Chapter 11

"Are you sure she's going to show up?" Scott asked.

Stiles nudged him as he looked around. "Stop. You look like you're watching for her."

"I am watching for her," Scott said.

"And she's going to turn around and go the other way if she sees that," Stiles predicted.

Scott turned to face toward the lacrosse field again. Stiles watched Isaac scan the bleachers.

"If you two don't stop it, you're going to hurt yourselves," Stiles said. "All the neck craning and gawking."

Scott slid a look over at Stiles. "Fine," Stiles said. "But don't say I didn't warn you when you need a vet."

"Stiles," Scott said.

"Ok. Done now."

Stiles didn't want to admit it, but he was just as on edge as Scott and Isaac. If Henley didn't show up, they had no way to keep an eye on her. And that could mean she was very well burning something—or someone.

"Stalinski!"

Stiles jumped up. "Yeah, Coach?" he stood.

"Sit down," Coach said. "Do you honestly think I'm going to tell you you're starting?"

"Of course not, Coach," Stiles said. "That would be ridiculous. We want to win."

"Exactly." Coach waited. Stiles waited. Coach raised his eyebrows. Stiles shook his head slightly. "Sit back down, Stalinski," he finally snapped.

"Aye aye Captain, my Captain," Stiles said with a small salute. He smiled at Coach's narrowed eyes, then quickly sobered when he saw the narrowing of his eyes.

"Lahey, McCall, get on the field!" Coach turned back to Stiles. "Go fill the water bottles."

Stiles couldn't hold back the heavy sigh that dragged out of him. He looked over at the teams taking the field. He knew at least one kid on the other team was a werewolf. There were three on the Beacon Hills team.

"Cheaters," Stiles muttered under his breath. He gathered the team water bottles and headed for the water fountain.

#

Henley shrugged on a hoodie, not bothering to zip it. She'd probably start feeling the heat under her skin and need to shed it soon enough.

She started to pocket her cell phone out of habit, then thought of Peter's texts and voicemails from the previous day. She tossed it on her counter and took just her keys instead.

She hadn't gone to many games in high school. There had been an occasional football game, one time a baseball game. She had even tried going to a track meet during her sophomore year in upstate New York. A failed attempt to fit in and make friends. But that was before she realized it was pointless. Her dad would be uprooting them before a full school year was complete and she'd have to start all over in a new school.

She had thought it was because he had been hired by a new client. Someone who was paying him to acquire a specific rare antique and they would move to the location most convenient for the search.

Henley let out a humorless laugh, pushing her hair back from her face. Werewolves. Her dad was hunting werewolves. Not art. Not rare furniture. People who shifted into terrifying creatures with fangs and glowing eyes.

And now she was one of them.

Sort of.

She held out a hand and let the heat build. She focused on her hand, trying to direct the heat there.

The flames engulfed her hand then shot out, landing on the rug in front of her sink.

The rug ignited and Henley grabbed for it and tossed it into the sink, turning on the faucet.

With a sigh, she looked at the melted patch of linoleum on her kitchen floor. Then at the singed walls from her failed attempts at calming herself in the past days.

"I'm never getting back my damage deposit," she muttered. Deciding the lacrosse game would be a distraction she could use, she left the security of her apartment.

It wasn't a long walk to the high school. Henley thought back to her short stint in Beacon Hills with her dad and brother. There hadn't been much to recommend coming back here. No friends. Not many memories. But the time here had been peaceful enough.

Henley quickly shut down those thoughts. She cut through the woods that would take her to the playing field next to the school. These woods had trails and no depths. Unlike the ones she had got lost in. Still, she didn't linger.

She could see the lights shining down on the field before she cleared the trees. She picked up her pace and made it out.

She couldn't hold back the breath of relief that escaped her.

The bleachers were already full and the field filled with players. Henley skirted around the edge of the seats and found a place near the sidelines to stand.

She looked over the field. It was hard to recognize anyone with their helmets—

"Seriously?" she burst out.

Was there anywhere in this town she could go without running into Scott or Stiles?

As if her outburst caught his attention, Scott looked over at her from across the field.

She felt her eyes sting and new what that meant. She quickly looked down at the ground before anyone could see the glow. She blinked quickly.

"Hey. Hey, you ok?"

The sound of Stiles' voice made her warm. Not pleasantly, but the feel of sparks that would cover her skin if she didn't get it under control.

