turned around.
"Don't go back in the woods," she said. "It's not…it's not safe," she said, not sure how to warn him without sounding like a lunatic.
Isaac looked like he wanted to say something. But he just nodded. "Got it," he said.
Henley returned his wave and turned to hurry down the highway back to town. When she was out of sight of Isaac, she picked up her pace to a jog. Then to a run. Anything to get out of those woods and back to the safety of her apartment.
#
"Real subtle," Isaac said.
Derek's expression didn't change.
"She's half wolf, remember? Did you think she wouldn't notice you lurking in the woods?" Isaac asked.
"I wasn't lurking."
"You weren't helping," Isaac said.
"I wasn't about to let you be alone with her when her powers are out of control."
"Aw, Derek," Isaac said, putting a hand over his heart. "You care."
Derek glared at him.
"Hopefully she'll show up at the game tomorrow and we can keep an eye on her there," Isaac said.
"Or she'll be in a crowd and have more victims," Derek said.
"You're really a downer, you know that right?" Isaac asked.
Derek shot him a look again.
"Where to now?" Isaac asked.
"You're going home," Derek said. "I'm going to find Peter."
#
Henley went into her apartment. Her phone, long since forgotten on the counter, vibrated.
Henley picked it up. Fifteen missed calls and texts. Her brow furrowed. She flipped through the texts. Peter. She ignored his quick missives demanding to know where she was. The missed calls were from the same number. She listened to one voicemail. Peter, commanding her to call him.
She automatically started to hit the button to return the call before jerking her hand away.
She didn't owe Peter anything. She wasn't calling him. Or Scott. Or Stiles. None of them. She was taking a bath. That's what she was going to do. She was going to take a hot bath, light some candles, and pretend she was normal. Everything was fine.
She ignored her phone when it buzzed again. She started the bathwater running. She had a couple candles in the bathroom. She went to the kitchen for a few more and the matches.
She opened several cabinets, looking for the matches. None.
"Are you kidding me?" she asked her silent apartment out loud. The heat started building under her skin and she fought against it. She could burn a building down with her bare hands, but had nothing to light a candle with.
She wanted something to go right. One thing. Anything.
She carried her collection of candles to the bathroom, set them on the sink, the edge of the tub, the back of the toilet. She stared at them.
She sucked in a breath, the flames sparking to life on her skin.
She focused all her attention on the feeling of heat, trying to channel it.
A ball of flame built and she quickly released it, letting it burn out in the tub. Too much.
She drew a shaky breath. Tried again. This time she burst the glass votive holding the candle and melted the wax over the edge of the tub. But a small flame flickered on what remained of the wick.
Good enough.
Henley went through each candle, managing to light the last one without wax melting all over the floor.
She stepped into the bathwater, wishing she would have run more cold water. But realized it didn't matter when the water started simmering around her. She slipped under the water, squeezing her eyes shut. She felt the water start to roil around her.
She wished it would burn her.
#
She still wasn't answering. Peter tried not to think of any number of ways she could have hurt herself. Or left town.
She wasn't his responsibility. But she did have something he wanted.
Power.
Unbridled power no hunter or werewolf would be a match for.
He parked his car behind her apartment building. He should assume the inept teens trying to watch out for his beta had checked her apartment, but he really didn't give them much credit. They had a tendency to stumble across things rather than find them. A missing phoenix shouldn't be difficult to find. And if she wasn't at her apartment, it would be the right place to get a scent and start tracking her.
It didn't matter that she was his beta, he reminded himself. She was nothing to him. Nothing more than a means to an end.
He went upstairs to the apartment he had seen the flames in previously. He knocked. No answer. Not surprised, but not happy either, he tried the door. Locked.
Peter glanced around to ensure the hall was empty. He pushed his shoulder against the door, breaking it open.
Steam. The entire apartment was filled with steam.
He could barely stand the heat, let alone breath through the heavy moisture in the air. But he followed it to its source. A closed door.
