Chapter 14
Chris Argent knocked on the door. Not that he really had to. He was sure Derek had been aware of an uninvited visitor the second his car pulled into the lot. Something that was confirmed when Derek opened the door to his loft without a hint of surprise showing.
"I heard Henley Dawson is in Beacon Hills," Chris said.
Derek didn't say anything, his face impassive. He also didn't invite him in.
Chris figured it couldn't be easy for any of the werewolves to trust a hunter looking for one of his own. Groups of hunters hadn't built a great track record in the town.
"Alison said she's here," Chris said.
Derek hesitated a beat, then stepped back.
"Thanks," Chris said.
Alison hadn't told him much when he had asked her about Henley Dawson. Just that she was in town. And at Derek's after some sort of run-in with Peter.
Garrett Dawson's daughter was slumped on Derek's couch. She looked like hell, covered in ash, her clothes singed.
Her eyes opened and she flinched at seeing him.
Chris stopped his approach, not sure why she would look wary at seeing one of her dad's long time colleagues. But, then again, she was dozing on a werewolf's couch after what looked like someone trying to set her on fire. He clearly didn't know the entire story.
"Chris?" she asked. Her gray eyes darted to Derek in confusion. "Did my dad…why are you here?"
He had always appreciated her straight forward bluntness. It was refreshing after any time spent with her father or brother who always seemed to have an agenda, hidden or otherwise. It had also made her a poor fit for the way her family of hunters operated.
"I heard you were in town," he said. "Just you?"
Henley's entire body was rigid, her eyes watching him warily. She nodded slightly.
"Why are you in town?" she asked.
Chris didn't miss the way her fingers curled into fists when she asked him.
"I live here."
Henley's eyes narrowed. "I suppose you have a lot of business here," she said.
Chris wasn't sure what to make of the hint of an accusation in her words. As far as he knew, Garrett and Reed hadn't intended to let Henley in on the nature of their legacy.
"Enough to keep me busy," Chris said.
Henley's jaw worked. "Lots of people buying weapons and security measures in this sleepy little town?" she asked pointedly. And then her eyes flashed. So quickly Chris almost missed it. Just a dim light. But an orange one.
He whirled toward Derek.
Derek didn't move.
"Her?" Chris demanded. "You turned her?"
Derek didn't say anything.
Henley pushed herself off the couch with what looked like an extraordinary amount of effort.
"Turned me into what, Chris?" she asked. "Someone who needs your weapons? Or someone to use your weapons on?"
Chris could only think of Alison, not much younger than Henley, and what would happen if she was turned. What the family would do to her.
"Does your father know?" Chris asked.
Henley stumbled slightly and reached out to catch herself on the back of a chair. But there was no weakness in the expression on her face. "Does he know that I'm an abomination?" she asked tightly. "Or that I know what he and Reed do?"
The armchair under her hand started to smolder and she released her grip on it. Chris stared at the scorched mark she had left.
"And it's what you do, too, isn't it?" she demanded. "You're one of them. One of the—the hunters."
"Not one of them," Chris said. "Not anymore."
Henley's brow furrowed. "But you were? When my dad said he was buying rare weaponry with you, that's not what he was doing, was it? You were…He was killing."
Chris didn't answer her. She clearly already had started to put the pieces together.
Henley looked at Derek. "You know what he is?"
"What he was," Derek answered quietly.
Henley seemed to take in Derek's words. She looked back at Chris. Studied him.
"Are you going to tell my dad?" The faintest hint of sparks flickered across her hands then disappeared. She swallowed hard.
Chris met her eyes. He answered her honestly. "I'm going to protect you from him."
#
Peter studied the pictures.
Reed Dawson.
Garrett Dawson.
Two people who would pay. Killing Henley had been an easy enough way to strike back at the Dawsons. Except she hadn't died.
She had evolved into a better revenge.
Peter knew what the hunters thought of supernaturals like him. How they looked at him. And he knew, better than anyone, how they struck out at his kind. But now he could strike back.
The display of fury and power Henley had shown at the gravel pit—raw power Peter had never seen from one supernatural, coupled with unbridled rage—made her dangerous. All he had to do was point that power in the right direction. Not harness it, or train it. Just aim it.
He shoved the pictures back in his desk drawer. The guest room that housed his desk and bookshelves still smelled like her. Under the aroma of ash and soot, a smell that he had come to recognize as unmistakably her. Fresh air mixed with something woodsy. Not the floral perfumes that could be sickening and cloying. Something natural and untamed.