"I would be if you could just not be here," Henley said. She clenched her hands into fists.

"This is my lacrosse game," Stiles said.

Right. He was the one who belonged there. Not her. Henley didn't belong.

The heat built and she pulled her hands inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt before anyone saw the light flickering under her skin.

"Stalinski!" a voice yelled.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Stiles asked, ignoring the shout.

"Get away from me," Henley said, her voice tight.

She felt Stiles move closer like he wanted to help her and she took a step away before she lost all control of the flames.

"Stalinski!" came the yell again.

This time Stiles turned from her. "What?" he yelled back in exasperation. "What is so important, Coach?"

Henley kept her head down and heard the frustrated man yell back at him. "Oh, I don't know. Just the lacrosse game we're trying to have here. Unless this is a bad time for you?"

Stiles huffed out a sigh. "I gotta go back to the bench," he said. "Do you need—"

"Go," Henley hissed under her breath.

She listened to Stiles reluctantly leaving her side. She used the space to get her focus back. To not fight against the urge to combust, but to work with it. Or whatever it was Peter had told her to do.

Slowly her vision returned to normal. The fangs didn't press against her gums. She let her hands out of her sleeves and saw nothing but her normal skin.

She folded her arms in front of her and tried again to find that kid—Isaac—on the field. To be normal and have a normal friend.

Scott was jogging off the field. He and Stiles were both staring at her. Scott crashed into Stiles and they both went down in a tangle of limbs.

"Idiots," Henley muttered to herself. "Which one of you is using your shared brain cell today."

She heard a snort from the sideline. "I don't think there's even a full brain cell between the two of them."

Henley looked over at the dark haired man in a Beacon Hill shirt.

He glanced over at her. "Those two morons are lucky they don't spend all morning trying to figure out which sock goes on which foot."

Henley's own snort of laughter escaped.

The coach gave a small smirk then turned his attention back to the field. "No! No! Greenburg! Are you seriously trying to kill me? Is that what you want?!" He took off down the sideline, shouting.

Henley felt her smile lingering as she turned her attention back to the game.

#

"What's going on?" Malia asked.

She knelt down behind Scott, Stiles, and Liam where they sat on the bench.

"What do you mean?" Stiles asked.

"I saw you over there with Peter's new freak show. Is she about to start a bonfire?"

"Maybe," Stiles said honestly.

Malia looked over at her and narrowed her eyes. "If Peter wanted her dead, why didn't he just finish the job?"

"Wow. That's cold," Liam said.

Malia rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking. Peter wanted her dead and when she wasn't, why didn't he just finish her off?"

"Malia," Stiles said slowly. "That's not what we're all thinking."

"Fine," Malia huffed. "It's what I'm thinking."

"Ok, this took a dark turn," Stiles said. He brushed her hair back from her face. The touch took any sting from his words.

"Peter's involved," Malia said flatly. "Everything's going to take a dark turn."

Stiles grimaced in agreement.

"How's it going with Isaac?" Liam asked.

It had been an easy consensus to decide that Isaac shouldn't sit with them. Anything that might put Henley on guard and block Isaac's chances of keeping an eye on her wasn't an option.

Malia looked at Isaac at the end of the bench. Henley wasn't anywhere near him. She was standing farther down the sidelines. Near the coach.

Coach was gesturing toward the field and explaining something to Henley. Henley said something, then looked out at the field. Coach turned his attention back to the field and yelled at the players.

Malia felt a prickling at the back of her neck. She swung her head around until she saw him.

Peter.

He was in the shadows behind the bleachers.

Malia gave Stiles a slap on the back. "Don't break your neck."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence," Stiles said.

Malia smiled at him and rose. She threaded her way through the people until she made it to the side of the bleachers.

"Lurk much?" she asked by way of greeting.

Her dad gave her the hint of a smile. "I'm dark and brooding. There's a difference."

"No, Derek's dark and brooding. You're just…creepy."

"You know, I love our father daughter talks," Peter said sarcasm instead of offense in his reply.

"Oh come on, Peter," Malia said. "Derek has that whole 'heartbroken and I'll never get over it' thing going on. You tried to murder a girl in the woods. Brooding," she said, holding up one hand. "Creepy," she held the other hand up as if weighing the two against each other.