He steeled himself for whatever he was about to find. Henley burned beyond recognition. Destruction. Death.
He didn't like the thought that he actually would be disappointed to find her dead. That had been his original goal, after all.
Shoving those thoughts aside, he opened the door.
A scream sounded, followed by a shout and splashing water.
"What the hell?!"
The feminine voice was familiar. It irked Peter that her yelling at him was becoming a habit.
She was reclined in a bath, frantically trying to cover herself. Not that Peter could see anything beneath the rapid boil of the bathwater. Boiling. Like on a stovetop.
"What is wrong with you?" she demanded, sinking lower beneath the water, crossing her arms awkwardly over herself.
"What is wrong with you?" he flung back at her. "Don't you answer your phone?"
She glared at him, but it lost its intensity in the midst of her trying to shield herself from him.
Peter grabbed a towel and flung it at her. He looked away while she got out of the water. He took in the melted candles around the room. She was lucky she hadn't burned the entire apartment complex down.
He looked back at her. She had the towel around her, her light colored hair hanging to her shoulders. Beads of water dripping off her, running over her shoulders, down shapely legs—
Peter snapped at her, bringing his eyes back to hers. "When I call, you answer."
"Oh, yes sir," she said mockingly, lifting a hand to salute him before her towel started slipping and she grabbed for it. She followed his eyes to see where they rested on the hint of cleavage. She glared at him and tugged the towel higher. But he hadn't missed the hitch in her breath when their eyes had met.
This was a terrible idea. He needed space from her.
He took a step back. She mirrored the move. Her chest rose and fell with something that wasn't just anger. He could hear her uneven heartbeat, but it was worse that he could feel his own heartbeat unsteady in his own chest.
"Get out," she said, her words barely a whisper, no conviction behind them.
Peter studied her. He hadn't noticed how shapely her petite frame was. Or how full her lips were.
"Is that what you want?" he asked, the mocking in his voice as much for himself as it was for her.
Her lips parted, but she didn't answer. She swallowed hard, then hiked her chin. "I want you out of my life."
Peter heard the uncertainty in her heartbeat. He smiled condescendingly. "Whatever you say."
Henley scowled at him. "I don't need you. I don't need any of you. I have plans tomorrow and I don't want you ruining it." Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the towel.
"Plans?" Peter asked. "Arson is a plan?"
She glared at him. "Plans with a guy. A normal, human guy."
Peter held back the growl that threatened. "A normal, human guy. Sounds like a riot."
"It sounds nice," she snapped. "Something you wouldn't understand."
"Something I have no desire to understand," Peter said blandly. He wasn't about to let her see that her words had found a mark.
"Yeah, well, that's your loss," Henley said. Her grip on the towel tightened. "I'm going to have a great time with Isaac tomorrow and delete every text you send."
"Isaac?" Peter asked. He held back his smile. There was more than one Isaac in Beacon Hills, after all.
"Yes, Isaac," she said. She somehow managed to look down her nose at him even though she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. "I'm going to his lacrosse game."
He couldn't hold back his smile. "His high school lacrosse game?"
Henley's fangs flashed. "I'm nineteen, Peter. High school isn't that far in the rearview for me."
She was younger than he had realized. Apparently Derek didn't have the corner on turning loner teens.
Peter didn't know why he couldn't stop himself from goading her. He stepped into her space. Her heartbeat thundered in his ears. He reached out a finger and drew a line over her shoulder, down to the edge of her towel.
She didn't move.
In the other room her phone buzzed.
Peter dropped his hand.
"Enjoy your little high school game tomorrow," he said.
Henley's face hardened. "I will," she retorted.
"Good," Peter said.
"Good," she echoed.
He took one last look at the candles. The water that had slowed to a simmer. The phoenix wrapped in nothing more than a towel.
"Don't call me when you're arrested for destruction of property," he said. He didn't wait to hear her response. He slammed her broken front door behind him.
#