Peter abruptly opened the window to air out the room. He went back into the living room. His floors would be refinished this weekend and hopefully the wood floor wouldn't have lingering marks of fire on it.
He didn't have to call anyone to know Henley was at Derek's. Derek had gone after her and the boy scout wouldn't let her go home alone. So he would steer clear of Derek's. For now. Until he was ready for Henley. Until he had a target in place for her.
#
It was dark outside. But Henley's powers had recovered enough for her to see clearly out the window of Derek's apartment.
She ran her hands over her arms and stared blankly at the unlit cracked asphalt lot outside.
"Pizza," Derek said, coming through the door.
Henley had heard the elevator coming up from the very first floor. She turned away from the window.
"I need to get going."
She had been hiding out at Derek's for two days. She looked down at her palm. She made a small flame dance there, extinguishing it when she clenched her fist. She didn't need a place to recover anymore.
Derek didn't argue with her, something she appreciated. Her time on his couch had been without any pressure. Mostly silent with food being set on the table by the couch after Chris Argent had left.
She had showered, changing into a t-shirt and jeans that Scott had apparently broken into her apartment and picked up for her earlier. Her blunt cut hair was mostly dry and she was able to move with hardly any pain. Now she needed to get out of here. Away from everything she was learning. The Argents were hunters. Hunters had a moral code to kill anyone—even a loved one—who was turned by a wolf.
Chris had explained it and assured her that he would make sure her family never found out.
She knew that wasn't a promise he could keep.
She needed space.
"You should eat," Derek said, setting the pizza box on the table.
Henley shook her head. "I've got a frozen pizza in my freezer. I'll eat at home."
Derek didn't push. "Do you need a ride?" he asked.
Henley shook her head again.
Even a week ago, she would have been leery of a long walk through the dark, especially down the nearly deserted highway that led to Derek's. Now she was the monster people should be afraid of.
Derek followed her to the door.
Henley opened the door, then hesitated. She turned back to Derek. His dark eyes were warm.
"Thanks," she said. "For getting me here and…for not letting me die," she said.
Derek's mouth twitched with what she now recognized as humor. "Stiles is tired of burying bodies," he answered.
Henley felt her own mouth move towards a smile. A foreign feeling lately. "I'd probably be cremated. Whether I meant to or not."
Derek's smile grew slightly. "Try not to."
Henley felt the warmth his wry humor sparked turn into a hotter heat and sparks ran across her arms. She took a breath and tried to will them away. Flames came from each of her fingertips. She shook her hand, relaxing the muscles and the flames disappeared with only a trail of smoke.
"No promises," she said darkly, any humor gone.
She went out toward the staircase. She heard the door close behind her once she had disappeared down the steps.
The walk home was short, mostly because she didn't walk. She had been saving for a car, but if she could warp speed herself everywhere with phoenix powers of speed, it wouldn't be necessary. Maybe she could invest in a sprinkler system for her apartment instead.
She slowed to a jog when she got near her apartment building.
She scanned the parking lot for any of the stalkers she seemed to be collecting. It was blissfully empty.
She went up the stairs and unlocked her apartment door. She dropped onto her couch and stared at the ceiling.
Her apartment was quiet. Isolated. But she knew that she would be just as isolated if she were in the middle of a crowd of normal humans.
She lifted one hand and concentrated on sparks crossing the palm, nothing more. She focused more intently and gathered the sparks into a single flame. She didn't let her attention waver, growing the small flame to a larger flame. And then larger. Larger than she meant for.
She tried making a fist, but that just seemed to fan the flame, spreading it from her palm, across her hand, and up her arm.
She sat up quickly, but not fast enough. The flames caught her couch and she jumped off the furniture, reaching for the blanket her grandmother had knit and pulling it away before the flames started licking across the back of the couch.
Henley ran to her kitchen and grabbed the small fire extinguisher under the sink. Three larger ones were stowed there.
Scott.
She saved her silent thanks for the guy's foresight and grabbed one of them, pulling the pin.
She blasted her couch with the foam.
She sprayed the entire sorry piece of furniture until there was nothing but a charred frame covered with white fire suppressant.
Defeated, Henley dropped her extinguisher and sank down to the floor with a heavy sigh.
#