"Did you come over here for a reason?" Peter asked. "Money…life advice…reasons to find a new boyfriend?"

"What's your plan with your pet phoenix?" Malia asked. She watched her dad look over at the woman on the sidelines. His expression didn't change.

"I plan to make sure she doesn't spontaneously combust," Peter said evenly.

Malia shrugged a shoulder. "That seems like a good plan."

"Thanks for the approval."

Malia started to head back to the stands, but Peter stopped her.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

"Like what?" Malia asked, confused. "A hotdog? I've got money for the concession stand."

Peter grimaced slightly and for a second Malia thought he was ending the conversation. "Anything like…like whatever a father should be getting you."

Malia reared back slightly. Peter turned his eyes back to the game that she knew he didn't care about.

Malia's first instinct was to tell Peter it wasn't like he was a father figure exactly. But she caught herself. She listened. Strained at first to hear past the noise of the crowd around them until she caught the sound of his heartbeat. His breathing.

His breathing was slightly forced. His heartbeat sped up just enough to hint at how much the words had actually cost him.

Malia chose her word carefully, something she didn't have a lot of practice with. "I got your gift," she said, letting her eyes flash their true color for a second. The gift she had inherited from him and her were-coyote mother. That had been a gift that allowed her to protect herself.

Peter cut his eyes to her long enough to see she meant what she said.

"I'll see you, Peter," she said.

She went back up the bleachers to where Kira and Alison were sitting with Lydia.

"Popcorn?" Lydia offered, holding the bag over to Malia as she took a seat.

"How about a new family tree?" Malia said. One that was a lot less complicated. And less murderous. But she kept that thought to herself and took a handful of the popcorn.

She tuned in her hearing, trying to hear Peter again. But she couldn't find him. He had left.

#

"Greenburg! Seriously! Use your head! Don't—NO! NO!"

Henley hid her smile at the coach's shouts.

She sought out Isaac on the field. She had found him at the beginning of the match and he had given her a small wave. She had been about to lift her hand to wave back until she saw Scott, Stiles, and another boy on the bench all watching her intently. She had folded her arms in front of herself.

"Finally!" the coach exploded. "That's how you do it!"

Henley clapped her hands with the rest of the crowd, unable to keep herself from cheering for Scott's goal.

Scott jogged off the field, pulling his helmet off.

"Nice goal," Henley said to him as he went past. It wasn't like it was his fault Peter had tried to murder her.

"Thanks," Scott said, grinning.

"Keep it moving, McCall," the coach yelled in their direction.

Scott turned toward the bench and took a seat, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long drink.

"Sorry about him," the coach said, coming over to her. "Was he bothering you?"

"It's nothing new," Henley said wryly. Scott and his friends were becoming a familiar nuisance.

The coach frowned. He glanced behind them as the players streamed onto the field to shake hands with the opposing team. "Look, they're idiots, but they're harmless."

Henley choked back the incredulous laugh that threatened. She turned away and pretended to cough. Harmless? They were werewolves. They had fangs and claws.

"If they get in your way, you can let me know."

"I'll be fine," Henley said. She winced at the words. 'Fine' was the one thing she wasn't sure she ever would be. Her skin started to heat. She immediately clenched her fists.

"I'm Bobby," the coach said, holding out his hand. "Bobby Finstock."

Henley started to reach for his hand, but the heat built and she tucked her hands under her arms, pulling herself away a bit. "Henley," she said.

Bobby didn't seem to take offense at her ignoring his extended hand. He glanced down at her tightly coiled posture. "Are you sure you're ok?"

"I—yeah—" she could feel the fangs pushing at her gums and quickly shut her mouth.

"Hey, Henley!" Isaac called. He came jogging over towards her.

No. Henley couldn't let him see what she was. She needed to get away. The poor kid had been nothing but nice to her and had no idea what she was.

"I have to—" Oh no. Her fangs were out. She quickly ducked her head and whirled away from Isaac and his coach. She risked a quick wave goodbye over her shoulder, knowing it didn't really cover the awkwardness and abrupt departure.

A spark fell from her hand and she quickly tucked her hand back in front of her. She picked up her pace.

She needed to get away from these people. The crowd and the noise and all the—the witnesses.

An tight grip took hold of her arm. Henley jerked and started to pull away, but a voice spoke close to her ear.

"Keep moving."

Peter.

#